The art of pushing fluids through the vessels was at that period a

secret most scrupulously kept by the few who were in possession of

it, so that a great show might be made at the expence of little real

knowledge. I am also informed, that _St. André_, like the workman

described by _Horace_, had no general comprehension of any subject,

but was unable to have put two propositions together:--that he neither

extended the bounds of the chirurgical art by discoveries, nor

performed any extraordinary cures; and, boasting somewhere that he had

detected vessels in the cuticle or scarf-skin, a foreigner of eminence

in the same profession offered (through the medium of a printed book)

to lay him a wager of it, a challenge which he prudently declined. I am

also told, that when solicited to exhibit his preparations, he always

declared the majority of them to have been destroyed in a fire. What

remain, I am instructed to add, deserve little or no commendation.

Thus, on enquiry, sinks our "enthusiast in anatomy" down to a frigid

dabbler in the science; while his "noble preparations, which he was

continually improving," dwindle into minutiæ of scarce any value.

Though the dreadful crime, which is indistinctly mentioned in the text

of the foregoing pamphlet, has been alluded to with less reserve by

the apologist of _St. André_, it shall be explained no further on the

present occasion. Many are the common avenues to death; and why should

we point out with minuteness such as we hope will never be explored

again? Till I perused the defence so often referred to, I had not even

suspected that the "poisoning wife"[2] bore the least allusion to any

particular circumstance on the records of criminal gallantry; nor,

without stronger proofs than are furnished by this expression (perhaps

a random one), shall I be willing to allot the smallest share of blame

to the Lady, such alone excepted as must unavoidably arise from her

over-hasty marriage, which was solemnized at _Hesson_ near _Hounslow_

in _Middlesex_, on the 27th of _May_, 1730. This act, however, as well

as her derogation from rank, being mere offences against human customs,

are cognizable only upon earth.--By "the wiser and more candid part

of mankind," who suspected no harm throughout _St. André's_ conduct

in this affair, I suppose our apologist means any set of people who

had imbibed prejudices similar to his own, and thought and spoke about

his hero with equal partiality and tenderness. But the Memoir on which

these remarks are founded, proves at least that what _J. N._ had hinted

concerning the death of Mr. _Molyneux_,[3] was of no recent invention.

So far from it indeed, that _St. André_ was openly taxed with having

been the sole cause of it, in a public news-paper (I think one of the

Gazetteers), by the Rev. Dr. _Madden_, the celebrated _Irish_ patriot,

who subscribed his name to his advertisement. It is related (I know not

how truly) that on this account our hero prosecuted and "got the better

of his adversary," whose accusation was unsupported by such proofs as

the strictness of law requires. How many culprits, about whose guilt

neither judge nor jury entertains the smallest scruple, escape with

equal triumph through a similar defect of evidence! I may add, that so

serious a charge would never have been lightly made by a divine of Dr.

_Madden's_ rank and character.

All that is said on the subject of family honours to which _St. André_

was entitled, his gratitude to his father, what he gave to the

celebrated _Geminiani_ "in one sum of generosity," must be admitted

with caution, for truth was by no means the characteristic of our

hero's narrations.[4] These circumstances therefore may be regarded as

gasconades of his own. The author of the defence pretends not to have

received any part of his information from _St. André's_ countrymen or

contemporaries; but, on the contrary, confesses that both his early

friends and enemies had long been dead.

The affair of the Rabbit-breeder has no need of further illustration.

Several ballads, pamphlets, prints, &c. on the subject, bear abundant

testimony to _St. André's_ merits throughout that business, as well

as to the final opinion entertained of him by his contemporaries,

after _Cheselden_, by order of Queen _Caroline_, had assisted in

discovering the deceit. Her Majesty was urged to this step by finding

the plausibility of our hero had imposed on the King, and that some

of the pregnant ladies about her own person began to express their

fears of bringing into the world an unnatural progeny.--If Mr. _Boyle_

was occasionally misled, his errors were soon absorbed in the blaze

of his moral and literary excellence. _St. André's_ blunder, alas!

had no such happy means of redemption. His credulity indeed was not

confined to this single transaction. The following is a well-attested

story--Two gentlemen at _Southampton_, who felt an inclination to

banter him, broke a nutshell asunder, filled the cavity with a large

swan-shot, and closed up the whole with glue so nicely that no marks

of separation could be detected. This curiosity, as they were walking

with _St. André_, one of them pretended to pick up, admiring it as a

nut uncommonly heavy as well as beautiful. Our hero swallowed the bait,

dissected the subject, discovered the lead, but not the imposition, and

then proceeded to account philosophically for so strange a phænomenon.

The merry wags could scarce restrain their laughter, and soon quitted

his company to enjoy the success of a stratagem they had so adroitly

practised on his ignorance and gullibility.

Were there any colour for supposing he had patronized the fraud

relative to _Mary Tofts_, with design to ruin others of his profession

(an insinuation to his discredit, which the foregoing pamphlet had

not furnished), it was but just that he should fall by his own

malevolence and treachery. From the imputation of a scheme resembling

that contrived by the Duke of _Montagu_, his want of equal wit will

sufficiently absolve him.

That rabbits never were permitted to appear at any table where

he dined, is a strong mark of the adulation paid to him by his

entertainers. I hope, for similar reasons, had he been seized with

his last illness in _London_ (that his organs of hearing might escape

an equal shock), his attendants would not have called any physician

named _Warren_ to his bed-side, summoned an attorney from _Coney Court_

Grays Inn to have made his will, or sent for the Rev. Mr. _Bunny_ to

pray by him. The banishment of rabbits, however, from a neighbourhood

that affords them in the highest perfection, was a circumstance that

might as justly have been complained of, as _Pythagoras's_ prohibition

of beans, had it been published in _Leicestershire_. I heartily wish

that the circumstantial author of the preceding epistle, to relieve

any doubts by which futurity may be perplexed, had informed us whether

_St. André_ was an eater of toasted cheese, or not; and if it was never

asked for by its common title of a Welch _Rabbit_ within his hearing.

That he wrote any thing, unless by proxy, or with much assistance, may

reasonably be doubted; for the pamphlets that pass under his name are

divested of those foreign idioms that marked his conversation. Indeed,

if I may believe some specimens of his private correspondence, he was

unacquainted with the very orthography of our language. The insolence

of this shallow _Switzer's_ attempt to banter _Mead_, we may imagine,

was treated with contempt, as the work described has not been handed

down to us; and few tracts are permitted to be scarce for any other

reason than because they are worthless.

It is next remarked by our apologist, that _St. André's_ "confidence,

&c. made him superior to all clamour; and so that people did but talk

about him, he did not seem to care what they talked against him." This

is no more, in other language, than to declare that his impudence and

vanity were well proportioned to each other, and that a bad character

was to him as welcome as a good one. He did not, it seems, join in the

Poet's prayer,

Grant me an honest fame, or grant me none!

but was of opinion, as his apologist likewise admits, that wealth was

an ample counterbalance to the loss of reputation.--That he might evade

accusation (as I have already observed) in one particular instance,

and therefore recover damages, is no proof of his innocence, that his

general conduct would admit of defence, or that much of the manifold

censure passed upon him had no foundation.

How Lord _Peterborough_ happened to become his patron, &c. may be

accounted for without any great degree of credit to either party. His

lordship (as Lord _Orrery_ observes) "in his private life and conduct

differed from most men;" and, having often capricious disputes with

the court, was sure to favour those who, like _St. André_, had been

dismissed from its service. Our hero's musical talents, indeed, if they

were such as they have been represented, might procure him access to

his lordship and many other noble adepts in the sublime and useful

science of harmony. The lovers of a tune urge no severe enquiries

concerning the heart of a fidler. If he be a mercenary, while he

teaches female pupils, he is watched; and, if he performs in concerts,

he is paid. If above pecuniary gratifications, he is rewarded with

hyperbolical compliments. Articulate for inarticulate sounds is ample

retribution.

His defender adds, that he was visited by _all_ strangers and

foreigners. It will be supposed then that his house was never free

from company. May we not rather think, that if he was at any time

sought after by these peregrine worthies, &c. it was because the

keepers of inns and mistresses of boarding-houses had been instructed

to disseminate attractive tales of his "capacity in all kinds," his

curiosities and good dinners? Besides, all foreigners who have arrived

in _England_ have not travelled to _Southampton_, and consequently

could not have seen _St. André_, who for upwards of the last twenty

years of his life had resided only there. It is nearer the truth to

say, that not a single _Frenchman_, &c. in fifty thousand, ever heard

of his name.

That "his profession as a surgeon, in a reasonable term of years, would

probably have put more money in his pocket" than he gained by his union

with Lady _Betty Molyneux_ (i. e. £30,000. a sum that elevated him

into a state little short of madness), I cannot believe. The blast his

reputation had received respecting the business at _Godalming_, being

seconded by his expulsion from court, he must have felt his business

on the decline. Indeed, I am told that he staid long enough in town to

try the experiment. Marriage therefore might have been his _dernier

resort_.

The exaggerations of this impostor's generosity and accomplishments,

which are next brought forward by his panegyrist with no small degree

of pomp, are such as we may suppose himself would have furnished, had

he undertaken, like the Chevalier _Taylor_, to compile his own memoirs.

The majority of circumstances collected for the purpose of proving him

to have been

_Grammaticus, rhetor, geometres, pictor, aliptes,

Augur, schænobates, medicus, magus,_

could only have been derived from those very flattering testimonials

to his merits which he was always ready to exhibit on the slightest

encouragement. Those who were content to admit so partial an estimate

of his abilities, &c. found it necessary to express their belief that

he could have beaten _Hercules_ at quoits, played a better fiddle than

_Apollo_, out-witted _Mercury_, disarmed the _God of War_, and forged

such chemic thunders, that, compared with the produce of our hero's

laboratory, the bolts of _Jove_ were no louder than a pot-gun. So far

was he from being deficient in commendation of his own talents, that he

thought his very furniture might claim a proportionable extravagance of

praise. He was possessed of some foreign tapestry which he was proud on

all occasions to display. But the eulogiums of others, lavish as they

might be, fell considerably short of his own, so that the spectator

retired with disgust from an object which the excessive vanity of its

owner would not permit to be enjoyed without the most frequent and

nauseous intrusions of self-congratulation.

As to the history of his eye-lashes, which he sacrificed to vigilance,

and his sudden proficiency in the very difficult game of chess

(provided his instructor, whom he afterwards vanquished, was a skilful

one) _credat Judæus Apella_.--That his language did not want energy,

may more easily be allowed, for force is the characteristic of vulgar

phraseology. Conceits, expressed with much vigour, are current among

sailors; and such nervous denunciations of revenge may occasionally

be heard at _Billingsgate_, as might emulate the ravings of _Dryden's

Maximin_. No man will be hardy enough to assert that the figure,

manners, and language, of _St. André_, were those of a gentleman.

If one of his eyes was a "mass of obscurity" (notwithstanding the

other, like that of Lady _Pentweazle's_ Great Aunt, might be a

piercer), perhaps he ought to have been sparing of his satire on the

personal disadvantages of his acquaintance. Yet, the last time my

informant saw him was at the Theatre at _Southampton_, where, sitting

near a gentleman and lady not remarkable for handsome faces, he had the

modesty to express a doubt (and in a voice sufficiently audible) which

of the two would furnish the most comic mask.

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_.

[1] See also _Dryden's Limberham, or the Kind Keeper_. Act III.

[2] The words of _Pope_ are "the poisoning _dame_." See Epilogue to his

Satires, Dial. II. v. 22.

[3] Whilst the above page was preparing for the second edition of this

work, the following particulars of this gentleman's family appeared

in the public prints: "Mr. _Molyneux_, who was equally the friend of

liberty and literature, was founder of a society in _Ireland_, in

imitation of the Royal (as was his nephew, the Rev. Dr. _Madden_,

of the _Dublin_ Society). His genius was celebrated by _Locke_, and

other sages of those days; and his patriotism was rewarded with the

successive representation of the City and University of _Dublin_,

with other posts of great trust, from the Revolution to his death.

He married the daughter of Sir _William Domville_, attorney-general

of _Ireland_ in the reign of _Charles_ the Second, and niece of Sir

_Thomas Leake_, of _Cannons_ in _Middlesex_, by whom he had an only

son, _Samuel Molyneux_, Esq; secretary to his late Majesty when Prince

of _Wales_, a lord of the Admiralty, and member of parliament both in

_Great-Britain_ and _Ireland_, who resembled his illustrious father in

his pursuits of philosophical knowledge, which he many years, until

engaged in political business, prosecuted with great application at

his seat at _Kew_, now his Majesty's, and presented a telescope of

his own construction to the King of _Portugal_; his _perhaps fatal_

acquaintance with and patronage of _St. André_ will make his name

long remembered. Leaving no issue by his wife, who married _St.

André_, and lived many years, the estate of Mr. _Molyneux_ fell at her

death to his cousin-german and her god-son, the right honourable Sir

_Capel Molyneux_, member at present of the _Irish_ parliament, and a

privy-counsellor, only surviving son of Mr. _Molyneux_ father's next

brother, Sir _Thomas Molyneux_, bart. whom, through regard for his

nephew, his late Majesty created the first _Irish_ baronet upon his

accession to the throne."

[4] The following story was told by _St. André_ to an eminent

bookseller, from whom I received it:

"Once when I was in _Paris_," says our hero, "I went to a sale of

Missals, most of them bound in crimson velvet. Among these, and in the

same binding, I discovered a fine impression of the Duke of _Orleans's_

celebrated publication of _Les Amours Pastorales de Daphnis et de

Chloe_, &c. which I purchased for a mere trifle. On taking off the

velvet, I found the cover underneath was ornamented with as many jewels

as I sold afterwards for five hundred pounds."----Who can believe a

circumstance so utterly improbable?

[5] I am assured, on unquestionable authority, that Mr. _St. André_ had

a valuable library in the classes of Natural History and Medicine. A

catalogue of it, drawn up by Mr. _B. White_, is now in the possession

of Mr. _St. André's_ executor, by whom it is reserved for the benefit

of minors.

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 6_d._"

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."

[1] It cost fourscore pounds.

[2] _The Post-Boy_ and _Daily Journal_ of _Saturday, September_ 4.

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

[1] This drawing unluckily has not been preserved.

[2] _The Royal Sovereign_ and _Marlborough_.

[3] Drawing II.

[4] Drawing III. The Castle by _Hogarth_; and some Shipping, riding

near it, by _Scott_.

[5] Drawing IV.

[6] Drawing V.

[7] Drawing VI.

[8] Drawing VI.

[9] Drawing VII. by _Scott_.

[10] Drawing VIII. by _Hogarth_.

[11] This story is quoted by Mr. _Grose_ in his Antiquities, Vol. II.

art. _Minster Monastery_. "The legend," says Mr. _Grose_, "has, by a

worthy friend of mine, been hitched into doggrel rhyme. It would be

paying the reader but a bad compliment to attempt seriously to examine

the credibility of the story."

[12] Drawing VIII.

[13] A cross-legg'd figure in armour, with a shield over his left

arm, like that of a Knight Templar, said to represent Sir _Robert de

Shurland_, who by _Edward_ I. was created a Knight banneret for his

gallant behaviour at the siege of _Carlaverock_ in _Scotland_. He lies

under a _Gothic_ arch in the south-wall, having an armed page at his

feet, and on his right side the head of a horse emerging out of the

waves of the sea, as in the action of swimming. GROSE.

* * * * *

WILLIAM TOTHALL'S Account of Disbursements

for Messieurs _Hogarth_ and Co. viz.

1732,

_May_ £. s. d.

27. To paid at the Dark-house, _Billingsgate_, 0 0 8½

To paid for a pint of Geneva _Hollands_, 0 1 0

To paid waterman to _Gravesend_, 0 5 0

To paid barber ditto, 0 0 10

To paid for breakfast at ditto, 0 2 2

To paid for beer on the road to _Rochester_, 0 0 9

To paid for shrimps at _Chatham_, 0 0 9

To paid at the gunnery and dock, 0 1 6

To paid bill at _Rochester_, 1 7 3

28. To gave at _Upnor_ for information, 0 0 3

To paid at the Smack at ditto, 0 4 3

To paid at _Hoo_, 0 1 8

To paid at _Stoke_, 0 11 6

29. To paid at Mother _Hubbard's_ at _Grain_, 0 3 0

To paid for passage over to _Sheerness_, 0 2 10

To paid for lobsters at _Queenborough_, 0 1 6

To paid for two pots of beer to treat the sexton, 0 0 6

To paid for dinner, &c. 0 6 6

To charity, gave the sailors, 0 1 0

30. To paid for lodgings and maid, 0 4 6

To paid for breakfast, 0 2 6

To paid for washing shirts, 0 1 8

To paid at _Minster_, 0 9 2

To paid at _Sheerness_, 0 1 3

To paid for a boat to _Gravesend_, 0 7 0

31. To paid barber at ditto, 0 1 2

To paid for sundry at ditto, 1 0 3½

To paid for passage to _Somerset-house_, 0 5 6

£.6 6 0

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

Agriculture and Arts

Altar-piece, _St. Clement's_

Analysis of Beauty

_Apuleius_

Arms, &c

B.

Battle of the Pictures

_Beaver's_ Military Punishments

_Beer-Street_

Before and After

*Beggar's Opera

Bench

**_Blackwell's_ Figures

_Booth, Wilks_, and _Cibber_

_Boyne_, Lord Viscount

Boys peeping at Nature

**Broad Bottoms

*_Bullock, William_

Burial Ticket

_Burlington_ Gate

_Butler_

_Byron_, Lady _Frances_

C.

**Cartoons, Heads from

_Cassandra_

Catalogue, Frontispiece and Tail-piece to

Characters, and Caricaturas

_Charlemont_, Earl of

Charmers of the Age

Christ and his Disciples, &c.

large

Christ, &c. small

--with _London_ Hospital

_Churchill, Charles_

--with Political Print

Cockpit

_Columbus_

Concert, _St. Mary's_ Chapel

Consultation of Physicians

_Coram_, Captain

**Cottage

Credulity, &c

Crowns, &c. Subscription Ticket

for Elections

D.

Debates on Palmistry

*Discovery

Distressed Poet

Don _Quixote_

E.

Elections

Enraged Musician

*Eta Beta Pi, _Title-page_

F.

Fair [_Southwark_, not _Bartholomew_ as Mr. _Walpole_ describes it]

Farmer's Return

**_Farinelli, Cuzzoni,_ and _Senesino_, &c.

Festoon, &c. Subscription Ticket

for _Richard_ III.

_Fielding, Henry_

_Finchley_, March to

Fishes for Cards

_Folkes, Martin_

_Foundling Hospital_, Power of Attorney

*--Arms of

*--First Sketch for

Four Parts of the Day

_France_ and _England_

Frontispiece to _Leveridge's_ Songs

G.

_Garrick_ in _Richard_ III.

Gate of _Calais_

_Gibbs, James_

*--octagon

_Gin Lane_

*Gin drinkers

Good _Samaritan_

_Gormagons_

**Great Seal of _England_

_Gulliver_ presented to the Queen of _Babilary_

H.

*Half-starved Boy

Harlot's Progress

Head, etched by _Livesay_

*Hell-gate

_Henley_, Orator, christening, &c.

_Henry_ VIII. and _Anna Bullen_

*_Herring_, Archbp. small

--large

*_Hesiod_

*_Highland_ Fair, or _Scots Opera_

_Hoadly_, large

--small

_Hogarth, William_, Engraver, Shop-Bill

--with Dog

**--small circle

--Serjeant Painter

--Black Mask

--with Hat on

_Hogarth's_ Tour

*--Crestx

--Cypher

_Holland_, Lord

_Hudibras_, large

--small

_Huggins, William_

Humours of _Oxford_

_Hunt, Gabriel_

_Hutchinsonians_, Frontispiece to Pamphlet against

*_Hymen_ and _Cupid_, Ticket for _Sigismunda_

I.

Jacobites Journalx

Industry and Idleness

_Judith_ and _Holofernes_

_Judith_, Rehearsal, Ticket for

K.

_Kirby's_ Perspective

L.

Landscape

Laughing Audience

Lecture

**Living Dogx

_Lock, Daniel_

*_London_ Infirmary

Lottery

_Lovat_, Lord

M.

_Malcolm, Sarah_

**_Malta_, Scene by a Knight of

Marriage Alamode

Masquerades, &c. small

Masquerade, large

**Master of the Vineyard

_Milton_

_Milward's_ Ticket

Midnight Modern Conversation

*_Moliere_, Frontispieces to

*_Moses_ and _Pharaoh's_ daughter

_Morell_, Dr.

_Motraye's_ Travels

Five _Muscovites_

Music introduced _to Apollo_

N.

**North and South

O.

*Oratory

P.

*_Palmer, John_

_Paul_, &c. burlesqued

_Paul_ before _Felix_

--as first designed

Perriwigs, Five Orders of

*_Pellet_, Dr.

_Perseus_ and _Medusa_

_Perseus_ descending

_Pine_

Political Clyster

*Politician

Pool of _Bethesda_, small

--large

**_Pug_ the Painter

R.

Rabbit-breeder

Rake's Progress

*_Ranby's_ House

Rape of the Lock

_Read, Benjamin_

*_Rich's_ Glory

Royalty, Episcopacy, and Law

S.

_Sancho_

Search-night

Shop-bills, &c.

Shrimp-Girl

Sleeping Congregation

_Solfull_

_South Sea_

_Spiller's_ Ticket

Stage Coach

Stages of Cruelty

Stand of Arms, &c. Subscription Ticket for _Finchley_

Stay-maker

Strolling Actresses

T.

Tail-piece to his Works

*Tankard

Taste in High Life

_Taylor, George_, Two Sketches for his Monument

_Taylor's_ Perspective

_Terræ Filius_

Ticket Porter

Time blackening a Picture, Subscription Ticket for _Sigismunda_

The Times

_Tom Thumb_

_Tristram Shandy_, vol. I.

--vol. II.

**Two Figures

W.

Weighing House

_Wilkes, John_

Woman swearing a Child, &c.

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,

Cottage,

Master of the Vineyard Mr. _Ireland_.

_Pug_ the Painter,

_Farinelli, Cuzzoni,_

and _Heidegger,_

Gin-drinkers, Mr. _Rogers_.

Cartoons, Heads,

from Two Figures Mr. _Livesay_.

Oratory,

Malta, Scene, &c. Mr. _Nichols_.

_Bullock_,

_Butler_,

_Pellet_,

North and South, Mr. _Thane_.

FINIS.

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"'Tis my chief wish, my joy, my only plan,

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