adies of loose reputation with the hues of heaven, and turning their paramours into Adonises; here was one who dipt both in the lake of darkness, and held them up together to the scorn and derision of mankind."

The subject of the "Harlot's Progress" was the history of one of the unfortunates who atone for the folly of an hour by an eternity of remorse; her arrival in London, fresh from the country, pure and innocent as her mother's tears and prayers and anxious care have made her-her first turning aside from the beaten path of duty-in which women

This to Lady Amelia That, vice, provided it were surrounded by speaking mirrors, gorgeous coaches, Turkey carpets, and all other appliances of wealth and luxury, might seem to the poor and lowly-born, whose pleasure even partook of the hardness and coarseness of their existence, a proud, stately, dignified, and admirable thing; but, as Hogarth represented it, no coalheaver could look on it without blessing God that he knew nothing of it, and without feeling proud that he was neither a polished roué nor a fallen beauty. What rendered the satire more effective, was, that many of the prin

find their only safety, her deception and ruin, her deceiving of others in her turn, her rise to guilty splendour, and her fall to guilty woe, and her final exit from the world amongst wretches as vile and degraded as herself. The work, independently of its artistic excellence, was of signal importance, because it tore away the veil from vice which a corrupt and sensual society had thrown over it, and revealed it in its naked, filthy, and hideous deformity. As the court poets then wrote of it, as the "wits" about town talked of it, as it was retailed in scandal over "dishes of tea" by Lady Betty

cipal personages were portraits from living originals, of men about town, famous, or rather infamous, for their licentiousness, and of women who werc tossed like a shuttlecock from one "protector" to another, as fast as their appetites became palled, of parsons who in their cups forgot the gravity becoming their cloth, and judges the sanctity o their ermine, so that the town laughed, and the culprits winced like galled jades.

The "Harlot's Progress" was followed up by the "Rake's Progress," as a sort of counterpart or pendant. This was

scarcely so successful as its prototype, however, inasmuch as it had not novelty and curiosity on its side. It consisted of eight scenes, illustrative of the folly of a young man, who has just succeeded to a large fortune by the death of a sordid miser. He spends it in London, in cock-fighting, gambling, horse-racing, and every possible species of debauchery, and at last beggared, penniless, forsaken by his fairweather friends, who fawned on him and robbed him in his prosperity, and broken down in constitution through his excesses, he finds refuge in a lunatic asylum, where he ends his days. "The curtain," says Walpole, "was now drawn aside, and his genius stood displayed in its full lustre. From time to time he continued to give these works, which should be immortal, if the nature of his work will allow it."

Both these were printed by knavish booksellers, and published, with a slight alteration in the title, for their own special benefit. The chagrin and indignation which this dishonesty caused Hogarth to feel, led to the first recognition by the legislature of the absolute property of the designer or engraver in the productions of his genius and industry. By his efforts an act was passed in 1735, for recognizing a legal copyright in designs and engravings, and restraining copies of such works from being made without the consent of the owners. The phraseology of the act was, however, as is too often the case, a model of verbiage and obscurity, and within a very short time after its passing, decisions were pronounced under it which were opposed to the common sense of every man who heard them, as well as of the judge who pronounced them, though in strict accordance with the meaning of the legislature, at least as nearly as it could be ascertained.

To commemorate this achievement, Hogarth engraved a small print with emblematic devices. On the top of the plate was a royal crow ʼn shedding rays on mitres and coronets, -on the great seal, n the speaker's hat, and other symbols, indicating the united wisdom of king, lords, and commons. Underneath was a complimentary inscription.

Most of his other pieces are representations of scenes in low life in London. Their names, such as "Southwark Fair," "Modern Midnight Conversation,” a scene in a cyder cellar or tavern, sufficiently indicate their nature, with several others not so coarse, but equally ludicrous and clever. His next piece, which contained a serious moral, was "Marriage à la Mode." It consisted of a series of six scenes. The daughter of a rich citizen is married to the son of a proud but poor peer. One desires a title, the other wealth, and they get them. The husband is an affected fop, and even on their wedding-day the bride seems more than half-disgusted with him, and is observed listening with an attention ill suiting the occasion to the words of a wily lawyer, Mr. Silvertongue. The result is such as might have been expected. My lord wastes his substance in riotous living, spends his money amongst gamblers, boxers, harlots, winebibbers, and blacklegs of every description. The lady listens to the lawyer still, and frequents houses where large sums are lost by means of "quiet rubbers." Scandal, at last, begins to make free with her name,—and her reputation is finally gone. She consents to a meeting at a masked ball, and after this we see her no more till the last scene but one, in which the artist displays dramatic power of the highest order. In a bagnio, in her night dress, in an agony of remorse, over the body of her dying and injured husband, who has just received a mortal wound from the sword of her seducer, kneels the unfortunate woman, now, at last, fully awake to her shame and ruin and disgrace. In the closing scene, she again appears in the house of her father, the dying speech of her paramour, who has been hanged for the murder of her husband, lying at her feet. She puts an end to her misery by draining a phial of laudanum. Her infant, who twines its arms round her neck, is the only one left to love her, for her sordid father disturbs her last moments by tearing a costly ring from her finger.

These sketches met with a decided success, so much humour, mingled with so much pathos, so much deep and heart-rending tragedy from a hand trained, as it were, to comedy, the world had never seen on canvas before, and it

evinced its appreciation of the work by the purchase of a large number of the engravings.

66

He followed it up by another and corresponding series, representing a Happy Marriage," but this, for what reason is not known, he never carried to completion. In his next production, the moral purpose was more plainly manifested than in any of the others, though the artistic execution was not such as to attract any great amount of attention. In the present day, when education is more extended because its advantages are better known, and when boys are not so prone to run wild as in "the good old times," we question much whether they would attract any share whatever of public notice. But the great scapegoats of those days, the wild hairbrained portion of the population of the metropolis were the apprentices, and many of the losses and trials of the worthy tradesmen were due to their wildness and folly. When Hogarth, therefore-who had himself been an apprentice, and new the temptations to which young men in the great world of London, far from their parents, were exposed-took up his pencil to paint the miseries of vice and idleness, and the rewards and happiness attendant on industry and good conduct; the merchants and shopkeepers hailed his efforts with delight, and hung up the engravings in their shops and parlours, to be at once a warning and an example. He executed twelve alternate scenes, of Industry and Idleness, in 1747, and published them. The following is his own account of their nature and object :-" Industry and Idleness exemplified in the conduct of two fellow apprentices, where one, by taking good courses, and pursuing points for which he was apprenticed, becomes a valuable man and an ornament to his country; the other, by giving way to idleness, naturally falls into poverty, and ends fatally as expressed in the last print." It is but right to add, however, that there was more to be commended in the moral of the prints than in their execution. A visit which our artist paid to France, soon after the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, was the means of rousing in him that holy hatred of Frenchmen which formed so large a part of the nationality of every Englishman of the old school, and which led to the belief, not yet extinct amongst the lower classes, that every Frenchman wore wooden shoes, used brass money, and lived upon frogs. Hogarth no sooner found himself in Calais, than he launched out into unmeasured abuse of everything he saw, and at last began to sketch one of the gates of the town. This caused him to be apprehended as a spy, carried on board a returning packet, and there rudely whirled round on the deck. Indignities less aggravating than these have led to bloody wars, but happily Hogarth was not one of the great ones of the earth, and was thus compelled to avenge himself merely by a caricature, entitled "The Roast Beef of Old England," in which English good cheer and the meagreness of French fare were contrasted, in the way that displayed neither much wit nor imagination.

Passing over a painting, “The Presentation of young Moses to the Daughter of Pharaoh," we come to his next moral and satirical performance, "The Four Stages of Cruelty," representing the career of a savage boy, who commences his career by gross cruelty to the lower animals, and ends it by an atrocious murder, for which he is hanged, and in due course dissected. They displayed great skill in grouping and the delineation of character, and their moral was on the surface; but the unpleasant nature of the subject, and the revolting minuteness with which all the details are given in the last scene, render the work by no means so pleasing as many others of his which display, perhaps, less talent. We insert an engraving of one of these scenes. "The March of the Guards to Finchley," in which he ridiculed the royal guards when advancing against the Scotch rebels in 1745, was a performance displaying the highest wit and humour. The whole body are represented in Tottenham Court-road, in a state of lamentable confusion and disorder, drunken, and surrounded by a horde of wives, suttlers, and lovers, all shouting, drinking, and swearing, their baggage waggons upset, and all discipline at an end. Its appearance set the town in a roar; but poor George II., a heavy, fat, lumbering German, alike devoid of

humour and incapable of comprehending or appreciating it, was sadly enraged by it. A copy was sent to him by Hogarth, who doubtless thought he would enjoy the joke; and on hearing the title, the king was rather pleased than otherwise, supposing it was some tribute to the valour and discipline of the guards who had marched so cheerfully to overthrow the Pretender. Great was his indignation and astonishment when he saw it.

"Who is this Hogarth?" said he to a lord in waiting. "The painter, my liege."

"Bainter! I hate bainting and boetry too; neither of them ever did any good. Does the fellow mean to laugh at my guards?"

"The picture, an't please your majesty, must undoubtedly be regarded as a burlesque."

"What, a bainter burlesque a soldier!-he deserves to be picketed for his insolence. Take his trumpery out of my sight!"

So much for his Majesty's taste. Frederick of Prussia proved that he knew better what was due to genius when he received the picture as a present, and sent the artist a handsome acknowledgment.

To enumerate, even, all the other works of Hogarth would require a much larger space than we have at our disposal. We have already said enough to give the reader a general idea of their nature; we must, therefore, conclude this very imperfect sketch by a brief reference to the only book he ever wrote. He had, when he painted his own portrait, etched on the palette a waving line, underneath which was written-" Line of Beauty and Grace." Nobody knew what this meant, though every one wondered. The mystery was solved in 1753, by the appearance of a work from the artist's pen, entitled "Analysis of Beauty." "No Egyptian hieroglyphic," says he, " ever amused more than my line of beauty did for a time. Painters and sculptors came to me to know the meaning of it, being as much puzzled with it as other people, till I explained it by publishing my analysis. Then, indeed, and not till then, some found it out to be an old acquaintance of theirs, though the account they could give of its properties was very near as satisfactory as that which a day-labourer, who constantly uses a lever, could give of that machine as a mechanical power."

The explanation contained in the Analysis, however, did not by any means make matters pleasant. No book ever drew down such a storm of obloquy upon the author. Every available instrument of satire, ridicule, and abuse was put in force against him-verse as well as prose. His opinions, his language, and even his person and his family fell equally under the lash. The literati were indignant that a man who was self-educated, who could not spell, nor even always write grammatically, should take upon himself to write a book; and at last they declared that he could not write it, and that it was not his at all. None joined in this clamour with a louder voice than the immortal patriot John Wilkes, who now showed as little regard to truth as he had always shown to decency. There can be no doubt that the work was entirely Hogarth's own, but he confessed, with becoming modesty, that he had submitted his language and arrangement to the revision of a friend, as was natural, when he himself was not practised in composition. With regard to the opinions advanced in the work, they are at least ingenious, but they had many opponents among men who owed Hogarth a grudge, and they would probably now have more than ever. He points to the leaves which clothe the trees, and the flowers which cover the ground, and all that buds and blooms as formed of waving lines. The line of grace is found in the varied outline of the hills, in the grandeur of mountains, in everything however minute or magnificent. The beasts, the birds, the insects, and the fishes, and the shells which strew the shore, are all cited as examples of the truth of the theory; and the topstone of the argument is found in the grounded lines of womanly beauty. He thus proclaims himself the discoverer of a great and universal principle, in the full spirit of which the great artists of Italy and Greece wrought, probably, more from instinct than from knowledge. In all their works is found the line of beauty such as he described it, and nowhere stiff, rigid, or angular forms. "Michael Angelo," he thought, "had some notion of the existence of this principle when he advised his scholar, Marcus de Sciena, to make a figure pyramidical, serpentlike, and multiplied by one, two and three, in which precept the whole mystery of art consisteth; for the greatest grace and life that a picture can have, is that it expresseth motion, which painters call the spirit of a picture."

There never was an author worthier of an artist's attention than Cervantes, in his inimitable "Don Quixote." It is one of those books which belong to no age and no clime, which can be read everywhere, for ever, and by everybody, with equal delight. In "Don Quixote" we have the broadest farce, without a particle of coarseness, mingled with the keenest satire and deep love for humanity, indulgence for its errors and follies, and belief in his innate goodness. These are qualities that find favour everywhere, and call forth as hearty admiration from the Englishman as the Spaniard. One of the most amusing characters in the work, Sancho-that happy personification of primitive instincts, of popular good sense, of matter-of-fact practicality-that charming contrast with the man of dreams, Don Quixote, his master- has been ably rendered by Mr. Leslie, in one of his most laughable situations-while " 'governor of the island of Barataria." honours of royalty never sat so heavily on him as at table. We shall let Cervantes describe the scene.

The

The court doctor stands over the worthy governor, and prevents his tasting any of the delicacies which his attendants place before him. Hear the doctor's apology, when called to account:

"My lord," said the wand-bearer, "your lordship's food By the kindness of Mr. Maurice Holloway, the proprietor of the copyright, we are enabled to present our readers with this most admirable delineation of Mr. Leslie's portraiture of the immortal Sancho Panzo.

PANZA.

must here be watched with the same care as is customary with the governors of other islands. I am a doctor of physic, sir, and my duty, for which I receive a salary, is to attend to the governor's health, whereof I am more careful than of my own. I study his constitution night and day, that I may know how to restore him when sick; and, therefore, think it incumbent on me to pay special regard to his meals, at which I constantly preside, to see that he eats what is good and salutary, and prevent his touching whatever I imagine may be prejudicial to his health or offensive to his stomach. It is for that reason, my lord, I ordered the dish of fruit to be taken away, as being too watery, and that other dish as being too hot and over-seasoned with spices, which are apt to provoke thirst; and he that drinks much destroys and consumes the radical moisture, which is the fuel of life." "Well then," quoth Sancho, "that plate of roasted partridges, which seem to me to be very well seasoned, I suppose will do me no manner of harm." "Hold," said the doctor, "my lord governor shall not eat them, while I live to prevent it." Pray, why not?" quoth Sancho. "Because," answered the doctor, our great master, Hippocrates, says in one of his aphorisms, Omnis saturatio mala, perdicis autem pessima.' All repletion is bad, but that from partridges the worst." "If it be so," quoth Sancho, "pray cast your eye, senor doctor, over all these dishes here on the table, and see which will do me the most good or the least harm, and let me eat of it, without whisking it away with your conjuring stick; for, by my soul, and as

66

God shall give me life to enjoy this government, I am dying with hunger; and to deny me food-let senor doctor say what he will-is not the way to lengthen my life, but to cut it short." "Your worship is in the right, my lord governor," answered the physician; "and, therefore, I am of opinion, you should not eat of those stewed rabbits, as being a food

that is tough and acute; of that veal, indeed, you might

feeders at country weddings; but let them not be seen on the tables of governors, where nothing contrary to health and delicacy should be tolerated. Simple medicines are always more estimable and safe, for in them there can be no mistake; whereas in such as are compounded all is hazard and uncertainty. Therefore, what I would at present advise my lord governor to eat, in order to corroborate and preserve his

have taken a little, had it been neither roasted nor stewed, but as it is, not a morsel." "What think you, then," said Sancho, "of that huge dish there smoking hot, which I take to be an olla podrida? for among the many things contained in it I surely may light upon something both wholesome and toothsome." "Absit," quoth the doctor, "far be such a thought from us. Olla podrida! there is no worse dish in the world; leave them to the prebends and rectors of colleges, or lusty

health, is about one hundred small rolled up wafers, with some thin slices of marmalade, that may sit easy upon the stomach and help digestion." See the incredulous air which his countenance wears as he listens to the doctor's sophistries, the gradual dawning on him of their flimsiness, mingled with a dash of unusual longing for the good cheer before him. This is a decided success, as Alexander Dumas would say.