CATALOGUE OF HOGARTH'S PRINTS.[1] (continued 5)

Mr. St. André's apologist observes, that "he cannot be reckoned to have been ignorant of any thing." But the contrary may justly be suspected, and for no inconclusive reason. I aver, that on whatever subject he was haranguing, the moment he discovered any of the company present understood it as well as himself, he became silent, never choosing to descant on art or science but before people whom he supposed to be utter strangers to all their principles. For this reason, he would have entertained Sir Joshua Reynolds with remarks on the genera and cultivation of plants, and talked to Linnæus about the outline and colouring of pictures.

That he died poor (for such was really the case), should excite no astonishment. His fortune, like his good qualities, was chiefly in supposition. Much of his wealth he had expended on buildings, which he never long inhabited, and afterwards sold to disadvantage. His first essays in architecture were made at Chepstow on the Severn, an estate purchased by Lady Betty Molyneux immediately after the death of her husband. In short, our hero was a fugitive inhabitant of several counties, and never settled till he reached Southampton; for in no other place did he meet with that proportion of flattery which was needful to his happiness, if not to his existence.—About a mile from hence he erected the whimsical baby-house dignified by him with the title of Belle-Vue, a receptacle every way inconvenient for the purposes of a family. Being once asked if this was not a very singular mansion,—"Singular!" (replied he) "by G—I hope it is, or I would pull it down immediately. I would have you to know, Sir, that it is constructed on the true principles of anatomy." The attempt to apply anatomical principles to the arrangement of passages, doors, and windows, is too glaring an absurdity to need animadversion, or to render it necessary for me to deny in form, that he could ever be "admired for his knowledge in architecture," except by such as knew not wherein its excellencies consisted.—He had, however, another dwelling within the walls of the town already mentioned. Here he pretended that his upper apartments were crowded with rarities, which he only wanted space to exhibit. But, alas! after his decease, Mr. Christie's auction-room bore abundant witness to the frivolity of his collections. What became of his boasted library of books, which he always said was packed up in boxes, I am yet to learn. Perhaps it existed only in his description.[5]

"Those who found out he loved praise (says his apologist) took care he should have enough of it." I discover little cause for disputing this assertion, and shall only observe on it, that adulation is a commodity which weak old men, reputed rich, and without ostensible heirs, are seldom in danger of wanting, though they may not enjoy so much of it as fell to St. André's share.

His disbursements to the poor might be proportioned to the real state of his fortune; but yet they were conducted with excess of ostentation. He may be said to have given shillings away with more parade than many other men would have shown in the distribution of as many guineas.—What honour his apologist means to confer on him by saying that "the names of those whom he maintained might be written alphabetically," is to me a secret, because names of every kind may be arranged according to the series of the letters.—Suspected characters, however, often strive to redeem themselves by affectation of liberality. Few are more generous than opulent wantons toward their decline of life, who thus attempt to recover that respect which they are conscious of having forfeited by the misdeeds of their youth. The benefactions of such people may in truth be considered as expiatory sacrifices for past offences, having no foundation in a natural propensity to relieve the indigent, or indulge the heart in the noblest luxury, that of doing good.

St. André was accused in J. N.'s pamphlet of having frequently larded his pleasantry with obscene expressions. This is a truth which his defender makes not the slightest effort to deny; but adds, that his conversation was hardly ever tinctured with prophaneness. We hence at least may infer that our hero's humour had sometimes this imperfection, which indeed might have escaped notice, but for the zeal of his apologist.—As I am on this subject, I cannot forbear to mention a particular in Mr. St. André's behaviour, which hitherto has been overlooked. When at any time he received a reproof from women of sense, fashion, and character, whose ears he had insulted with his ribaldry, his confidence in a moment forsook him, nor had he a word to offer in extenuation of his offence. My informant has more than once beheld, with secret satisfaction, how effectually the frown of steady virtue could awe this "mighty impudent" into silence. Notwithstanding what has been already said concerning that indifference to censure which appeared in him towards the end of his life, I am mis-informed, if at an earlier period he was able to brave the ridicule of the place where he had been once employed and caressed. When the imputations consequent on his marriage, &c. had rendered him still less an object of respect, he retired with his bride, and amused himself at a distance from London with additions to his house, and improvements in his garden; nor did he appear in public again till what was known and suspected of him had ceased to be the object of general enquiry and animadversion.

It is difficult for a profligate man of an amorous constitution to grow old with decency. J. N.'s pamphlet had taxed St. André with lasciviousness unbecoming his years. This is silently admitted by his apologist, who adds, that the intrigues of his hero were "sometimes with the lower part of the sex." He gives us reason also to suppose that our antiquated enamorato was a dupe to females in the very last stage of a life so unusually protracted. Is St. André's memory much honoured by such revelations? Do not circumstances like these increase that stock of "injurious insinuations" which our apologist professes to diminish?

Our panegyrist, more than once in the course of his letter, has expressed himself in favourable terms of St. André's colloquial talents. Now, as the memory of my entertaining opponent in respect to circumstances is remarkably tenacious, 'tis pity he has preserved no splendid ebullition of his hero's wit, no sample of that satire and irony that seasoned his conversation, or of that wisdom which so often rendered it instructive. I flatter myself, that if any specimens of these distinct excellencies could have been recollected, they would certainly have been arranged and recorded.

That St. André expired without signs of terror, is but a doubtful proof of his innocence. Being, at best, a free-thinker, he might regard death as annihilation, might have been insensible to its immediate approaches, or have encountered it with a constitutional firmness that was rather the gift of nature than the result of conscience undisturbed. He who is become indifferent to the value of reputation, will not easily be inclined to suppose that a want of the virtues on which it is founded will be punished in a future state.

The whole narrative, published by St. André in 1723, was considered by his contemporaries as an ostentatious falsehood, invented only to render him an object of attention and commiseration. It should be remembered, that his depositions were all delivered on oath; and yet, being replete with facts totally improbable (for his apologist allows "they partake of the marvellous"), obtained no credit from the world; a sufficient proof of the estimation in which his moral character was held by the people who were best acquainted with it, though at that period (for the rabbit affair had not yet decided on his reputation) he possessed sufficient interest as court-surgeon to engage the privy-council in his cause. They readily enough consented to offer a sum which they might have been sure would never be demanded. All the poison he was ever supposed to have suffered from, was such as is commonly administered in a more tempting vehicle than a glass of strong liquor:

"'Twas that which taints the sweetest joys, And in the shape of Love destroys."

The bare mention of Socrates in company with such a pretended victim as St. André, cannot fail to make the reader smile.

But "He's half absolv'd who has confess'd," continues his advocate, speaking of the recantation St. André made by public advertisement. Yet, what did he confess? Why, what all the world concurred to believe, that he had been grossly imposed on; or perhaps that, out of two evils choosing the least, he allowed himself to be a fool, that he might escape the imputation of having proved a knave. His absolution therefore was not obtained on the most creditable terms. He adds, however, on this emergency, a fresh proof of his disposition to deceive. "I think myself obliged (says he) in strict regard to truth, to acquaint the public that I intend, in a short time, to publish a full account of the discovery, with some considerations on the extraordinary circumstances of this case, which misled me in my apprehensions thereof; and which, as I hope they will, in some measure, excuse the mistakes made by myself and others who have visited the woman concerned therein, will also be acceptable to the world, in separating the innocent from those who have been guilty actors in the fraud." This work was never published, though St. André survived his promise by the long term of fifty years. So much for the faith thus solemnly pledged by an impostor to the public.

After the accident had befallen Mr. Pope, on his return from Dawley in Lord Bolingbroke's coach, St. André was called in, because he happened to be the surgeon nearest at hand. No man chooses to be scrupulous in the moment of danger. It might be urged that our hero had little to boast on the occasion, because his patient never recovered the use of his wounded fingers. But this calamity is not strictly chargeable on St. André's want of skill; for I have been assured, that though he stopped the effusion of blood, the completion of the cure was entrusted solely to another artist. The RABBITEER, having received his fee, was not admitted a second time into the Poet's company.

To conclude, I differ as much with our ingenious apologist at the close of his Epistle as throughout the foregoing parts of it, being of opinion that his hero no more deserves to be admired than to be copied. There is always hazard lest wonder should generate imitation; and the world would not be much obliged to any circumstance that produced a second being fabricated on the model of St. André.

N° II.

[See p. 137.]

The kindness of a friend has enabled me to lay before the reader some extracts from the scarce pamphlet mentioned in p. 137. The following is the exact title of it: "A Letter from a Parishioner of St. Clement Danes, to the Right Reverend Father in God Edmund, Lord Bishop of London, occasioned by his Lordship's causing the Picture over the Altar to be taken down. With some Observations on the Use and Abuse of Church Paintings in General, and of that Picture in particular.

"Exodus, Chap. xxxii. Ver. 20. And he took the Calf which they had made, and burnt it in the Fire, and ground it to powder, and strawed it upon the Water, and made the Children of Israel drink of it.

"London, printed and sold by J. Roberts, in Warwick-Lane; A. Dod, without Temple-Bar-, and E. Nut, at the Royal-Exchange. 1725. Price 6d."

After some introductory compliments to Bishop Gibson, the Letter-writer thus proceeds: "Of all the abuses your Lordship has redressed, none more timely, none more acceptable to all true Protestants, than your last injunction to remove that ridiculous, superstitious piece of Popish foppery from over our communion-table; this has gained you the applause and good will of all honest men, who were scandalized to see that holy place defiled with so vile and impertinent a representation.

"To what end or purpose was it put there, but to affront our most gracious Sovereign, by placing at our very altar the known resemblance of a person, who is the wife of his utter enemy, and pensioner to the Whore of Babylon?

"When I say the known resemblance, I speak not only according to my own knowledge; but appeal to all mankind who have seen the Princess Sobieski, or any picture or resemblance of her, if the picture of that angel in the white garment and blue mantle, which is there supposed to be beating time to the musick, is not directly a great likeness of that princess. This I insist on, and will stand and fall by my assertion, provided they do not play any tricks with the picture, or alter it for contradiction sake now it is down.

"Whether it was done by chance, or on purpose, I shall not determine; but be it which it will, it has given great offence, and your Lordship has acted the part of a wise and good prelate to order its removal.

"For surely, such a picture is far unfit for so sacred a place; a place too solemn for such levities, too awful to be made the receptacle of such trumpery: nay, admit it were not the resemblance of such a person, can any thing be more absurd, than such a picture in such a place!

"But if it be the picture of that person, what can be more sacrilegious, more impudently sacrilegious, than to have our sanctuary defiled by those who make a mock of us and our holy religion? I mean, our inveterate enemies the Papists, who would scruple to prophane no place, so they might show their implacable hatred to our God, and our King.

"To our God, by making his holy altar the scene of their ribaldry, to be approached with wantonness and curiosity, by the sons of Belial, who come there to decypher the dumb libel, and sneer at the pictured lampoon, which tacitly mocks the church, and openly affronts the State.

"To our King, by placing the resemblance of an avowed enemy to him and his religion, at the very altar, to stand in view of a whole congregation; a thing, in my opinion, much more audacious, than the setting up her statue in the public streets.

"No wonder our church has been thronged with spectators, to the great hindrance of divine worship, and annoyance of the parishioners, when those crouds of irreverend persons, which were ever pouring in, came not there to join in prayer with the rest of the congregation, but to worship their Popish saint, and hug themselves with the conceit of being alone in the secret.

"But at last the watch-word was blown, and the true intent of their coming discovered. Then was it high time to complain to your Lordship, when disturbances became so frequent, and the peace of the church was so manifestly broken: that you, like another Moses, commanded the tinctured abomination to be taken down, and no doubt but your Lordship will call them to account who set it up.

"When your Lordship shall examine, who is the painter, and of what principle? how long he had been from the Court of Rome, before he painted that picture? and whether he brought no picture, or resemblance, of the Princess Sobieski over with him? you will not repent of what you have done. But when you shall farther enquire after the person who employed him; whether he be a Protestant? or, if he call himself so, whether his children were not sent abroad to Popish seminaries for education?

"When your Lordship, I say, shall examine into these particulars, I doubt not of the inferences so wise a man will draw from such convincing circumstances.

"And as your Lordship has begun to redress one abuse, I persuade myself you will not stop here, but enquire likewise, by what authority it was put there. This may, perhaps, open another scene to your Lordship's view, and give you an opportunity, not only to ease the parish of a very heavy burden it now groans under, but prevent its being run to unnecessary and unwarranted expences for the future, by every Jac——- in an office.

"And, indeed, unless there was a sufficient warrant for such alterations, the workmen should go to the right person's door, and he that set them to work ought to pay them; for, in my humble opinion, the place needed no alteration: it was decent, convenient, and indeed ornamental enough before; there was no more sign, or fear of its falling, than there was occasion to take it down, and deprive the parish of a conveniency now very much wanted, I mean a little vestry-room, which was behind the old communion table, where the books, vessels, and vestments of the church, were ready at hand, and just at the very altar; whereas now every thing is brought quite through the body of the church, which in case of a croud (as of late has been but too frequent) is both tedious and inconvenient to the last degree.

"But, notwithstanding this, it was resolutely taken down, to gratify the pride and malice of some persons, who thirsted to eternize their names, and affront the government. What have been the consequences of all this, but an eye-sore and heart-burning to the honest and loyal part of the inhabitants, and a continual hurly-burly of loiterers from all parts of the town, to see our Popish raree-show?"

After a digression on the famous altar at White-Chapel, in which Dean Kennet was said to be satirized, and some general observations on pictures in churches, the Letter-writer adds, "Never before was any Popish saint put over the communion-table in a Protestant church. The Last Supper, the Passion, Crucifixion, or some other incidents of our Blessed Saviour's life, are the general subjects given to painters on these occasions; but to have a concert of musick, &c. (suppose it were not the Pretender's spouse, and probably some more of his family, under the form of angels) is the most abrupt and foreign that I ever saw or heard of.

"What surprizes me most is, that any of my fellow parishioners should not only dispute your Lordship's commands, delay the execution of your just injunction, when it was most reasonable and necessary, but pester your Lordship with impertinent petitions and remonstrances, as if they were injured and oppressed, or your Lordship misinformed. This must be the reason; or to what purpose did they trifle with and contest your Lordship's ordinance? But you are too just a man to give any sentence but the most impartial, and too steady to give up any point, where the peace of the Church and the honour of the King is concerned.

"Whoever murmurs at its being taken down, takes the part of those who set it up; and whoever takes their part, is as bad as themselves, and would do the like on the like opportunity. What can they object against its being removed? What can they offer for having it remain? But why's, and why not's. As, Why should it be removed? What hurt did it do? Why should so much money be thrown away? And, why might not that picture be there as well as any other? Why does your Lordship interfere in the matter? This, with a glance of complaint at your Lordship, and severe invectives against those who solicited that interposition, calling them informers, busy, forward, mischief-making fellows, who had better mind their own business, and such like ribaldry, is all they can say for themselves. But these are the worst reasons in the world, and invidious queries only to evade an argument, and are not to be admitted in a debate of this nature, where a direct reason for, or against, is required. But give me leave, my Lord, and I will, in a few words, answer all their queries, which seem so weighty and formidable to the vulgar and ignorant.

"Why should it be removed? may be answered by another question, What business had it there? But as I scorn such quibbling ways of reasoning, I shall answer them, because it is unfit for that sacred place. If it is the Princess Sobieski's image, it is sacrilegious and traiterous, and therefore ought to be removed. If it is, as they say, a choir of heavenly angels at a practice of musick, playing on earthly instruments, it is impertinent and absurd to the last degree, and therefore ought to be removed from a place where the utmost decorum should be kept.

"What hurt does it, say they? To which I answer, it hurted or disturbed the peace of the church, and was so far hurtful, as we were hindered or annoyed in our devotions; it made a division in the parish, and was so far hurtful, as it tended to the breach of peace and good neighbourhood; and therefore I think it ought to be removed, since, not to answer them with a question, but a common saying, it did hurt enough.

"Why should so much money be thrown away? Ay, there's the grievance; but I shall tell them, they may thank themselves, it was the act and deed of their own cabal; and though they might triumph and laugh in their sleeves for a while, yet murder will out, and they might expect to be paid in their own coin one time or other. There was no occasion to remove the old communion-table and vestry; and therefore all the money is thrown away; the worse their management. Nor was there any necessity of so sumptuous an altar-piece, or of that picture in particular, therefore so much money as that picture cost, which, by the bye, is no trifling sum[1] (the painter, as well as his masters, being no small fool), is entirely thrown away, and has been cast into The Thames; or, as the vulgar have it, thrown down the kennel.

"It was set up against the will of the major part of the parish, and not without much murmur and complaint; there was yet a much greater majority for pulling it down; if therefore so much money is thrown away, it is pity the parish should pay it; and, no doubt, when your Lordship comes to enquire by what authority a set of men ran the parish so much in debt for their own whims, and without any manner of occasion, you will do us justice, and teach such persons for the future to consult the bishop, and have the general consent of the parish, before they run into such extravagancies.

"The tradesmen want their money, and the parish cannot pay them: your Lordship therefore will do very well to adjust this matter, that they may know where to go for their money.

"Their delaying to take down their idol, was a tacit disputing your lordship's commands, irreligious and contumacious to the last degree: and indeed I cannot say but some of the public prints[2] gave me great anxiety, when they had the impudence to assure the world it was not to be taken down: but that anxiety was of short continuance; for I had the satisfaction the next morning to find it removed, and whole crowds of idle persons who came to see it disappointed; then I found, to my great comfort, that you were not to be biassed; but, as you had begun the good work, you had gone through with it, and made them take it down with a witness."

N° III.

[See p. 414.]

An Account of what seemed most remarkable in the Five Days' Peregrination of the Five following Persons, viz. Messieurs Tothall, Scott, Hogarth, Thornhill, and Forrest; begun on Saturday, May 27, 1732, and finished on the 31st of the same Month. Imitated in Hudibrasticks by one well acquainted with some of the Travellers, and of the Places here celebrated, with Liberty of some Additions.

"Abi tu, et fac similiter." Inscription on Dulwich College Porch. 'Twas first of morn on Saturday, The seven-and-twentieth day of May, When Hogarth, Thornhill, Tothall, Scott, And Forrest, who this journal wrote, From Covent-Garden took departure, 5 To see the world by land and water. Our march we with a song begin; Our hearts were light, our breeches thin. We meet with nothing of adventure Till Billingsgate's Dark-house we enter; 10 Where we diverted were, while baiting, With ribaldry, not worth relating, (Quite suited to the dirty place): But what most pleas'd us was his Grace Of Puddle Dock, a porter grim, 15 Whose portrait Hogarth, in a whim, Presented him in caricature, He pasted on the cellar-door.[1] But hark! the Watchman cries "Past one!" 'Tis time that we on board were gone. 20 Clean straw we find laid for our bed, A tilt for shelter over head. The boat is soon got under sail, Wind near S. E. a mackrel gale, Attended by a heavy rain; 25 We try to sleep, but try in vain, So sing a song, and then begin To feast on biscuit, beef, and gin. At Purfleet find three men of war, The Dursley galley, Gibraltar, 30 And Tartar pink, and of this last The pilot begg'd of us a cast To Gravesend, which he greatly wanted, And readily by us was granted. The grateful man, to make amends, 35 Told how the officers and friends Of England were by Spaniards treated, And shameful instances repeated. While he these insults was deploring, Hogarth, like Premier, fell to snoring, 40 But waking cry'd, "I dream'd"—and then Fell fast asleep, and snor'd again. The morn clear'd up, and after five At port of Gravesend we arrive, But found it hard to get on shore; 45 His boat a young son of a whore Had fix'd just at our landing-place, And swore we should not o'er it pass; But, spite of all the rascal's tricks, We made a shift to land by six, 50 And up to Mrs. Bramble's go [A house that we shall better know], There get a barber for our wigs, Wash hands and faces, stretch our legs, Had toast and butter, and a pot 55 Of coffee (our third breakfast) got: Then, paying what we had to pay, For Rochester we took our way, Viewing the new church as we went, And th' unknown person's monument. 60 The beauteous prospects found us talk. And shorten'd much our two hours walk, Though by the way we did not fail To stop and take three pots of ale, And this enabled us by ten 65 At Rochester to drink again. Now, Muse, assist, while I declare (Like a true English traveller) What vast variety we survey In the short compass of one day. 70 We scarce had lost the sight of Thames, When the fair Medway's winding streams, And far-extending Rochester, Before our longing eyes appear: The Castle and Cathedral grace 75 One prospect, so we mend our pace; Impatient for a nearer view, But first must Strood's rough street trudge through, And this our feet no short one find; However, with a cheerful mind, 80 All difficulties we get o'er, And soon are on the Medway's shore. New objects here before us rise, And more than satisfy our eyes, The stately Bridge from side to side, 85 The roaring cataracts of the tide, Deafen our ears, and charm our sight, And terrify while they delight. These we pass over to the Town, And take our Quarters at The Crown, 90 To which the Castle is so near, That we all in a hurry were The grand remains on't to be viewing; It is indeed a noble ruin, Must have been very strong, but length 95 Of time has much impair'd its strength: The lofty Tower as high or higher Seems than the old Cathedral's spire; Yet we determin'd were to gain Its top, which cost some care and pain; 100 When there arriv'd, we found a well, The depth of which I cannot tell; Small holes cut in on every side Some hold for hands and feet provide, By which a little boy we saw 105 Go down, and bring up a jack-daw. All round about us then we gaze, Observing, not without amaze, How towns here undistinguish'd join, And one vast One to form combine. 110 Chatham with Rochester seems but one, Unless we're shewn the boundary-stone. That and its Yards contiguous lie To pleasant Brompton standing high; The Bridge across the raging flood 115 Which Rochester divides from Strood, Extensive Strood, on t'other side, To Frindsbury quite close ally'd: The country round, and river fair, Our prospects made beyond compare, 120 Which quite in raptures we admire; Then down to face of earth retire. Up the Street walking, first of all We take a view of the Town-Hall. Proceeding farther on, we spy 125 A house, design'd to catch the eye, With front so rich, by plastick skill, As made us for a while stand still: Four huge Hobgoblins grace the wall, Which we four Bas Relievo's call; 130 They the four Seasons represent, At least were form'd for that intent. Then Watts's Hospital we see (No common curiosity): Endow'd (as on the front appears) 135 In favour of poor travellers; Six such it every night receives, Supper and lodging gratis gives, And to each man next morn does pay A groat, to keep him on his way: 140 But the contagiously infected, And rogues and proctors, are rejected. It gave us too some entertainment To find out what this bounteous man meant. Yet were we not so highly feasted, 145 But that we back to dinner hasted. By twelve again we reach The Crown, But find our meat not yet laid down, So (spite of "Gentlemen, d'ye call?") On chairs quite fast asleep we fall, 150 And with clos'd eyes again survey, In dreams, what we have seen to-day: Till dinner's coming up, when we As ready are as that can be. If we describe it not, we're undone, 155 You'll scarce believe we came from London. With due attention then prepare Yourself to hear our bill of fare. For our first course a dish there was Of soles and flounders with crab-sauce, 160 A stuff'd and roast calf's-heart beside, With 'purt'nance minc'd, and liver fry'd; And for a second course, they put on Green pease and roasted leg of mutton: The cook was much commended for't; 165 Fresh was the beer, and sound the port: So that nem. con. we all agree (Whatever more we have to see) From table we'll not rise till three. Our shoes are clean'd, 'tis three o'clock, 170 Come let's away to Chatham-Dock; We shan't get there till almost four, To see't will take at least an hour; Yet Scott and Hogarth needs must stop At the Court-Hall to play Scotch hop. 175 To Chatham got, ourselves we treat With Shrimps, which as we walk we eat. For speed we take a round-a-bout- way, as we afterwards found out: At length reach the King's yards and docks, 180 Admire the ships there on the stocks, The men of war afloat we view, Find means to get aboard of two;[2] But here I must not be prolix, For we went home again at six, 185 There smoak'd our pipes, and drank our wine, And comfortably sat till nine, Then, with our travels much improv'd, To our respective beds we mov'd. Sunday at seven we rub our eyes, 190 But are too lazy yet to rise: Hogarth and Thornhill tell their dreams, And, reasoning deeply on those themes, After much learned speculation, Quite suitable to the occasion, 195 Left off as wise as they begun, Which made for us in bed good fun. But by and by, when up we got, Sam Scott was missing, "Where's Sam Scott?" "Oh! here he comes. Well! whence come you?" 200 "Why from the bridge, taking a view[3] Of something that did highly please me, But people passing by would teaze me With 'Do you work on Sundays, friend?' So that I could not make an end." 205 At this we laugh'd, for 'twas our will Like men of taste that day to kill. So after breakfast we thought good To cross the bridge again to Strood: Thence eastward we resolve to go, 210 And through the Hundred march of Hoo, Wash'd on the north side by the Thames, And on the south by Medway's streams. Which to each other here incline, Till at The Nore in one they join. 215 Before we Frindsbury could gain, There fell a heavy shower of rain, When crafty Scott a shelter found Under a hedge upon the ground, There of his friends a joke he made, 220 But rose most woefully bewray'd; How against him the laugh was turn'd, And he the vile disaster mourn'd! We work, all hands, to make him clean, And fitter to be smelt and seen. 225 But, while we scrap'd his back and side, All on a sudden, out he cried, "I've lost my cambrick handkercher, 'Twas lent me by my wife so dear: What I shall do I can't devise, 230 I've nothing left to wipe my eyes." At last the handkerchief was found, To his great comfort, safe and sound, He's now recover'd and alive; So in high spirits all arrive 235 At Frindsbury, fam'd for prospects fair, But we much more diverted were With what the parish church did grace, "A list of some who lov'd the place, In memory of their good actions, 240 And gratitude for their benefactions. Witness our hands—Will. Gibbons, Vicar—" And no one else.—This made us snicker: At length, with countenances serious, We all agreed it was mysterious, 245 Not guessing that the reason might Be, the Churchwardens could not write. At ten, in council it was mov'd, Whoe'er was tir'd, or disapprov'd Of our proceedings, might go back, 250 And cash to bear his charges take. With indignation this was heard: Each was for all events prepar'd. So all with one consent agreed To Upnor-Castle to proceed, 255 And at the sutler's there we din'd On such coarse fare as we could find. The Castle[4] was not large, but strong, And seems to be of standing long. Twenty-four men its garrison, 260 And just for every man a gun; Eight guns were mounted, eight men active, The rest were rated non-effective. Here an old couple, who had brought Some cockles in their boat, besought 265 That one of us would buy a few, For they were very fresh and new. I did so, and 'twas charity; He was quite blind, and half blind she. Now growing frolicksome and gay, 270 Like boys, we, after dinner, play, But, as the scene lay in a fort, Something like war must be our sport: Sticks, stones, and hogs-dung, were our weapons, And, as in such frays oft it happens, 275 Poor Tothall's cloaths here went to pot, So that he could not laugh at Scott. From hence all conquerors we go To visit the church-yard at Hoo. At Hoo we found an Epitaph, 280 Which made us (as 'twill make you) laugh: A servant maid, turn'd poetaster, Wrote it in honour of her master; I therefore give you (and I hope you Will like it well) a Vera Copia: 285 "And.wHen.he.Died.You plainly.see Hee.freely.gave.al.to.Sara.passaWee. And.in.Doing.so.it DoTh.prevail. that.Ion.him.can.well.bes.Tow.this Rayel. On.Year.sarved.him.it is well.none. 290 BuT Thanks.beto.God.it.is.all my.One." While here among the Graves we stumble, Our Hogarth's guts began to grumble, Which he to ease, turn'd up his tail Over a monumental rail; 295 Tothall, for this indecent action, Bellowing on him just correction With nettles, as there was no birch, He fled for refuge to the church, And shamefully the door besh-t; 300 O filthy dauber! filthy wit! Long at one place we must not stay, 'Tis almost four, let's haste away. But here's a sign; 'tis rash we think, To leave the place before we drink. 305 We meet with liquor to our mind, Our hostess complaisant and kind: She was a widow, who, we found, Had (as the phrase is) been shod round, That is, had buried husbands four, 310 And had no want of charms for more; Yet her we leave, and, as we go, Scott bravely undertook to show That through the world we could not pass, How thin soe'er our breeches was; 315 "'Tis true, indeed, we may go round, But through"—then pointed to the ground. So well he manag'd the debate, We own'd he was a man of weight: And so indeed he was this once, 320 His pockets we had fill'd with stones: But here we'd serv'd ourselves a trick, Of which he might have made us sick: We'd furnish'd him with ammunition Fit to knock down all opposition; 325 And, knowing well his warmth of temper, Out of his reach began to scamper, Till, growing cooler, he pretends His passion feign'd, so all are friends. Our danger now becomes a joke, 330 And peaceably we go to Stoke. About the church we nothing can see To strike or entertain our fancy: But near a farm, on an elm tree, A long pole fix'd upright we see, 335 And tow'rd the top of it was plac'd A weathercock, quite in high taste, Which all of us, ere we go further, Pronounce of the Composite order. First, on a board turn'd by the wind, 340 A painter had a cock design'd, A common weather-cock was above it, This turn'd too as the wind did move it; Then on the spindle's point so small A shuttlecock stuck o'ertopp'd them all. 345 This triple alliance gave occasion To much improving speculation. Alas! we ne'er know when we are well, So at Northfleet again must quarrel; But fought not here with sticks and stones 350 (For those, you know, might break our bones)! A well just by, full to the brim, Did fitter for our purpose seem; So furiously we went to dashing, Till our coats wanted no more washing; 355 But this our heat and courage cooling, 'Twas soon high time to leave such fooling. To The Nag's Head we therefore hie, To drink, and to be turn'd adry. At six, while supper was preparing, 360 And we about the marsh-lands staring, Our two game-cocks, Tothall and Scott, To battling once again were got: But here no weapons could they find, Save what the cows dropp'd from behind; 365 With these they pelted, till we fancy Their cloaths look'd something like a tansy. At seven we all come home again, Tothall and Scott their garments clean; Supper we get, and, when that's o'er, 370 A tiff of punch drink at the door; Then, as the beds were only three, Draw cuts who shall so lucky be As here to sleep without a chum; To Tothall's share the prize did come 375 Hogarth and Thornhill, Scott and I, In pairs, like man and wife, must lie. Then mighty frolicksome they grow, At Scott and me the stocking throw, Fight with their wigs, in which perhaps 380 They sleep, for here we found no caps. Up at eleven again we get, Our sheets were so confounded wet; We dress, and lie down in our cloaths; Monday, at three, awak'd and rose, 385 And of the cursed gnats complain, Yet make a shift to sleep again. Till six o'clock we quiet lay, And then got out for the whole day; To fetch a barber, out we send; 390 Stripp'd, and in boots, he does attend, For he's a fisherman by trade; Tann'd was his face, shock was his head; He flours our wigs, and trims our faces, And the top barber of the place is. 395 The cloth is for our breakfast spread; A bowl of milk and toasted bread Are brought, of which while Forrest eats. To draw our pictures Hogarth sits;[5] Thornhill is in the barber's hands, 400 Shaving himself Will Tothall stands; While Scott is in a corner sitting, And an unfinish'd piece completing. Our reckoning about eight we pay, And take for Isle of Greane our way; 405 To keep the road we were directed, But, as 'twas bad, this rule neglected; A tempting path over a stile Let us astray above a mile; Yet the right road at last we gain, 410 And joy to find ourselves at Greane; Where my Dame Husbands, at The Chequer, Refresh'd us with some good malt liquor; Into her larder then she runs, Brings out salt pork, butter and buns, 415 And coarse black bread; but that's no matter, 'Twill fortify us for the water. Here Scott so carefully laid down His penknife which had cost a crown, That all in vain we sought to find it, 420 And, for his comfort, say, "Ne'er mind it;" For to Sheerness we now must go: To this the ferryman says, "No." We to another man repair'd: He too says, "No—it blows too hard." 425 But, while we study how to get there In spite of this tempestuous weather, Our landlady a scheme propos'd, With which we fortunately clos'd, Was to the shore to go, and try 430 To hail the ships in ordinary, So we might get, for no great matter, A boat to take us o'er the water. We haste, and soon the shore we tread, With various kinds of shells bespread. 435 And in a little time we spy'd A boat approaching on our side; The man to take us in agreed, But that was difficult indeed, Till, holding in each hand an oar, 440 He made a sort of bridge to shore, O'er which on hands and knees we crawl,[6] And so get safe on board the yawl. In little time we seated were, And now to Shepey's coast draw near; 445 When suddenly, with loud report, The cannons roar from ships and fort, And, like tall fellows, we impute To our approach this grand salute: But soon, alas! our pride was humbled, 450 And from this fancy'd height we tumbled, On recollecting that the day The nine and twentieth was of May. The firing had not long been ended. Before at Sheerness we were landed, 455 Where on the battery while we walk, And of the charming prospect talk, Scott from us in a hurry runs, And, getting to the new-fir'd guns, Unto their touch-holes clapp'd his nose; 460 Hogarth sits down, and trims his toes; These whims when we had made our sport, Our turn we finish round the fort, And are at one for Queenborough going: Bleak was the walk, the wind fierce blowing, 465 And driving o'er our heads the spray; On loose beach stones, our pebbly way, But Thornhill only got a fall, Which hurt him little, if at all: So merrily along we go, 470 And reach that famous town by two. Queenborough consists of one short street,[7] Broad, and well-pav'd, and very neat; Nothing like dirt offends the eye, Scarce any people could we spy: 475 The town-house, for the better show, Is mounted on a portico Of piers and arches, number four, And crown'd at top with a clock-tower; But all this did not reach so high 480 As a flag-staff, that stood just by, On which a standard huge was flying (The borough's arms, the king's supplying), Which on high festivals they display To do the honours of the day. 485 As for salutes, excus'd they are, Because they have no cannon there. To the church-yard we first repair, And hunt for choice inscriptions there, Search stones and rails, till almost weary all, 490 In hopes to find something material. When one at last, of pyebald style (Though grave the subject) made us smile: Telling us first, in humble prose, "That Henry Knight doth here repose, 495 A Greenland Trader twice twelve year, As master and as harpooneer;" Then, in as humble verse, we read (As by himself in person said) "In Greenland I whales, sea-horse, and bears did slay, 500 Though now my body is intombed in clay." The house at which we were to quarter Is call'd The Swans; this rais'd our laughter. Because the sign is The Red Lion, So strange a blunder we cry "Fie on!" 505 But, going in, all neat we see And clean; so was our landlady: With great civility she told us, She had not beds enough to hold us, But a good neighbour had just by, 510 Where some of us perhaps might lie. She sends to ask. The merry dame Away to us directly came, Quite ready our desires to grant, And furnish us with what we want. 515 Back to the church again we go; Which is but small, ill built, and low, View'd the inside, but still see we Nothing of curiosity Unless we suffer the grave-digger 520 In this our work to make a figure, Whom just beside us now we have, Employ'd in opening of a grave. A prating spark indeed he was, Knew all the scandal of the place, 525 And often rested from his labours, To give the history of his neighbours; Told who was who, and what was what, Till on him we bestow'd a pot (For he forgot not, you may think, 530 "Masters, I hope, you'll make me drink!"), At this his scurrilous tongue run faster, Till "a sad dog" he call'd his master, Told us the worshipful the Mayor Was but a custom-house officer; 535 Still rattling on till we departed, Not only with his tales diverted, But so much wisdom we had got. We treated him with t'other pot. Return we now to the town-hall. 540 That, like the borough, is but small, Under its portico's a space, Which you may call the market-place, Just big enough to hold the stocks, And one, if not two, butcher's blocks, 545 Emblems of plenty and excess, Though you can no where meet with less: For though 'tis call'd a market-town (As they are not asham'd to own) Yet we saw neither butcher's meat, 550 Nor fish, nor fowl, nor aught to eat. Once in seven years, they say, there's plenty, When strangers come to represent ye. Hard at The Swans had been our fare, But that some Harwich men were there, 555 Who lately had some lobsters taken, With which, and eke some eggs and bacon, Our bellies we design to fill; But first will clamber up the hill, A most delightful spot of ground, 560 O'erlooking all the country round; On which there formerly has been The palace of Philippa, queen To the third Edward, as they tell, Now nought remains on 't but a well: 565 But 'tis from hence, says common fame, The borough gets its royal name. Two sailors at this well we meet, And do each other kindly greet: "What brings you here, my lads?" cry we. 570 "Thirst, please your honours, as you see; For (adds the spokesman) we are here Waiting for our young officer, A midshipman on board The Rose, (For General S——'s son he goes): 575 We and our messmates, six in all, Yesterday brought him in our yawl, And when, as we had been commanded, Quite safe and dry we had him landed, By running of her fast aground 580 At tide of ebb, he quickly found That he might go and see Sheerness, So here he left us pennyless, To feast on Queenborough air and water, Or starve, to him 'tis no great matter; 585 While he among his friends at ease is, And will return just when he pleases; Perhaps he may come back to-day; If not, he knows that we must stay." So one of us gave him a tester, 590 When both cried out, "God bless you, master!" Then ran to rouse their sleeping fellows, To share their fortune at the alehouse. Hence to the creek-side, one and all, We go to see The Rose's yawl, 595 And found her bedded in the mud, Immovable till tide of flood. The sailors here had cockles got, Which gratefully to us they brought, 'Twas all with which they could regale us; 600 This t'other sixpence sent to th' alehouse: So merrily they went their way, And we were no less pleas'd than they. At seven about the town we walk, And with some pretty damsels talk. 605 Beautiful nymphs indeed, I ween, Who came to see, and to be seen. Then to our Swans returning, there We borrow'd a great wooden chair, And plac'd it in the open street, 610 Where, in much state, did Hogarth sit To draw the townhouse, church, and steeple,[8] Surrounded by a crowd of people; Tag, rag, and bobtail, stood quite thick there, And cry'd, "What a sweet pretty picture!" 615 This was not finish'd long, before We saw, about the Mayor's fore-door, Our honest sailors in a throng: We call'd one of them from among The rest, to tell us the occasion; 620 Of which he gave us this relation: "Our midshipman is just come back, And chanc'd to meet or overtake A sailor walking with a woman (May be, she's honest, may be, common): 625 He thought her handsome, so his honour Would needs be very sweet upon her: But this the seaman would not suf- fer, and this put him in a huff. 'Lubber, avast,' says sturdy John, 630 'Avast, I say, let her alone; You shall not board her, she's my wife. Sheer off, Sir, if you love your life: I've a great mind your back to lick;' And up he held his oaken stick. 635 "Our midship hero this did scare: 'I'll swear the peace before the Mayor,' Says he; so to the Mayor's they trudge:" How then a case by such a judge Determin'd was, I cannot say, 640 We thought it not worth while to stay: For it strikes nine, "How th' evening spends! Come, let us drink to all our friends A chearful glass, and eat a bit." So to our supper down we sit; 645 When something merry check'd our mirth: The Harwich men had got a birth Closely adjoining to our room, And were to spend their evening come: The wall was thin, and they so near, 650 That all they say, or sing, we hear. We sung our songs, we crack'd our jokes, Their emulation this provokes; And they perform'd so joyously, As distanc'd hollow all our glee; 655 So (were it not a bull) I'd lay, This night they fairly won the day. Now plenteously we drink of flip, In hopes we shall the better sleep; Some rest the long day's work requires; 660 Scott to his lodging first retires; His landlady is waiting for him, And to his chamber walks before him; In her fair hand a light she bears, And shows him up the garret-stairs; 665 Away comes he greatly affronted, And his disgrace to us recounted. This makes us game, we roast him for it, "Scott's too high-minded for a garret." But Tothall more humanely said, 670 "Come, Scott, be easy, take my bed, And to your garret I will go." (This great good-nature sure did show): There finding nought him to entertain But a flock-bed without a curtain, 675 He too in haste came back, and got Away to share his bed with Scott, And at eleven each goes to nest, Till Tuesday morn to take his rest. At six comes Hogarth, "Rise, Sirs, rise," 680 Says he, with roguery in his eyes, "Scott's landlady is below stairs. And roundly the good woman swears, That for his lodging he shall pay, (Where his tir'd bones he scorn'd to lay) 685 Or he should go before the Mayor." She's in the right on't, we declare, For this would cut the matter short, (At least 'twould make us special sport): But here she balk'd us, and, no doubt, 690 Had wit enough to find us out. Our mark thus miss'd, we kindly go, To see how he and Tothall do. We find the doors all open were, (It seems that's not unusual here): 695 They're very well, but Scott last night Had been in a most dreadful fright: "When to his room he got," he said, "And just was stepping into bed, He thought he saw the bed-cloaths stir, 700 So back he flew in mortal fear; But taking heart of grace, he try'd To feel what 'twas, when out it cry'd Again he starts, but to his joy, It prov'd a little harmless boy, 705 Who by mistake had thither crept, And soundly (till he wak'd him) slept So from his fears recover'd quite He got to sleep, and slept all night." We laugh at this, and he laughs too, 710 For, pray, what better could he do? At ten we leave our Lion-Swans, And to the higher lands advance, Call on our laundress by the way, For the led shirts left yesterday 715 To wash; "She's sorry, they're not yet Quite dry!"—"Why then we'll take them wet: They'll dry and iron'd be, we hope, At Minster, where we next shall stop." The way was good, the weather fair, 720 The prospects most delightful were. To Minster got, with labour hard We climb'd the hill to the church-yard, But, when arriv'd there, did not fail To read some verses on a rail 725 Well worth transcribing, we agree, Whether you think so, you may see. "Here interr'd George Anderson doth lye, By fallen on an anchor he did dye In Sheerness yard on Good Friday 730 The 6th of April, I do say. All you that read my allegy be alwaies Ready for to dye—aged 42 years." Of monuments that here they shew Within the church, we drew but two; 735 One an ambassador of Spain's,[9] T' other Lord Shorland's[10] dust contains, Of whom they have a wondrous story, Which (as they tell) I'll lay before ye. The Lord of Shorland, on a day,[11] 740 Chancing to take a ride this way, About a corpse observ'd a crowd, Against their priest complaining loud, That he would not the service say, Till somebody his fees should pay. 745 On this, his lordship too did rave, And threw the priest into the grave, "Make haste, and fill it up," said he, "We'll bury both without a fee." But when got home, and cool, reflecting 750 On the strange part he had been acting, He drew a state up of the case, Humbly petitioning for grace, And to the sea gallop'd away, Where, at that time, a frigate lay, 755 With Queen Elizabeth on board, When (strange to tell!) this hare-brain'd Lord On horseback swam to the ship's side, And there to see the Queen apply'd. His case she reads; her royal breast 760 Is mov'd to grant him his request. His pardon thankfully he takes, And, swimming still, to land he makes: But, on his riding up the beach, He an old woman met, a witch: 765 "This horse, which now your life doth save," Says she, "will bring you to the grave." "You'll prove a lier," says my lord, "You ugly hag!" and with his sword (Acting a most ungrateful part) 770 His panting steed stabb'd to the heart. It happen'd, after many a day, That with some friends he stroll'd that way, And this strange story, as they walk, Became the subject of their talk: 775 When, "There the carcase lies," he cry'd, "Upon the beach by the sea-side." As 'twas not far, he led them to't, And kick'd the skull up with his foot, When a sharp bone pierc'd through his shoe, 780 And wounded grievously his toe, Which mortify'd: so he was kill'd, And the hag's prophecy fulfill'd. See there his cross-legg'd figure laid, And near his feet the horse's head![12] 785 The tomb[13] is of too old a fashion To tally well with this narration; But of the truth we would not doubt, Nor put our Cicerone out: It gives a moral hint at least, 790 That gratitude's due to a beast. So far it's good, whoever made it, And that it may not fail of credit, A horsehead vane adorns the steeple, And it's Horse-church call'd by the people. 795 Our shirts dry'd at The George we get, We dine there, and till four we sit; And now in earnest think of home: So to Sheerness again we come. Where for a bum-boat we agree, 800 And about five put off to sea. We presently were under sail, The tide our friend, south-east the gale, Quite wind enough, and some to spare, But we to that accustom'd were. 805 When we had now got past The Nore, And lost the sight of Shepey's shore, The ebbing tide of Thames we met, The wind against it fiercely set! This made a short and tumbling sea, 810 And finely toss'd indeed were we. The porpoises in stormy weather Are often seen in shoals together; About us while they roll and play, One in his gambols miss'd his way, 815 And threw himself so far on shore, We thought he would get off no more; But with great struggling and some pain, He did, and went to play again. On this we moralising say, 820 "How thoughtless is the love of play!" When we ourselves with sorrow find Our pleasures too with pain conjoin'd. For troubles croud upon us thick; Our hero, Scott, grows very sick; 825 Poor Hogarth makes wry faces too (Worse faces than he ever drew). You'll guess what were the consequences, Not overpleasing to our senses; And this misfortune was augmented 830 By Master Tothall's being acquainted With the commander of a sloop, At Holy Haven near The Hope. "There's Captain Robinson," says he, "A friend, whom I must call and see." 835 Up the ship's side he nimbly goes, While we lay overwhelm'd with woes Sick, and of winds and waves the sport. But then he made his visit short, And when a sup of punch he'd got, 840 Some lighted match to us he brought, A sovereign cordial this, no doubt, To men whose pipes had long been out. By seven o'clock our sick recover, And all are glad this trouble's over. 845 Now jovially we sail along, Our cockswain giving song for song. But soon our notes are chang'd; we found Our boat was on Bly-sand aground, Just in the middle of the river; 850 Here Tothall shew'd himself quite clever: And, knowing we must else abide Till lifted by the flowing tide, Work'd with our skippers, till the boat Was once more happily afloat. 855 We all applaud his care and skill, So do the boatmen his good-will. Ere long the tide made upward, so With that before the wind we go, And, disembarking about ten, 860 Our Gravesend quarters reach again. Here Madam, smiling, comes to tell How glad she is to see us well: This kind reception we commended, And now thought all our troubles ended; 865 But, when for what we want we call, Something unlucky did befall. When we our travels first began Scott (who's a very prudent man) Thought a great coat could do no harm, 870 And in the boat might keep him warm; So far perhaps you think him right, As we took water in the night: But when from hence we took our way On foot, the latter end of May, 875 He, quite as reasonably, thought 'Twould be too heavy or too hot: "I'll leave it here," says he, "and take It with me at our coming back." And he most certainly design'd it: 880 But now the thing was, how to find it? We told him, he had been mistaken, And did without his hostess reckon. To him it was no jest; he swore "He left it there three days before, 885 This Mrs. Bramble can't deny." "Sir, we shall find it by and by:" So out she goes, and rends her throat With "Moll, go find the gem'man's coat." The house Moll searches round and round, 890 At last, with much ado, 'twas found— 'Twas found, that, to the owner's cost, Or Scott's, the borrow'd coat was lost. "Coat lost!" says he, stamping and staring, Then stood like dumb, then fell to swearing: 895 He curs'd the ill-concluding ramble, He curs'd Gravesend and mother Bramble. But, while his rage he thus express'd, And we his anger made our jest, Till wrath had almost got the upper- 900 hand of his reason, in came supper: To this at once his stomach turn'd, No longer it with fury burn'd, But hunger took the place of rage, And a good meal did both assuage. 905 He eat and drank, he drank and eat, The wine commended, and the meat: So we did all, and sat so late, That Wednesday morn we lay till eight. Tobacco then, and wine provide, 910 Enough to serve us for this tide. Get breakfast, and our reckoning pay, And next prepare for London hey; So, hiring to ourselves a wherry, We put off, all alive and merry. 915 The tide was strong, fair was the wind, Gravesend is soon left far behind, Under the tilt on straw we lay, Observing what a charming day, There stretch'd at ease we smoke and drink, 920 Londoners like, and now we think Our cross adventures all are past, And that at Gravesend was the last: But cruel Fate to that says no; One yet shall Fortune find his foe. 925 While we (with various prospects cloy'd) In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy'd, More diligent and curious, Scott Into the forecastle had got, And took his papers out, to draw 930 Some ships which right ahead he saw. There sat he, on his work intent, When, to increase our merriment, So luckily we shipp'd a sea, That he got sous'd, and only he. 935 This bringing to his mind a thought How much he wanted the great coat, Renew'd his anger and his grief; He curs'd Gravesend, the coat, and thief; And, still to heighten his regret, 940 His shirt was in his breeches wet: He draws it out, and lets it fly, Like a French ensign, till 'tis dry, Then, creeping into shelter safe, Joins with the company and laugh. 945 Nothing more happen'd worthy note: At Billingsgate we change our boat, And in another through bridge get, By two, to Stairs of Somerset, Welcome each other to the shore, 950 To Convent Garden walk once more, And, as from Bedford Arms we started, There wet our whistles ere we parted. With pleasure I observe, none idle Were in our travels, or employ'd ill, 955 Tottall, our treasurer, was just, And worthily discharg'd his trust; (We all sign'd his accounts as fair): Sam Scott and Hogarth, for their share, The prospects of the sea and land did; 960 As Thornhill of our tour the plan did; And Forrest wrote this true relation Of our five days peregrination. This to attest, our names we've wrote all, Viz. Thornhill, Hogarth, Scott, and Tothall. 965

William Tothall's Account of Disbursements for Messieurs Hogarth and Co. viz.

1732,

May £.s.d.

27.To paid at the Dark-house, Billingsgate,008½

To paid for a pint of Geneva Hollands,010

To paid waterman to Gravesend,050

To paid barber ditto,0010

To paid for breakfast at ditto,022

To paid for beer on the road to Rochester,009

To paid for shrimps at Chatham,009

To paid at the gunnery and dock,016

To paid bill at Rochester,173

28.To gave at Upnor for information,003

To paid at the Smack at ditto,043

To paid at Hoo,018

To paid at Stoke,0116

29.To paid at Mother Hubbard's at Grain,030

To paid for passage over to Sheerness,0210

To paid for lobsters at Queenborough,016

To paid for two pots of beer to treat the sexton, 006

To paid for dinner, &c.066

To charity, gave the sailors,010

30.To paid for lodgings and maid,046

To paid for breakfast,026

To paid for washing shirts,018

To paid at Minster,092

To paid at Sheerness,013

To paid for a boat to Gravesend,070

31.To paid barber at ditto,012

To paid for sundry at ditto,103½

To paid for passage to Somerset-house,056

£.660

Vouchers produced, examined, and allowed, Per E. Forrest, Sam. Scott, W. Hogarth, John Thornhill.

GENERAL INDEX TO HOGARTH'S PLATES.

A. **ÆNEAS in a Storm, 247. Agriculture and Arts, 423. Altar-piece, St. Clement's, 136. 492. Analysis of Beauty, 325. Apuleius, 127. Arms, &c. 418. 422. 438. B. Battle of the Pictures, 281. Beaver's Military Punishments, 134. Beer-Street, 312. Before and After, 233. *Beggar's Opera, 164. Bench, 367. 403. **Blackwell's Figures, 439. Booth, Wilks, and Cibber, 141. Boyne, Lord Viscount, 433. Boys peeping at Nature, 188. 319. **Broad Bottoms, 449. *Bullock, William, 407. Burial Ticket, 419. Burlington Gate, 28. 175. Butler, 442. Byron, Lady Frances, 236. C. **Cartoons, Heads from, 437. Cassandra, 134. Catalogue, Frontispiece and Tail-piece to, 373. Characters, and Caricaturas, 262. Charlemont, Earl of, 411. Charmers of the Age, 258. Christ and his Disciples, &c. large, 435. Christ, &c. small, 435. —with London Hospital, 435. Churchill, Charles, 387. —with Political Print, 400. Cockpit, 367. Columbus, 324. Concert, St. Mary's Chapel, 445. Consultation of Physicians, 236. Coram, Captain, 260. **Cottage. 441. Credulity, &c. 375. Crowns, &c. Subscription Ticket for Elections, 332. D. Debates on Palmistry, 410. *Discovery, 440. Distressed Poet, 235. Don Quixote, 435. E. Elections, 334. Enraged Musician, 254. *Eta Beta Pi, Title-page, 63. 415. F. Fair [Southwark, not Bartholomew as Mr. Walpole describes it], 180. Farmer's Return, 374. **Farinelli, Cuzzoni, and Senesino, &c. 138. 439. Festoon, &c. Subscription Ticket for Richard III. 281. Fielding, Henry, 385. Finchley, March to, 299. Fishes for Cards, 448. Folkes, Martin, 257. Foundling Hospital, Power of Attorney, 253. *—Arms of, 288. *—First Sketch for, 409. Four Parts of the Day, 248. France and England, 364. Frontispiece to Leveridge's Songs, 160. G. Garrick in Richard III. 283. Gate of Calais, 289. Gibbs, James, 288. *—octagon, 298. Gin Lane, 313. *Gin drinkers, 429. Good Samaritan, 405. Gormagons, 424. **Great Seal of England, 439. Gulliver presented to the Queen of Babilary, 171. H. *Half-starved Boy, 170. Harlot's Progress, 29. 188. Head, etched by Livesay, 415. *Hell-gate, 404. Henley, Orator, christening, &c. 415. 430. Henry VIII. and Anna Bullen, 167. *Herring, Archbp. small, 288. —large, 297. *Hesiod, 160. *Highland Fair, or Scots Opera, 171. Hoadly, large, 260. —small, 370. Hogarth, William, Engraver, Shop-Bill, 122. —with Dog, 295. **—small circle, 297. —Serjeant Painter, 366. —Black Mask, 367. —with Hat on, 409. Hogarth's Tour, 413. *—Crest, 414. —Cypher, 417. Holland, Lord, 411. Hudibras, large, 143. —small, 144. Huggins, William, 372. Humours of Oxford, 169. Hunt, Gabriel, 411. Hutchinsonians, Frontispiece to Pamphlet against, 402. *Hymen and Cupid, Ticket for Sigismunda, 436. I. Jacobites Journal, 288. Industry and Idleness, 285. Judith and Holofernes, 187. Judith, Rehearsal, Ticket for, 202. K. Kirby's Perspective, 333. L. Landscape, 415. Laughing Audience, 179. Lecture, 246. **Living Dog, 454. Lock, Daniel, 435. *London Infirmary, 444. Lottery, 124. Lovat, Lord, 282. M. Malcolm, Sarah, 172. **Malta, Scene by a Knight of, 437. Marriage Alamode, 262. Masquerades, &c. small, 128. Masquerade, large, 150. **Master of the Vineyard, 444. Milton, 419. Milward's Ticket, 423. Midnight Modern Conversation, 202. *Moliere, Frontispieces to, 171. *Moses and Pharaoh's daughter, 324. Morell, Dr. 384. Motraye's Travels, 125. Five Muscovites, 126. Music introduced to Apollo, 150. N. **North and South, 407. O. *Oratory, 429. P. *Palmer, John, 295. Paul, &c. burlesqued, 320. Paul before Felix, 323. —as first designed, 323. Perriwigs, Five Orders of, 373. *Pellet, Dr. 407. Perseus and Medusa, 170. Perseus descending, 170. Pine, 434. Political Clyster, 331. *Politician, 407. Pool of Bethesda, small, 289. —large, 405. **Pug the Painter, 441. R. Rabbit-breeder, 23. 146. 461. Rake's Progress, 17. 207. *Ranby's House, 435. Rape of the Lock, 423. Read, Benjamin, 411. *Rich's Glory, 161. Royalty, Episcopacy, and Law, 442. S. Sancho, 428. Search-night, 365. Shop-bills, &c. 417. Shrimp-Girl, 411. Sleeping Congregation, 234. Solfull, 407. South Sea, 122. Spiller's Ticket, 444. Stage Coach, 284. Stages of Cruelty, 316. Stand of Arms, &c. Subscription Ticket for Finchley, 284. Stay-maker, 410. Strolling Actresses, 251. T. Tail-piece to his Works, 402. *Tankard, 428. Taste in High Life, 259. Taylor, George, Two Sketches for his Monument, 412. Taylor's Perspective, 371. Terræ Filius, 143. Ticket Porter, 438. Time blackening a Picture, Subscription Ticket for Sigismunda, 373. The Times, 375. Tom Thumb, 171. Tristram Shandy, vol. I. 370. —vol. II. 374. **Two Figures, 409. W. Weighing House, 401. Wilkes, John, 88. 386. Woman swearing a Child, &c. 121. 431.

The articles marked thus * are omitted in Mr. Walpole's Catalogue.

Those marked ** are likewise omitted by Mr. Walpole; but it must be acknowledged they are of doubtful authority, though introduced on the faith of the following collectors and artists:

Hogarth, small circle,Mr. Basire.

Æneas in a storm,Dr. Ducarel.

Beggar's Opera,Dr. Lort.

Blackwell's Figures,Mr. Ireland

Cottage,"

Master of the Vineyard."

Pug the Painter,"

Farinelli, Cuzzoni,Mr. Rogers.

and Heidegger,"

Gin-drinkers,"

Cartoons, Heads, from Two Figures, Mr. Livesay.

Oratory,Mr. Nichols.

Malta, Scene, &c."

Bullock,Mr. Thane.

Butler,"

Pellet,"

North and South,"

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