Chapter VI: Part 6

His various powers as an actor, to those who have seen him, it is unnecessary to describe; to those who have not, it is impossible. His abilities as a writer were not of the first order, but they were by no means of the last. It has been remarked, that his prologues and epilogues had generally some allusion to eating: considered as local and temporary compositions, they have merit; and his epigrams, which usually turned upon some little circumstance of the day, have point. They sometimes drew forth additional flashes from his friends, and sometimes the retort of those at whom they were aimed; as in the following, addressed to the redoubted and eccentric Doctor Hill:--

"For physic and farces,
Thy equal there scarce is;
Thy farces are physic,
Thy physic a farce is."

The two next were afterwards inserted in the public prints, and said to be the productions of some of Mr. Garrick's friends:--

"Thou essence of dock, of valerian, and sage,
At once the disgrace and the pest of this age,
The worst that we wish thee for all thy d---d crimes,
Is to take thy own physic, and read thy own rhymes.

--"_The Junto._"

_Answer to the Junto._

"Their wish in form must be revers'd
To suit the doctor's crimes;
For he who takes his physic first,
Will never read his rhymes.

--"_Another Junto._"

This was too bad, and the Doctor sent the following answer to one of the papers:--

"Ye desperate Junto, ye great, or ye small,
Who combat dukes, doctors, the devil and all,
Whether gentlemen scribblers, or poets in jail,
Your impertinent curses shall never prevail:
I'll take neither sage, dock, nor balsam of honey:
Do you take the physic, and I'll take the money.

--"_Anti-Junto._"

Like his brethren of the sock and buskin, our English Roscius was honoured with much attention from the public prints. They gave us critical examinations of his powers, and critical disquisitions upon his defects; from an enumeration of which it was proved, clearly proved, that he would never be a good actor. The remarks of these ingenious gentlemen were soon forgotten: the testimony of an applauding public answered and refuted them. By way of antidote to these poisons, it must be acknowledged that Mr. Garrick's friends nearly surfeited the town with injudicious praise. Their flattery was gross enough to have disgusted any other man; but he had been so accustomed to strong doses of panegyric, that he could at last swallow them double distilled. I have said that he was an actor by choice; I might have added, that he was always an actor. Goldsmith's lines in retaliation are a true portrait:

"Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff of a dunce--he mistook it for fame;
Till his relish grown callous almost to disease,
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind:
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, ye Woodfalls so grave,
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave!
How did Grub Street re-echo the shouts that you rais'd,
While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-prais'd!
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,
To act as an angel, and mix with the skies," etc.

The ode to the memory of Shakspeare, which he wrote and spoke at Stratford, with many weak lines, has some that show strong marks of a fervid imagination and vigorous mind. To instance the following:

"When Philip's fam'd, all-conquering son,
Had every blood-stain'd laurel won,
He sigh'd that his creative word,
Like that which rules the skies,
Could not bid other nations rise,
To glut his yet unsated sword.

"But when our Shakspeare's matchless pen,
Like Alexander's sword, had done with men,
He heav'd no sigh, he made no moan;
Not limited to human kind,
He fir'd his wonder-teeming mind,
Rais'd other worlds and beings of his own."[155]

Many of his _jeu d'esprits_ are related; the following I never saw recorded. When he and Quin strutted at the same theatre, and in the same play, the performance ending, and the night being rainy, each of them ordered a chair, and walked to the door of the playhouse. To the mortification of Quin, Garrick's chair came first: "Let me get into the chair," cried the surly veteran, "let me get into the chair, and put little Davy into the lantern." "By all means," replied Garrick, "I shall be happy to give Mr. Quin light in anything."

The little tribute which Doctor Johnson has paid to his memory is written from the heart: I cannot resist transcribing it:--

"At this man's (Mr. Walmsley's) table I enjoyed many cheerful and instructive hours with companions such as are not often to be found; with one who has heightened, and who has gladdened life: with Dr. James, whose skill in physic will be long remembered; and with David Garrick, whom I hoped to have gratified with this character of our common friend. But what are the hopes of man! I am disappointed by that stroke of death, which has eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and impoverished the public stock of harmless pleasure."--_Life of Edmund Smith._

Mr. Hogarth lived in habits of intimacy with David Garrick, who being President of the Shakspeare Club at the time of the Stratford Jubilee, our painter made him a drawing of a chair, which was afterwards wrought in mahogany. A medallion of Shakspeare, carved by Hogarth from a piece of the Stratford mulberry-tree, is suspended to the back of it.

The paintings of the "Harlot's Progress," and "Strolling Players," produced little more than a hundred guineas; but in such estimation are portraits, that the original picture from which this print was copied, in every point of view inferior, was purchased by the late Mr. Duncombe, of Duncombe Park, Yorkshire, at two hundred pounds! It still remains in his family. The print, by Mr. Hogarth's permission, was copied for a watch-paper.

INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS.

The following description of Mr. Hogarth's design in these twelve plates is copied from his own handwriting:--

"Industry and Idleness exemplified in the conduct of two fellow-'prentices; where the one by taking good courses, and pursuing points for which he was put apprentice, 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 is expressed in the last print. As the prints were intended more for use than ornament, they were done in a way that might bring them within the purchase of those whom they might most concern; and lest any print should be mistaken, the description of each print is engraved at top."

Such is the professed intention of the artist, and such his apology for the manner in which these plates are engraved; for, as Mr. Walpole justly remarks, they have more merit in their intention than execution.

As a contrast to an idle and vicious character, who is brought to consequent misery and shame, his fellow-'prentice is depicted moral, attentive, and industrious; and, by regular and natural gradations, attains the highest dignities of the greatest city in Europe. This is making the pencil an instrument in the cause of virtue, holding up the mirror of morality and truth, and showing the fair reward of industry and integrity to be happiness, honour, and independence; and the inevitable consequences of idleness and vice to be poverty, misery, and shame.

The hint for contrasting these two very opposite characters is taken from the old play of _Eastward Hoe_, written by Ben Jonson, George Chapman, and John Marston, printed for William Aspley, 1605, and reprinted in Dodsley's collection. In this comedy, Touchstone, a plain and honest old citizen and goldsmith, has two apprentices, Golding and Quicksilver: the former is a counterpart of Hogarth's Goodchild, and the latter has many of the dispositions of Mr. Thomas Idle. Touchstone, in a proverbial and formal style, advises all who wish to become respectable, and acquire independence, to conduct themselves on the same principles that he had done, and by adherence to which he had gained his fortune:

"I hired me a little shop, bought low, took small profits, kept no debt book; garnished my shop (instead of plate) with good, wholesome, thrifty sentences: such as, 'Touchstone, keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee;' 'Light gains make a heavy purse;' 'It is good to be merry and wise,' etc. etc.

'Seek not to go beyond your tether,
But cut your thong unto your leather;
So shall you thrive by little and little,
'Scape Tyburn, Counter, and the Spittal.'"

The prologue concludes with what may serve as an explanatory apology for the prints as well as the play:

"Bear with our willing pains,--or dull or witty,
We only dedicate it to the City."

Golding marries Touchstone's favourite daughter; and the old citizen, in the quaint style of that day, wishes he may live to see him "one of the monuments of the city, and reckoned among her worthies; to be remembered the same day with Lady Ramsey and grave Gresham, when the famous fable of Whittington and his puss shall be forgotten, and thou and thy acts become the posies for hospitals; when thy name shall be written upon conduits, and thy deeds played i' thy lifetime by the best company of actors, and be called their 'Get-penny;' this I divine and prophesy."

In the comedy, as in the prints, one of the scenes is laid at Cuckold's Haven; young Golding becoming a magistrate, Quicksilver is brought before him as a criminal, etc. etc.

PLATE I.

THE FELLOW-'PRENTICES AT THEIR LOOMS.

"The drunkard shall come to poverty; and drowsiness shall clothe
a man with rags."--PROVERBS XXIII. 21.

"The hand of the diligent maketh rich."--PROVERBS X. 4.

At the time these twelve prints were published, the business of a silk weaver was considered as much more respectable and important than it has been since the general fashion of wearing linen. The first view we have of the two heroes of our history, is at the looms of their master, an inhabitant of Spitalfields. The assiduity of one of these young artisans is manifested in his countenance, and attention to the business he is engaged in. Over his head hang those two excellent old ballads, _Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London_, and _The Valiant Apprentice_. On the floor near him is the _'Prentice's Guide_, a book which our citizen probably presented to every young man he had under his care; for we see the same title on a mutilated volume at the feet of Mr. Thomas Idle, who, being asleep, has dropped his shuttle, which a cat is playing with. On the wall hangs the ballad of _Moll Flanders_, and very near him is a tobacco-pipe[156] and a porter pot; the somniferous qualities of these two narcotics have perhaps contributed to close his eyes. His appearance is consonant to his disposition; hair uncombed, collar unbuttoned, and worn-out coat, are strong indications of negligence and sloth. With angry eye, and cane lifted up, the master, just entering the room, seems very well disposed to punish his indolence and drowsiness; but these habits are too strongly rooted to be eradicated by chastisement.

Thus far is admirably thought, and intelligibly depicted; but the delineation, as far as regards the picturesque effect, is beneath criticism. The head of Master Francis Goodchild, placed between two square posts, looks as if it were stuck in the pillory; the physiognomy of Mister Thomas Idle is correctly correspondent with his depraved character; but the introduction of such a number of angles and parallel lines as the scene demanded, the artist's eye could never have borne upon any other principle than that given in his introductory declaration, "that the prints were intended for use more than ornament."

PLATE II.

THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE PERFORMING THE DUTY OF A CHRISTIAN.

"O how I love Thy law! it is my meditation all the day."--PSALM
CXIX. 97.

This plate displays our industrious young man attending divine service, in the same pew with his master's daughter, where he shows every mark of decent and devout attention.

Mr. Hogarth's strong bias to burlesque was not to be checked by time or place. It is not easy to imagine anything more whimsically grotesque than the female Falstaff. A fellow near her, emulating the deep-toned organ, and the man beneath, who, though asleep, joins his sonorous tones in melodious chorus with the admirers of those two pre-eminent poets, Hopkins and Sternhold. The pew-opener is a very prominent and principal figure; two old women adjoining Miss West's seat are so much in shadow, that we are apt to overlook them: they are, however, all three making the dome ring with their exertions.

"Ah! had it been King David's fate
To hear them sing...."

The preacher, reader, and clerk, with many of the small figures in the gallery and beneath, are truly ludicrous; and we regret their being on so reduced a scale, that they are scarce perceptible to the naked eye. It was necessary that the artist should exhibit a crowded congregation, but it must be acknowledged he has neglected the rules of perspective. The print wants depth. In the countenance of Miss West and her lover there is a resemblance. Their faces have not much expression, but this is atoned for by a natural and pleasing simplicity. Character was not necessary.

PLATE III.

THE IDLE 'PRENTICE AT PLAY IN THE CHURCHYARD DURING DIVINE SERVICE.

"Judgments are prepared for scorners, and stripes for the back of
fools."--PROVERBS XIX. 29.

While the industrious and sedate apprentice is engaged in such exercises as mend the heart and improve the understanding; while properly devoting the seventh day to the praise of his Creator, he attends divine service, returns thanks for the blessings he enjoys, and prays for their continuance, an inmate of the same house, about the same age, and of the same rank in society, who might have participated in all his advantages, is stretched upon a grave-stone in the churchyard, and gambling with a group of mendicants. Their amusement seems to be the favourite old English game of hustle-cap, and our idle and unprincipled youth is endeavouring to cheat, by concealing some of the halfpence under the broad brim of his hat. This is perceived by the shoeblack, and warmly resented by the fellow with the black patch over his eye, who loudly insists on the hats being fairly removed. The eager anxiety which marks these mean gamblers is equal to that of two peers playing for an estate. The latter could not have more solicitude for the turn of a die which was to determine who was the proprietor of ten thousand acres, than is displayed in the countenance of Mr. Thomas Idle. Their debate has been loud, and their attention is so much engrossed, that they have not heard the cautious steps of a beadle, who seems likely to terminate the dispute by a smart stroke from his rattan, which is aimed with apparent goodwill at the back of our disciple of indolence. His three associates are of the lowest order; among them is a half-naked shoeblack. Like his companion, with one hand lifted up to his head, he is disturbing part of that clan who have been always distinguished for their tenacious adherence to the slothful. The tombstone--inscribed, "Here lies the body of"--applies very well to the young gentleman who, in an attitude highly expressive of idleness, is recumbent upon it. Even the skulls, on the ground near the new-opened grave, have character. These, with the other mementos of mortality, are indiscriminately scattered on the earth, and trampled upon by the most contemptible survivors. "How rich, how honoured once, avails them not."

The figures in this print are well grouped, and the countenances of the gamblers and beadle admirably marked.

PLATE IV.

THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE A FAVOURITE, AND ENTRUSTED BY HIS MASTER.

"Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been
faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many
things."--MATTHEW XXV. 21.

From attention to business and propriety of conduct, the industrious apprentice has gained the confidence of his employer. He is now in the counting-house, entrusted with the management of the business; has the day-book, purse, and keys in his hands, and attentively listens to the directions of his friendly master, who, with a face expressive of the highest partiality and regard, familiarly leans upon his shoulder. A partnership, on the eve of taking place, is covertly intimated by a pair of gloves upon the writing-desk. The young merchant's sedulous application is well hinted at by an headpiece to the _London Almanac_, "Industry taking time by the forelock." A city porter, bringing in bales of goods, has a true Bardolphian face. The mastiff that attends him is violently opposed by the domestic cat, who, considering this house as her own peculiar domain, and having an hereditary dislike to the canine species, endeavours to drive him from the premises. Neither cat, dog, nor porter are well drawn, nor is much regard paid to perspective; but the general design is carried on by such easy and natural gradations, and the consequent success of an attentive conduct displayed in colours so plain and perspicuous, that little errors in execution should be overlooked or forgiven.

PLATE V.

THE IDLE 'PRENTICE TURNED AWAY AND SENT TO SEA.

"A foolish son is the heaviness of his mother."--PROVERBS X. 1.

Corrupted by sloth, and contaminated by bad company, the idle apprentice, having forfeited the regard and tired the patience of his master, is sent to sea, in the hope that a separation from his associates, joined to the inevitable hardships of a maritime life, may in some degree reclaim him. He is exhibited in the ship's boat, accompanied by his afflicted mother, whose dress intimates that she is a widow, and who had naturally formed hopes of this boy's being a comfort to her old age. The waterman, with a significant face, points to a figure on a gibbet, advising him to look at it as emblematical of his future fate. A boy shows him a cat-o'-nine tails as a specimen of the discipline on board a ship; this _water-wit_ the abandoned young man returns by holding up two fingers in the form of horns, and recommending this Joe Miller of the Thames to look at Cuckold's Point, which is in the distance. Having forfeited his indentures, he has thrown them into the river, is totally lost to reflection, and insensible to the grief of his mother, the ridicule of his companions, or his own unhappy situation.

That great geographer of the human face, Lavater of Zurich, has very properly thought a copy of this print worthy a place in his _Essays on Physiognomy_. His observations deserve attention:--

"Here are the traits of drunkenness combined with thoughtless stupidity. Who can look without disgust? Would these wretches have been what they are, had they not by vice erased nature's marks? Can perversion be more apparent than in the middle profile?"

PLATE VI.

THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE OUT OF HIS TIME, AND MARRIED TO HIS MASTER'S DAUGHTER.

"The virtuous woman is a crown to her husband."--PROVERBS XIII. 4.

The reward of industry is success. Our prudent and attentive youth is now become partner with his master,[157] and married to his daughter. To show that plenty reigns in this mansion, a servant distributes the remains of the table to a poor woman, and the bridegroom pays one of the drummers, who, according to ancient custom, attend with their thundering gratulations the day after a wedding. A performer on the bass viol, and a herd of butchers armed with marrow-bones and cleavers, form an English concert![158] A cripple, with the ballad of _Jesse_, or the _Happy Pair_, represents a man known by the name of Philip in the Tub, who had visited Ireland and the United Provinces, and in the memory of some persons now living was a general attendant at weddings. From those votaries of Hymen, who were honoured with his _epithalamiums_, he received a small reward. To show that Messieurs West and Goodchild's habitation is near the Monument,[159] the base of that stately column appears in the background.

A footman and butcher at the opposite corner, compared with the other figures, are gigantic; they might serve for the Gog and Magog of Guildhall.

It has been said that the thoughts in this print are trite, and the actions mean, which must be in part acknowledged; but they are natural and appropriate to the rank and situation of the parties, and to the fashions of the time at which it was published.

PLATE VII.

THE IDLE 'PRENTICE RETURNED FROM SEA, AND IN A GARRET WITH A COMMON PROSTITUTE.

"The sound of a shaken leaf shall chase him."--LEVITICUS XXVI. 36.

The profligate and degraded apprentice, returned from his voyage, is now exhibited in a garret with a common prostitute. Tired of a seafaring life, where we may naturally suppose he met with punishment adequate to his crimes, he returns to London. By the pistols, watches, etc. which lie upon and near the bed, it seems evident that the source of his present subsistence is from robbery on the highway. Horror and dismay are strongly depicted in his agitated and terrified face.--What a contrast to the serenity displayed in the countenance of his fellow-'prentice! To prevent surprise, the door is locked, double bolted, and barricaded with planks from the floor; notwithstanding these precautions, the noise occasioned by a cat having slipped down a ruinous chimney, throws him into the utmost terror. Not so his depraved companion; solely engrossed by the plunder upon the bed,[160] she looks with delighted eyes at a glittering earring. The broken jug, pipe, knife, plate, dram-bottle, glass, and pistols, are very properly introduced; and the rat, who makes a precipitate retreat, instinctively conscious that its natural enemy is near, renders this filthy and disgusting scene still more nauseous. The lady's hoop is a good specimen of the fashion of that day, when this cumbrous, inconvenient, and ungraceful combination of whales' bones was worn by women of the lowest as well as the highest rank.

PLATE VIII.

THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE GROWN RICH, AND SHERIFF OF LONDON.

"With all thy gettings, get understanding. Exalt her; and she
shall promote thee; she shall bring thee to honour, when thou
dost embrace her."--PROVERBS IV. 7, 8.

From industry become opulent, from integrity and punctuality respectable, our young merchant is now Sheriff of London, and dining with the different companies in Guildhall. A group on the left side are admirably characteristic; their whole souls seem absorbed in the pleasures of the table. A divine,[161] true to his cloth, swallows his soup with the highest _goût_. Not less gratified is the gentleman palating a glass of wine. The man in a black wig is a positive representative of famine; and the portly and oily citizen, with a napkin tucked in his button-hole,[162] has evidently burnt his mouth by extreme eagerness.

The backs of those in the distance, behung with bags, major perukes, pinners, etc., are most laughably ludicrous. Every person present is so attentive to business, that one may fairly conclude "they live to eat, rather than eat to live."

But though this must be admitted to be the case with this party here exhibited, the following recent instance of city temperance proves that there are now some exceptions:--

When the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, Aldermen, Chamberlain, etc. of the city of London were once seated round the table at a public and splendid dinner at Guildhall, Mr. Chamberlain Wilkes lisped out, "Mr. Alderman B--ll, shall I help you to a plate of turtle or a slice of the haunch,--I am within reach of both, sir?" "Neither one nor t'other, I thank you, sir," replied the Alderman; "I think I shall dine on the beans and bacon which are at this end of the table." "Mr. Alderman A----n," continued the Chamberlain, "which would you choose, sir?" "Sir, I will not trouble you for either, for I believe I shall follow the example of my Brother B--ll, and dine on beans and bacon," was the reply. On this second refusal the old Chamberlain rose from his seat, and with every mark of astonishment in his countenance, curled up the corners of his mouth, cast his eyes round the table, and in a voice as loud and articulate as he was able, called "Silence!" which being obtained, he thus addressed the prætorian magistrate, who sat in the chair: "My Lord Mayor, the wicked have accused us of intemperance, and branded us with the imputation of gluttony. That they may be put to open shame, and their profane tongues be from this day utterly silenced, I humbly move that your lordship command the proper officer to record in our annals, that 'two Aldermen of the city of London prefer beans and bacon to either turtle-soup or venison.'"

Notwithstanding all this, there are men who, looking on the dark side, and perhaps rendered splenetic, and soured by not being invited to these sumptuous entertainments, have affected to fear that their frequent repetition would have a tendency to produce a famine, or at least to check the increase, if not extirpate the species of those birds, beasts, and fish with which the tables of the rich are now so plentifully supplied.[163] But these half-reasoners do not take into their calculation the number of gentlemen so laudably associated for encouraging cattle being fed so fat that there is no lean left; or that more ancient association, sanctioned and supported by severe Acts of Parliament, for the preservation of the game. From the exertions of these and similar societies, we may reasonably hope there is no occasion to dread any such calamity taking place; though the Guildhall tables, often groaning under such hecatombs as are recorded in the following account, may make a man of weak nerves and strong digestion shake his head, and shudder a little:--

"On the 29th October 1727, when George II. and Queen Caroline honoured the city with their presence at Guildhall, there were nineteen tables covered with 1075 dishes. The whole expense of this entertainment to the city was £4889, 4s."

To return to the print! A self-sufficient and consequential beadle, reading the direction of a letter to Francis Goodchild, Esq., Sheriff of London, has all the insolence of office. The important and overbearing air of this dignified personage is well contrasted by the humble simplicity of the straight-haired messenger behind the bar. The gallery is well furnished with musicians busily employed in their vocation.

"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
And therefore proper at a sheriff's feast."

Besides a portrait of William III. and a judge, the hall is ornamented with a full length of that illustrious hero Sir William Walworth; in commemoration of whose valour, the weapon with which he slew Wat Tyler was introduced into the city arms.

PLATE IX.

THE IDLE 'PRENTICE BETRAYED BY A PROSTITUTE, AND TAKEN IN A NIGHT-CELLAR WITH HIS ACCOMPLICE.

"The adulteress will hunt for the precious life."--PROVERBS VI.
26.

From a picture of the reward of diligence, we return to the consequence of sloth. The idle and incorrigible outcast, mature in vice, and lost to society, is here represented in a night-cellar.[164] In this dreary and horrid cavern of vice and infamy he is dividing the spoil produced by robbery with one of his wretched accomplices. The woman that seems his favourite, and in whose garret we saw him in the seventh plate, deliberately betrays him. The officers of justice are entering, and he is on the point of being seized. The corpse of a gentleman, who has been murdered, is with unfeeling indifference put down a cavity made in the floor for the purposes of concealment. To show that the grenadiers company were then, as now, a virtuous body of men, one of them, in a true Dutch attitude, is smoking in the corner. A scene of riot, likely to terminate in blood, passes in the background. The countenances of the combatants, and a noseless woman bringing the porter, are finely marked. A rope, hanging immediately over a fellow who is asleep, should not be overlooked. The watches, which are in a hat, exhibit another instance of Hogarth's peculiar accuracy; each of them is a little after ten. Some cards scattered on the floor show the amusements of this earthly Pandemonium.

PLATE X.

THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE ALDERMAN OF LONDON; THE IDLE ONE BROUGHT BEFORE HIM, AND IMPEACHED BY HIS ACCOMPLICE.

"Thou shalt do no unrighteousness in judgment."--LEVITICUS XIX. 15.

"The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands."--PSALM XIX. 16.

He who was an industrious apprentice is now an alderman and a magistrate; his depraved and atrocious contrast, who was once his fellow-'prentice, and the last plate exhibited in a night-cellar, is now brought handcuffed before him, and accused of robbery, aggravated by murder. Shocked at seeing the companion of his youth in so degraded a situation, he instinctively covers his eyes. Agitated, trembling, terrified, self-convicted, and torn by remorse, the wretched culprit is unable to support his tottering frame. Did he not lean upon the bar, he would sink to the earth.

His distressed and heart-broken mother intercedes with the swollen and important constable to use his interest for her unhappy son. This application the mighty magistrate of the night answers by--"We that are in power must do justice!" A number of watchmen attend the examination, and one of them holds up the sword and pistols which were found on the prisoner. A young woman[165] bribes the swearing clerk to befriend the one-eyed wretch who has turned evidence against his accomplice, by suffering him to take the usual oath with his left hand laid upon the book, instead of his right.[166]

This debased villain was first introduced to us gambling on a grave-stone; his second appearance was in a night-cellar, where he divided the evening's plunder with the man he now deliberately betrays!

The alderman's clerk is making out a warrant of commitment directed to the turnkey of Newgate.

PLATE XI.

THE IDLE 'PRENTICE EXECUTED AT TYBURN.

"When fear cometh as desolation, and their destruction cometh as
a whirlwind: when distress cometh upon them, then they shall call
upon God, but He will not answer."--PROVERBS I. 27, 28.

After a life of sloth, wretchedness, and vice, the career of our degraded character terminates at Tyburn. His pale and ghastly look denotes the remorse and horror of his mind; and it must embitter his last moments to hear a Grub Street orator proclaim his dying speech. The ordinary of Newgate leads the procession, but the criminal's spiritual concerns are left to an enthusiastic follower of John Wesley, who zealously exhorts him to repentance.[167] On the right side of the print we see his afflicted mother: her coming to view this dreadful spectacle does not seem consonant to strict propriety, but there have been similar examples. In a cart above her is a curious trio of females; an old beldam, who might have been Sam. Foote's model for Mother Cole, breathing out a pious ejaculation, and swallowing a bumper of spirits at the same moment; a young woman taking a glass from beneath, and a third dissuading a fellow from ascending the vehicle. While a vendor of gingerbread[168] expatiates on the excellence of his delicious cakes, a minor pickpocket purloins his handkerchief. A female grimalkin, enraged at a man oversetting her orange-barrow, is literally tearing his eyes out. To show the reverence which an English mob have for anything that bears the appearance of religion, and the effects which this exhibition has upon their minds, an inmate of St. Giles' seizes a dog by the tail, and is on the point of throwing it at the Methodist parson. A female pugilist, near the centre of the print, is so earnest in punishing a fellow who has offended her, that she neglects her child, which, lying on the ground, is probably destined to be crushed to death. A tall butcher has suspended an old legal periwig on the end of his cudgel: in this, the artist might intend to display an emblem of the sanguinary complexion which marks our courts of justice.[169] The porter, with his pipe; a cripple; the soldier sunk knee-deep in a bog, and two boys laughing at him, are well imagined. Among the figures in the background, we must not overlook a gentleman emphatically called the "Finisher of the law," who sedately smokes his best Virginia upon the gallows.

A carrier pigeon is despatched at the time the criminal arrives at Tyburn.[170] Two initials on the coffin, not having been reversed from the original drawing, are wrong in the print; I. T. instead of T. I.

In the background we have a view of Highgate and Hampstead hills.

The arch look of a young pickpocket, the savage ferocity of a woman tearing a fellow's face, and the yell of another crying the dying speech, are admirably expressed. Many of the smaller figures are full fraught with character; for the grouping, let us hear Mr. Gilpin, with whom I entirely agree:--

"We seldom see a crowd more beautifully managed than in this print. If the sheriff's officers had not been placed in a line, and had been brought a little lower in the picture, so as to have formed a pyramid with the cart, the composition had been unexceptionable."--_Gilpin's Essay._

Two skeletons hanging on the outside of the frame are emblematical; the body of a murderer being usually consigned to Surgeon's Hall.[171]

The trophies, composed of fetters, whips, and halters, with the swords, maces, gold chains, etc., with which the framework of the preceding prints are decorated, must be admitted to be beneath the dignity of historical painting; but considered as addressed to young persons, and exhibiting a view of the different consequences of industry and sloth, are strictly proper.

PLATE XII.

THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON.

"Length of days is in her right hand, and in her left hand riches
and honour."--PROVERBS III. 16.

In the last print we saw a crowd witnessing the ignominious death of a murderer; in this are a cheerful assembly joining the procession of a chief magistrate; some reeling, some roaring, and all rejoicing.[172]

The scene is laid at the east side of St. Paul's Church, just turning into Cheapside; and in particular honour of this day, the artist has introduced the late Prince and Princess of Wales at a balcony, in view of the pageant. A group on the scaffolding beneath is formed of the most comic characters. Who can abstain from laughter at the city militia, which are below? They were at that time composed of undisciplined men, of all ages and descriptions; young, old, tall, short, crooked, straight, fat, and lean, made up the motley band.

The man in a grenadier's cap, with a pot of porter in his left hand, might perform the part of Sir Tunbelly Clumsy.[173] A neighbouring gentleman, in a cut wig, is scarcely able to support his firelock. The fellow firing off his musket exclaims, "Who's afraid?" The next may be a very great man, though nature has treated his exterior, as she did that of our third Richard, rather unkindly, by placing an envious mountain on his back. The hero in a bag-wig, resting upon his arms, is made from a splinter of the monument; "his dimensions to any thick sight are invisible." Far different is the strong-built man of war at his left hand: by his _back front_ he seems to have grown out at the sides; what nature denied in height, she has abundantly made up in breadth. His long sword is so placed as to give the idea of a bluebottle impaled on a pin. A plank, supported by a tub and stool, having given way, two of the fair sex fall to the ground. The most obtrusive figure in his lordship's coach is Mr. Swordbearer, in a cap like a reversed saucepan, which this great officer wears on these grand occasions. The company of journeymen butchers, with their marrow-bones and cleavers, appear to be the most active, and are infinitely the most noisy of any who grace this solemnity.

Near the left corner, a blind man, conscious that he has but a poor chance in a crowd, endeavours to preserve his hat and wig from the depredating multitude. The Bunhill Fields trooper, who leans against a post, with one of his bandeliers in his left hand, has made a little mistake. A young man in the booth above, not having the fear of dignity before his eyes, is eagerly kissing a girl: the lady, irritated at this indecorum, seems likely to leave marks of her talons upon his forehead. At the opposite corner, a vendor of the Grub Street classics proclaims "a full, true, and particular account of the ghost of Thomas Idle, which appeared to the Lord Mayor."

Numberless spectators, upon every house, and at every window, dart their desiring eyes on the procession. Of the figures on a tapestry, hanging from a balcony[174] at the King's Head, I cannot discover the meaning. Two flags beneath are blazoned with the arms of the Stationers' Company; and that in a stand which exhibits the ardent salutation before mentioned, belongs to the pinners and needlers. The _cornucopiæ_ on the outside of the frame are symbolical of that abundance which fills the hands of the diligent.

Many of the characters in this and the foregoing print bear a strong resemblance to some which Mr. Hogarth etched about twenty years before for Butler's _Hudibras_.

The following year was published a pamphlet, entitled, "_The Effects of Industry and Idleness_, illustrated in the life, adventures, and various fortunes of two fellow-'prentices of the city of London: showing the different paths, as well as rewards, of virtue and vice," etc. Printed for C. Corbet, at Addison's Head, Fleet Street.

In the chamber of London where the apprentices are bound, these twelve prints very properly ornament the room.

The late Mr. James Love, comedian (otherwise Dance), dramatized this eventful history, and Mr. King performed the good apprentice.

ROAST BEEF AT THE GATE OF CALAIS.

"O the roast beef of Old England," etc.

The thought on which this whimsical and highly characteristic print is founded, originated in Calais, to which place Mr. Hogarth, accompanied by some of his friends, made an excursion in the year 1747.

Extreme partiality for his native country was the leading trait of his character; he seems to have begun his three hours' voyage with a firm determination to be displeased at everything he saw out of Old England. For a meagre powdered figure, hung with tatters, _à-la-mode de Paris_, to affect the airs of a coxcomb and the importance of a sovereign, is ridiculous enough; but if it makes a man happy, why should he be laughed at? It must blunt the edge of ridicule to see natural hilarity defy depression; and a whole nation laugh, sing, and dance under burdens that would nearly break the firm-knit sinews of a Briton. Such was the picture of France at that period, but it was a picture which our English satirist could not contemplate with common patience. The swarms of grotesque figures who paraded the streets excited his indignation, and drew forth a torrent of coarse abusive ridicule not much to the honour of his liberality. He compared them to Callot's Beggars, Lazarus on the painted cloth, the Prodigal Son, or any other object descriptive of extreme contempt. Against giving way to these effusions of national spleen in the open street he was frequently cautioned, but advice had no effect; he treated admonition with scorn, and considered his monitor unworthy the name of Englishman. These satirical ebullitions were at length checked. Ignorant of the customs of France, and considering the gate of Calais merely as a piece of ancient architecture, he began to make a sketch. This was soon observed; he was seized as a spy, who intended to draw a plan of the fortification, and escorted by a file of musqueteers to M. la Commandant. His sketch-book was examined leaf by leaf, and found to contain drawings that had not the most distant relation to tactics. Notwithstanding this favourable circumstance, the Governor with great politeness assured him, that had not a treaty between the nations been actually signed, he should have been "under the disagreeable necessity of hanging him upon the ramparts:" as it was, he must be permitted the privilege of providing him a few military attendants, who should do themselves the honour of waiting upon him while he resided in the dominions of the Grande Monarque. Two sentinels were then ordered to escort him to his hotel, from whence they conducted him to the vessel; nor did they quit their prisoner until he was a league from shore, when, seizing him by the shoulders, and spinning him round upon the deck, they said he was now at liberty to pursue his voyage without further molestation.

So mortifying an adventure he did not like to hear recited, but has in this print recorded the circumstance which led to it. In one corner he has given a portrait of himself, making the drawing; and to show the moment of arrest, the hand of a serjeant is upon his shoulder.

Mr. Hogarth's friend Forest soon afterwards wrote the following cantata, which contains so whimsical a description of the principal figures, that I make no apology for inserting it:--

THE ROAST BEEF AT THE GATE OF CALAIS.

RECITATIVE.

'Twas at the gate of Calais, Hogarth tells,
Where sad despair and famine always dwells;
A meagre Frenchman, Madame Grandsire's cook,
As home he steer'd, his carcase that way took,
Bending beneath the weight of fam'd sirloin,
On whom he often wished in vain to dine;
Good Father Dominick by chance came by,
With rosy gills, round paunch, and greedy eye;
And when he first beheld the greasy load,
His benediction on it he bestow'd;
And while the solid fat his fingers press'd,
He lick'd his chops, and thus the knight address'd:

AIR.

O rare roast beef, lov'd by all mankind,
Was I but doom'd to have thee,
Well dress'd, and garnish'd to my mind,
And swimming in thy gravy;
Not all thy country's force combined,
Should from my fury save thee!

Renown'd sirloin! ofttimes decreed
The theme of English ballad,
E'en kings on thee have deign'd to feed,
Unknown to Frenchman's palate;
Then how much must thy taste exceed
Soup-meagre, frogs, and salad!

RECITATIVE.

A half-starv'd soldier, shirtless, pale, and lean,
Who such a sight before had never seen,
Like Garrick's frighted Hamlet gaping stood,
And gaz'd with wonder at the British food;
His morning mess forsook the friendly bowl,
And in small streams along the pavement stole;
He heav'd a sigh, which gave his heart relief,
And thus in plaintive tones declar'd his grief:

AIR.

Ah, _sacre Dieu_! vat do I see yonder,
Dat look so tempting red and vite?
Begar, it is the roast beef from Londre!
O grant to me one letel bite.

But to my guts if you give no heeding,
And cruel fate this boon denies,
In kind compassion to my pleading,
Return, and let me feast mine eyes.

RECITATIVE.

His fellow guard, of right Hibernian clay,
Whose brazen front his country did betray,
From Tyburn's fatal tree had hither fled,
By honest means to get his daily bread:
Soon as the well-known prospect he espy'd,
In blubb'ring accents dolefully he cried:

AIR.

Sweet beef that now causes my stomach to rise,
Sweet beef that now causes my stomach to rise,
So taking thy sight is,
My joy, that so light is,
To view thee, by pailfuls runs out of my eyes.

While here I remain my life's not worth a farthing,
While here I remain my life's not worth a farthing,
Ah! hard-hearted _Lewy_,
Why did I come to ye?
The gallows, more kind, would have saved me from starving.

RECITATIVE.

Upon the ground hard by poor Sawney sate,
Who fed his nose and scratched his ruddy pate;
But when old England's bulwark he descried,
His dear lov'd mull, alas! was thrown aside.
With lift'd hands he blest his native place,
Then scrubb'd himself, and thus bewailed his case:

AIR.

How hard, O Sawney, is thy lot,
Who was so blithe of late,
To see such meat as can't be got,
When hunger is so great.

O the beef, the bonny bonny beef,
When roasted nice and brown,
I wish I had a slice of thee,
How sweet it would gang down!

Ah, Charley! had'st thou not been seen,
This ne'er had hapt to me;
I would the de'il had pick'd mine e'en
Ere I had gang'd with thee.
O the beef, etc.

RECITATIVE.

But see my muse to England takes her flight,
Where health and plenty cheerfully unite;
Where smiling Freedom guards great George's throne
(And chains, and racks, and tortures are not known),
Whose fame superior bards have often wrote,
An ancient fable give me leave to quote:

AIR.

As once on a time a young frog pert and vain,
Beheld a large ox grazing over the plain,
He boasted his size he could quickly attain.
O the roast beef of Old England,
And O the Old English roast beef!

Then eagerly stretching his weak little frame,
Mamma, who stood by like a knowing old dame,
Cried, 'Son, to attempt it you're greatly to blame.'
O the roast beef, etc.

But deaf to advice, he for glory did thirst,
An effort he ventur'd more strong than the first,
'Till swelling and straining too hard, made him burst.
O the roast beef, etc.

Then, Britons, be valiant, the moral is clear,
The ox is Old England, the frog is Monsieur,
Whose puffs and bravadoes we never need fear.
O the roast beef, etc.

For while by our commerce and arts we are able
To see the sirloin smoking hot on our table,
The French may e'en croak, like the frog in the fable.
O the roast beef, etc.

The French sentinel is so situated as to give some idea of a figure hanging in chains: his ragged shirt is trimmed with a pair of paper ruffles, on which is written "Grand Monarch. P." The old woman, and a fish which she is pointing at, have a striking resemblance. The abundance of parsnips and other vegetables indicate what are the leading articles in a Lenten feast.

Mr. Pine the painter sat for the friar, and from thence acquired the title of Father Pine. This distinction did not flatter him, and he frequently requested that the countenance might be altered, but the artist peremptorily refused.

Part of the print was engraved by C. Mosley, but the heads are evidently by Hogarth.[175]

A copy has been repeatedly engraven as an head-piece to the cantata before mentioned: the profile of the artist was traced for a watch-paper; and a wooden representation of the starved soldier has frequently decorated advertisements for recruits, where it is opposed to the figure of a well-fed gourmand, characteristically christened a valiant British soldier.

The original picture is in the possession of Lord Charlemont.

Soon after this painting was finished, a nail was by some accident run through the cross at the top of the gate. Hogarth strove in vain to repair the blemish with paint of the same colour; he therefore introduced a half-starved crow looking down on the beef, and thus completely covered the defect.

THE COUNTRY INN YARD, OR THE STAGE-COACH.

"The poet's adage, 'All the world's a stage,'
Has stood the test of each revolving age;
Another simile perhaps will bear,
'Tis a _Stage-coach_, where all must pay the fare;
Where each his entrance and his exit makes,
And o'er life's rugged road his journey takes.
Some unprotected must their tour perform,
'And bide the pelting of the pitiless storm:'
While others, free from elemental jars,
By fortune favour'd, and propitious stars,
Secure from storms, enjoy their little hour,
Despise the whirlwind, and defy the shower.
Such is our life,--in sunshine or in shade,
From evil shelter'd, or by woe assay'd:
Whether we sit, like Niobe, all tears,
Or calmly sink into the vale of years:
With houseless, naked Edgar, sleep on straw,
Or keep, like Cæsar, subject worlds in awe,--
To the same port our devious journeys tend,
Where airy hopes and sickening sorrows end;
Sunk every eye, and languid every breast,
Each wearied pilgrim sighs, and sinks to rest."--E.

Among the writers of English novels, Henry Fielding holds the first rank. He was the novelist of nature, and has described some scenes which bear a strong resemblance to that which is here delineated. The artist, like the author, has taken truth for his guide, and given such characters as are familiar to all our minds. The scene is a country inn yard, at the time passengers are getting into a stage-coach, and an election procession passing in the background. Nothing can be better described; we become of the party.--The vulgar roar of our landlady is no less apparent than the grave, insinuating, imposing countenance of mine host. Boniface solemnly protests that a bill he is presenting to an old gentleman in a laced hat is extremely moderate. This does not satisfy the paymaster, whose countenance shows that he considers it as a palpable fraud, though the Act against bribery, which he carries in his pocket, designates him to be of a profession not very liable to suffer imposition: they are in general "less sinned against than sinning." An ancient lady getting into the coach is, from her breadth, a very inconvenient companion in such a vehicle; but to atone for her rotundity, an old maid of a spare appearance, and in a most grotesque habit, is advancing towards the steps.

A portly gentleman, with a sword and cane in one hand, is deaf to the entreaties of a poor little deformed postilion, who solicits his customary fee. The old woman smoking her short pipe in the basket, pays very little attention to what is passing around her: cheered by the fumes of her tube, she lets the vanities of the world go their own way. Two passengers on the roof of the coach afford a good specimen of French and English manners. Ben Block, of the _Centurion_, surveys the subject of _La Grande Monarque_ with ineffable contempt.

In the window are a very curious pair: one of them blowing a French horn, and the other endeavouring, but without effect, to smoke away a little sickness, which he feels from the fumes of his last night's punch. Beneath them is a traveller taking a tender farewell of the chambermaid, who is not to be moved by the clangour of the great bar-bell, or the more thundering sound of her mistress's voice.

The background is crowded with a procession of active citizens; they have chaired a figure with a horn-book, a bib, and a rattle, intended to represent Child, Lord Castlemain, afterwards Lord Tylney, who, in a violent contest for the county of Essex, opposed Sir Robert Abdy and Mr. Bramston. The horn-book, bib, and rattle are evidently displayed as punningly allusive to his name.[176]

Under the sign of an angel, who seems dancing a minuet on a cloud, is inscribed, "The Old Angle In Toms Bates from London."

Some pains have been taken to discover in what part of Essex this scene is laid; but from the many alterations made by rebuilding, removal, etc., it has not been positively ascertained, though it is probably Chelmsford.

END OF VOL. I.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Two of the prints must be excepted: "Time smoking a Picture," and "The Bathos," are addressed to the connoisseurs.

[2] Mr. Walker, who has so eminently distinguished himself by his lectures on natural philosophy, has described the effect resulting from one of this rude bard's productions:--

"_To Mr. Nichols._

"I must leave you to the annals of fame for the rest of the
anecdotes of this great genius, and shall endeavour to show
you that his family possessed similar talents; but they were
destined, like the wild rose,

'To waste their sweetness in the desert air.'