own dog into his portrait clearly tells, and doubtless his bird often brought with its music visions of the country into the heat and dust of Leicester Square-soothing away much of his impatience. Men who have to fight the up-hill battle of life must have energy and determination; and Hogarth

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was too out-spoken and self-confident not to have made many enemies. In after years his success (limited though it was, in a pecuniary point of view, for he died without leaving enough to support his widow respectably) produced its ordinary results-envy and enmity: and insults were heaped upon him. He was not tardy of reply, but Wilkes and Churchill were in strong health, when nature was giving way with the great painter: an advantage they did not fail to use with their accustomed malignity. The profligate Churchill, turning the poet's nature into gall, infested the deathbed of Hogarth with unfeeling sarcasm, anticipating the grave and exulting over a dying man.*

The quarrel arose from Hogarth's satire on the politics of the day in his first plate of the Times, which offended Wilkes, whose party was attacked. He at once threw to the winds all

Hogarth, warned by the autumn winds, and suffering from the restlessness of approaching dissolution, left Chiswick on the 25th of October, 1764, and returned to his residence in Leicester Square. He was cheerful-in full possession of his mental faculties-but lacked the vigour to exert them. The very next day, having received an agreeable letter from Doctor Franklin, he wrote a rough copy of his answer, but exhausted with the effort, retired to bed. Seized by a sudden sickness, he arose-rung the bell with alarming violence-and within two hours expired!

Of all the villages in the neighbourhood of London, rising from the banks of the Thames, (and how numerous and beautiful they are!) few are so well known as that of Chiswick.* The horticultural fêtes are anticipated with

anxiety similar to that our grandmothers felt for the fêtes of Ranelagh; the toilettes of the ladies rival the flowers, and the only foe to the fascinating fair ones is the weather; but all that the crowd care about in Chiswick is confined to the Duke's grounds' and the Society's Gardens. The Duke's beautiful little villa, erected by the last Earl of Burlington, † is indeed a shrine

his former friendship, and attacked Hogarth in the North Briton. Hogarth's reply was the published portrait of Wilkes holding a cap of liberty; his face too clearly depicting the physical and mental obliquity of the patriot."' From the coarse and inmoral satirist Churchill, an attack, such as he commenced, could inflict no lasting harm. Hogarth took up a plate which was to be used for his own portrait, now in the National Gallery, and expunging that, placed an imaginary portrait of Churchill, as a bear in canonicals, hugging a porter-pot and a huge club, the knots of which are so many lies. On a small picture in one corner he has also represented himself as a bear-leader, compelling Churchill and Wilkes, as a bear and monkey, to dance to his whipping. 'On the whole,' says Cunningham, this quarrel showed more venom than wit. Never did two angry men of their abilities throw mud with less dexterity.' The impurity of the lives of Wilkes and Churchill contrasted most unfavourably for them with the honest manliness of Hogarth's, in its public and private character. Nor did the mode of satire they adopted do aught but degrade the selves.

* Chiswick is not mentioned in Domesday Book, but Lysons has found it named in the reign of Henry III. Antiquities of the Roman era have been found at Turnham Green; and Stukeley's notice of the Roman road here has been confirmed by Faulkner, who has engraved a plan of its course in this neighbourhood. The two manors of this parish were in the possession of the Dean of St. Paul's as early as the time of William the Conqueror; and a grant for fishing here was given to the 'Men of Sutton and Chiswick 'by the Prior of Merton, who enjoyed exclusive privileges in the Thames.

This was the Earl, whose taste in building, Hogarth has satirised in one of his earliest works- Burlington Gate.' He was a great patron of Kent, who was the builder of his house at Chiswick, and whose quackery and fame in some degree eclipsed Hogarth's father-in-law,

worthy of deep homage; within its walls both Charles James Fox and George Canning breathed their last; and if, for a moment, we recall the times of Civil War, when each honest English heart fought bravely and openly for what was believed the right,' we may picture the struggle between Prince Rupert and the Earl of Essex, terminating with doubtful success, for eight hundred high-born cavaliers were left dead on the plain that lies within sight of the gardens so richly perfumed by flowers, and echoing not to the searching trumpet or rolling drum, but to the music of Strauss and Jullien.

The Duke of Devonshire's grounds, containing about ninety acres, are filled with mementos, pleasant to the eye and suggestive to the imagination; but we must seek and find a more solemn scene, where the churchyard of Chiswick incloses the ashes of some whose names are written upon the pages of History. Though the church is, in a degree, surrounded by houses,

Thornhill Hogarth therefore ridiculed Kent's pretensions in the plate we speak of. Chiswick House is partly copied from a design by Palladio (the Villa of Marquis Capra, near Vicenza,) and originally consisted of the central portion only, of which Lord Hervey remarked, that 'the house was too small to inhabit, and too large to hang to a watch.' Wyatt has since added to the buildings. The Duke of Devonshire at present has here a fine collection of paintings.

* The church is dedicated to St. Nicholas, the patron of mariners and fishermen. It has very few antique features to boast of, with the exception of the tower, which an inscription within tells us was founded' by Mr. William Bordale, vicar of the church, who died 1425, and refers to the brass of his tombstone in this church.' " The slab in the middle aisle, upon which it was afixed, may be seen, but the brass is not visible. Faulkner, in his History of Chiswick (1845), 'says it is now in the hands of the church-wardens,' and he engraves a fac-simile of it. When we visited the church no one seemed to know anything about it. Faulkner's cut gives an important and ornamental character to the brass; why should it not be placed against the wall, and beside the inscription? it would be at once appropriate and ornamental. It is a duty the parishioners owe to a benefactor.

Kent, the architect, whom Hogarth satirised, lies in the chancel. Also Sir John Chardin, the celebrated traveller, who died in 1712, and who is commemorated in Westminster Abbey ; and a younger and more recent traveller, who perished in the service of science, Mr. Forbes of the Linnæan Society, a naturalist, who died in Eastern Africa at the early age of twenty-two, while prosecuting his researches. The churchyard contains a tablet to the memory of Ugo Foscolo, the Italian poet, who died in 1827, at the comparatively early age of fifty-two; a man of uncompromising spirit, and the stern opponent of Napoleon, at a time when Italy was prostrate at his feet. With great ability and perseverance, and indomitable honesty of purpose; want of order and worldly prudence, added to a fretful temper, involved him in hopeless embarrassment, and shortened his life.


there is much of the repose of a country churchyard' about it; the Thames belts it with its silver girdle, and, when we visited its sanctuary, the setting sun cast a mellow light upon the windows of the church, touching a headstone or an urn, while the shadows trembled on the undulating graves. Like all churchyards it is crowded, and, however reverently we bent our footsteps, it was impossible to avoid treading on the soft grass of the humble grave, or the grey stone that marks the resting-place of one of the better order.' How like the world was that silent churchyard! High and low, rich and poor, mingled together however desirous to keep apart. The dust of the imperious Duchess of Cleveland found here a grave; while here, too, as if to contrast the pure with the impure, repose the ashes of Mary, daughter of Oliver Cromwell; Holland, the actor, the friend of David Garrick, here cast aside his 'motley.' Can we wonder at the actor's love of applause?posterity knows him not; present fame alone is his-the lark's s song leaves no record in the air!-Lord Macartney, the famous ambassador to China

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a country of which our knowledge was then almost as dim as that we have of the moonthe ambassador rests here, while a Chinese junk is absolutely moored in the very river that murmurs beside his grave! Surely the old place is worthy of a pilgrimage. Loutherbourg, the painter, found a restingplace in its churchyard. Ralph, the historian and political writer, whose histories and politics are now as little read as the Dunciad which held them up to ridicule, is buried here; and confined as is the space, it is rich in epitaphs, -three from the pen of


David Garrick, two from that of Arthur Murphy may here be perused.

Hogarth's monument has been very faithfully copied by Mr. Fairholt.* It is remarkable among the many plainer stones' with which the churchyard is crowded, but is by no means distinguished for that artistic

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mask, an oak-branch, pencils and mahl-stick, a book and a scroll, and the palette, marked with the line of beauty.t'

It has been remarked, that while he faithfully followed Nature through

* Hogarth was buried in a simple grave by his widow, who through life regarded him with love and pride. The monument was erected, and the expense defrayed, by a subscription among his friends, at the instance of Garrick. It is now kept up by voluntary subscriptions of the parishioners. Our cut represents the north side, upon which Garrick's lines are engraved. On the east side is a simple inscription recording his death, and that of his wife, in November, 1789. On the south side is one to the memory of his sister Anne, who died 1771; and of Mary Lewis, spinster, who died 1808, a worthy and affectionate relative, in whose arms the painter died. The widow of Sir James Thornhill is also buried in the same grave, and commemorated on the west side. The arms of Hogarth (azure, the sun in splendour) combined with those of Thornhill, appear on the tomb, and may be seen in our initial letter. The kindliness of heart which endeared the painter to his family and relatives, enshrined him in their memories, ' and in death they were not divided.' Cunningham says, 'he was of a temper, cheerful, joyous and companionable; no one questioned his domestic serenity; he was uniformly kind to his sisters and to his cousin Mary Lewis; and what I hold, though last, not least, is that his domestics had remained many years in his service, and that he painted all their portraits and hung them up in his house.'

+ Sir Richard Phillips, in his Walk from London to Kew,' speaks from his early memory of Hogarth's widow:-'I saw with my mind's eye the widow Hogarth, and her maiden relative Richardson, walking up the aisle, dressed in their silken sacks, their raised headdresses, their black calashes, their laced ruffles, and their high crooked canes, preceded by their aged servant, Samuel; who, after he had wheeled his mistress to church, in her Bathchair, carried the prayer-books up the aisle, and opened and shut the pew.' She lived in Chiswick, in the house we have engraved, until her death in 1789, and then left it to her female relative.

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