1762.
1. Credulity, Superstition, and Fanaticism. "Satire on Methodists." "For deep and useful satire," says Mr. Walpole, "the most sublime of all his works."
This print, however, contains somewhat more than a satire on Methodism. Credulity is illustrated by the figure of the Rabbit-breeder of Godalming, with her supposed progeny galloping from under her petticoats. St. André's folly furnished Hogarth with matter for one of his latest, as well as one of his earliest performances.
Primâ dicte mihi, summâ dicende Camænâ.
2. The Times. Plate I. In one copy of this print Henry VIII. is blowing the flames; in another Mr. Pitt has the same employment: As this design is not illustrated in Trusler's Account of Hogarth's Works, I shall attempt its explanation, and subjoin, by way of note, a humourous description of it, which was printed in a news-paper immediately after it's first appearance in the world.[1]
Europe on fire; France, Germany, Spain, in flames, which are extending to Great Britain. This desolation continued and assisted by Mr. Pitt, under the figure of King Henry VIII. with bellows increasing the mischief which others are striving to abate. He is mounted on the stilts of the populace. A Cheshire cheese depends from his neck, with 3000 l. on it. This alludes to what he had said in Parliament—that he would sooner live on a Cheshire cheese and a shoulder of mutton, than submit to the enemies of Great Britain. Lord Bute, attended by English soldiers, sailors, and Highlanders, manages an engine for extinguishing the flames, but is impeded by the Duke of Newcastle, with a wheel-barrow full of Monitors and North Britons, for the purpose of feeding the blaze. The respectable body under Mr. Pitt are the aldermen of London, worshiping the idol they had set up; whilst the musical King of Prussia, who alone is sure to gain by the war, is amusing himself with a violin amongst his miserable countrywomen. The picture of the Indian alludes to the advocates for retaining our West Indian conquests, which, it was said, would only increase excess and debauchery. The breaking down of the Newcastle-arms, and the drawing up the patriotic ones, refer to the resignation of that noble Duke, and the appointment of his successor. The Dutchman smoking his pipe, and a Fox peeping out behind him, and waiting the issue; the Waggon, with the treasures of the Hermione; the unnecessary marching of the Militia, signified by the Norfolk jig; the Dove with the olive-branch, and the miseries of war; are all obvious, and perhaps need no explication.
To those already given, however, may be added the following doggrel verses:
Devouring flames with fury roll
Their curling spires from Pole to Pole,
Wide-spreading devastation dire,
Three kingdoms ready to expire;
Here realms convulsive pant for breath,
And quiver in the arms of death.
Ill-fated isle! Britannia bleeds;
The flames her trait'rous offspring feeds:
Now, now, they seize her vital parts—
O save her from his murd'rous arts!
In air exalted high, behold!
Fierce, noisy, boisterous, and bold,
Swol'n, like the king of frogs, that fed
On mangled limbs of victims dead,
With larger bellows in his hand,
Than e'er a blacksmith's in the land,
The flames that waste the world to blow,
He points unto the mob below:
'Look, Britons, what a bonfire there!
Halloo, be d——'d, and rend the air.'
Aldermen, marrow-bones and cleavers,
Brokers, stock-jobbers, and coal-heavers,
Templars, and knaves of ev'ry station,
The dregs of London, and the nation;
Contractors, agents, clerks, and all
Who share the plunder, great and small,
Join in the halloo at his call.
Higher they raise the stilts that bore
The shapeless idol they adore:
He, to increase his weight, had slung
A Mill-stone round his neck, which hung
With bulk enormous to the ground,
And adds thereto Three Thousand Pound;
That none may dare to say henceforth,
He wanted either weight or worth.
He blows,—the flames triumphant rise,
Devour the earth, and threat the skies.
When lo! in peaceful mien appears,
In bloom of life, and youthful years,
George, Prince of Men; a smile benign
That goodness looks, prognostic sign
Of soul etherial, seems to bode,
A world's deliv'rer sent from God.
Array'd in Majesty serene,
Like heav'nly spirits when they deign,
In pity to mankind, to come,
And stop avenging judgement's doom;
Behold, and bless! just not too late
T' avert a sinking nation's fate,
He comes, with friendly care to stay
Those flames that made the world their prey.
Born to reform and bless the age,
Fearless of faction's madd'ning rage,
Which, with united malice, throngs,
To reap the harvest of our wrongs,
He labours to defeat our foes,
Secure our peace, and ease our woes.
Before him Faction dare not shew
Her ghastly face and livid hue,
But back retires to Temple-Bar,
Where the spectator sees from far
Many a traitor's head erect,
To shew what traitors must expect.
Upon that barefac'd figure look,
With empty scull and full peruke;
For man or statue it might pass;
Cæsar would call't a golden ass.
Behold the vain malicious thing,
Squirting his poison at his king,
And pointing, with infernal art,
Th' envenom'd rancour of his heart.
Higher in parts and place appears
His venal race of Garretteers;
A starving, mercenary tribe,
That sell, for every bidder's bribe,
Their scantling wits to purchase bread
And always drive the briskest trade,
When Faction sounds with loudest din,
To bring some new Pretender in.
This tribe from their ærial station,
Deluge with scandal all the nation:
Below contempt, secure from shame,
Sure not to forfeit any fame,
Indifferent what part to choose,
With nothing but their ears to lose.
Not Virtue on a throne can be
From tongues below resentment free.
Of human things such the distraction,
With Liberty we must have Faction.
But look behind the Temple-gate,
Near the thick, clumsy, stinking seat,
Where London's pageant sits in state;
What wild, ferocious shape is there,
With raging looks and savage air?
Is that the monster without name,
Whom human art could never tame,
From Indian wilds of late brought o'er,
Such as no Briton saw before?
I mean the monster P* * * presented
To the late King, who quickly sent it,
Among his other beasts of prey,
Safe in a cage with lock and key.
Some said he was of British blood,
Though taken in an Indian wood.
If he should thus at large remain,
Without a keeper, cage, or chain,
Raging and roaming up and down,
He may set fire to half the town.
Has he not robb'd the Bank?—Behold,
In either hand, what bags of gold!
Monsters are dangerous things let loose:
Old Cambrian, guard thy mansion-house.
But here, what comes? A loaded car,
Stuff'd, and high pil'd, from Temple-Bar.
The labouring wretches hardly move
The load that totters from above.
By their wry faces, and high strains,
The cart some lumpish weight contains.
'North Britons—Gentlemen—come, buy,
There's no man sells so cheap as I.
Of the North Briton just a score,
And twenty Monitors or more,
For just one penny——
North Britons—Monitors—come, buy,
There's no man sells so cheap as I.'
'North Britons! Monitors! be d——'d!
Is that the luggage you have cramm'd
Into your stinking cart? Be gone,
Or else I'll burn them every one.'
'Good Sir, I'm sure they are not dear,
The paper's excellent, I swear—
You can't have better any where.
Come, feel this sheet, Sir—please to choose—
They're very soft, and fit for use.
All very good, Sir, take my word—
As cheap as any can afford.
The Curate, Sir, Lord! how he'll foam!
He cannot dine 'till we get home.
The Colonel too, altho' he be
So big, so loud, so proud, d'ye see,
Will have his share as well as he.'
While on a swelling sack of cheese
The frugal Dutchman sits at ease,
And smokes his pipe, and sees with joy
The flames, that all the world destroy,
Keep at a distance from his bales,
And sure thereby to raise the sales;
Good Mr. Reynard, wiser still,
Displays you his superior skill:
Behind the selfish miser's back,
He cuts a hole into the sack,
His paunch well cramm'd, he snugly lies,
And with himself the place supplies;
And now and then his head pops out,
To see how things go round about;
Prepar'd to run, or stand the fire,
Just as occasion may require,
But willing in the sack to stay,
And cram his belly while he may,
Regardless of the babbling town,
And every interest but his own.
On yonder plain behold a riddle,
That mighty warrior with his fiddle,
With sneering nose, and brow so arch,
A-scraping out the German march;
Bellona leading up the dance,
With flaming torch, and pointed lance,
And all the Furies in her train,
Exulting at the martial strain;
Pale Famine bringing up the rear,
To crown with woe the wasteful year.
There's nought but scenes of wretchedness.
Horror and death, and dire distress,
To mark their footsteps o'er the plains,
And teach the world what mighty gains
From German victories accrue
To th' vanquish'd and the victors too.
The fidler, at his ease reclin'd,
Enjoys the woes of human kind;
Pursues his trade, destroys by rules,
And reaps the spoils of Knaves and Fools.
* * * * Multa desunt.
The first impressions of this print may be known by the following distinction. The smoke just over the Dove is left white; and the whole of the composition has a brilliancy and clearness not to be found in the copies worked off after the plate was retouched.
I am told that Hogarth did not undertake this political print merely ex officio, but through a hope the salary of his appointment as Serjeant Painter would be increased by such a show of zeal for the reigning Ministry.
He left behind him a second part, on the same subject; but hitherto it has been withheld from the public. The finished Plate is in the possession of Mrs. Hogarth.
There seems, however, no reason why this design should be suppressed. The widow of our artist is happily independent of a court; nor can aught relative to the politics of the year 1762 be of consequence to any party now existing. Our Monarch also, as the patron of arts, would rather encourage than prevent the publication of a work by Hogarth, even though it should recall the disagreeable ideas of faction triumphant, and a favourite in disgrace.
[1] The principal figure in the character of Henry VIII. appears to be not Mr. P. but another person whose power is signified by his bulk of carcase, treading on Mr. P. represented by 3000 l. The bellows may signify his well-meaning, though ineffectual, endeavours to extinguish the fire by wind, which, though it will put out a small flame, will cherish a large one. The guider of the engine-pipe, I should think, can only mean his M———, who unweariedly tries, by a more proper method, to stop the flames of war, in which he is assisted by all his good subjects, both by sea and land, notwithstanding any interruption from Auditors or Britons, Monitors or North Britons. The respectable body at the bottom can never mean the magistrates of London; Mr. H. has more sense than to abuse so respectable a body; much less can it mean the judges. I think it may as likely be the Court of Session in Scotland, either in the attitude of adoration, or with outspread arms intending to catch their patron, should his stilts give way. The Frenchman may very well sit at his ease among his miserable countrywomen, as he is not unacquainted that France has always gained by negociating what she lost in fighting. The fine gentleman at the window with his garretteers, and the barrow of periodical papers, refer to the present contending parties of every denomination. The breaking of the Newcastle arms alludes to the resignation of a great personage; and the replacing of them, by the sign of the four clenched fists, may be thought emblematical of the great œconomy of his successor. The Norfolk jig signifies, in a lively manner, the alacrity of all his Majesty's forces during the war; and G. T. [George Townshend] fecit, is an opportune compliment paid to Lord Townshend, who, in conjunction with Mr. Windham, published "A Plan of Discipline for the Use of the Norfolk Militia," 4to. and had been the greatest advocate for the establishment of our present militia. The picture of the Indian alive from America is a satire on our late uncivilized behaviour to the three chiefs of the Cherokee nation, who were lately in this kingdom; and the bags of money set this in a still clearer point of view, signifying the sums gained by shewing them at our public gardens. The sly Dutchman, with his pipe, seems pleased with the combustion, from which he thinks he shall be a gainer. And the Duke of Nivernois, under the figure of a dove, is coming from France to give a cessation of hostilities to Europe.
3. T. Morell, S. T. P., S. S. A. W. Hogarth delin. James Basire sculp. From a drawing returned to Mr. Hogarth. Of this plate there is an admirable copy, though it has not yet been extensively circulated.
4. Henry Fielding, ætatis 48. W. Hogarth delin. James Basire sculp. From a drawing with a pen made after the death of Mr. Fielding. "That gentleman," says Mr. Murphy, "had often promised to sit to his friend Hogarth, for whose good qualities and excellent genius he always entertained so high an esteem, that he has left us in his writings many beautiful memorials of his affection. Unluckily, however, it so fell out that no picture of him was ever drawn; but yet, as if it was intended that some traces of his countenance should be perpetuated, and that too by the very artist whom our author preferred to all others, after Mr. Hogarth had long laboured to try if he could bring out any likeness of him from images existing in his own fancy, and just as he was despairing of success, for want of some rules to go by in the dimensions and outlines of the face, Fortune threw the grand desideratum in the way. A lady, with a pair of scissars, had cut a profile, which gave the distances and proportions of his face sufficiently to restore his lost ideas of him. Glad of an opportunity of paying his last tribute to the memory of an author whom he admired, Mr. Hogarth caught at this outline with pleasure, and worked, with all the attachment of friendship, till he finished that excellent drawing which stands at the head of this work, and recalls to all, who have seen the original, a corresponding image of the man." Notwithstanding this authentic relation of Mr. Murphy, a different account of the portrait has been lately given in one of the news-papers. Mr. Garrick, it is there said, dressed himself in a suit of his old friend's cloaths, and presented himself to the painter in the attitude, and with the features, of Fielding. Our Roscius, however, I can assert, interfered no farther in this business than by urging Hogarth to attempt the likeness, as a necessary adjunct to the edition of Fielding's works. I am assured that our artist began and finished the head in the presence of his wife and another lady. He had no assistance but from his own memory, which, on such occasions, was remarkably tenacious.[1]
[1] To this sketch so great justice was done by the engraver, that Mr. Hogarth declared he did not know his own drawing from a proof of the plate before the ornaments were added. This proof is now in the collection of Mr. Steevens.