nor the roar of the pope, who is furiously denouncing destruction on all heretics, nor the ear-piercing noise of a barking cur, can awake him from his reverie.
A crazy tailor and a mimic monarch complete this congregation of calamity.
Two women, impelled by a most unaccountable curiosity, are walking in the background. Devoid of that delicacy which gives beauty new attractions, they forget that an eagerness to witness woe which they cannot alleviate, gives strong indication of an hardened and unfeeling heart.
The halfpenny stuck against a wall, and dated 1763, was inserted by Mr. Hogarth the year before his death, and is designed to intimate that Britannia was then mad. This is one of the few instances wherein he has called in the aid of allegory, but his allegory was always seasoned with wit.
Of the expression I have already spoken. The disposition of the figures is good. That group in which the usurper of St. Peter's chair is the principal object, is well contrived. There is great simplicity and breadth in the background, and the light and perspective are judicious.
"Protract not, curious ears, the mournful tale;
But o'er the hapless group low drop Compassion's veil."
The eight prints of the "Rake's Progress," with "Southwark Fair," were advertised in the London Daily Post to be delivered June 25th, 1735, with an apology for the publication being deferred, which Mr. Hogarth states to have been occasioned by his waiting until the royal assent was given to an Act intended to secure all new invented prints from being copied, etc.
This series are in every respect superior to those which preceded them, but were not honoured with an equal attention by the public.
From what did this arise? Were the town more interested in the story of an harlot than in the adventures of a rake, or had this new mode of engraving history lost its novelty?