There is her barouche on the hill at Epsom. There she is at the play, or in the garden, flaunting among the coloured lamps. There she is in the Haymarket, in the Strand, in the New Cut, in the workhouse, in the police cell, in the hospital. There she is on Waterloo Bridge, and there—God help her!—in the cold, black river, having accomplished her “progress.” Take away the whipping-post from Bridewell; and for the boudoir paid for by the Jew, substitute the garish little sitting-room that Mr. Holman Hunt painted in his wonderful picture of the _Awakened Conscience_, and one can realize the “humour” and “discrimination” of Hogarth in a tale as sad that progresses around us every day. Every one who has the most superficial acquaintance with a Hogarthian biography has heard the story of how Mrs. Hogarth, or her mamma, Dame Alice Thornhill, placed the six pictures of the _Harlot’s Progress_ in Sir James’s breakfast-parlour one morning, ready for the knight on his coming down. “Very well, very well,” cried the king’s sergeant painter, rubbing his hands, and well nigh pacified: “the man who can paint like this wants no dowry with my daughter.” I am glad to believe the story; but I don’t believe, as some malevolent commentators have insinuated, that Sir James Thornhill made his son-in-law’s talent an excuse for behaving parsimoniously to the young couple after he had forgiven them. There is nothing to prove that Sir James Thornhill was a stingy man. He had a son who was a great crony of Hogarth, accompanied him on the famous journey to Rochester and Sheerness, and afterwards became sergeant-painter to the navy. I fancy that he was a wild young man, and cost his father large sums. It is certain, however, that Sir James frequently and generously assisted his daughter and son-in-law. He set them up in their house in Leicester Fields; and he appears to have left Hogarth a considerable interest in his house at 104, St. Martin’s Lane, whither he had removed from Covent Garden, and the staircase of which he had painted, according to his incorrigible custom, with “allegories.” The great artists of those days used to employ one another to paint the walls and ceilings of each other’s rooms. Thus Kneller gave commissions to the elder Laguerre, and Thornhill himself employed Robert Brown, the painter who was so famous for “crimson curtains,” and who justified having painted two signs for the Paul’s Head Tavern, in Cateaton Street, on the ground that Correggio had painted the sign of the “Muleteer.” Be it mentioned likewise, to Thornhill’s honour, that he fruitlessly endeavoured to persuade Lord Halifax to found a Royal Academy in the King’s Mews, Charing Cross. It would be better, perhaps, in this place to make an end of goodman Thornhill. Besides Worlidge’s portrait, there is one by Hogarth, in oil, of which a vigorous etching was executed by Samuel Ireland. The portrait was purchased of Mrs. Hogarth, in 1781, and was deemed by her an excellent likeness.