The “satirical heraldic insignia,” mentioned in the above description, and represented in the present engraving, do not appear in Hogarth’s well-known whole length etching of lord Lovat. The picture is a half-length; it was found in the house of a poor person at Verulam, in the neighbourhood of St. Alban’s, where Hogarth painted it eighty years ago, and it is a singular fact, that till its discovery a few weeks ago, such a picture was not known to have been executed. In all probability, Hogarth obliged his friend, Dr. Webster, with it, and after the doctor’s death it passed to some heedless individual, and remained in obscurity from that time to the present.[64] Further observation on it is needless; for persons who are interested concerning the individual whom Hogarth has portrayed, or who are anxious respecting the works of that distinguished artist, have an opportunity of seeing it at Mr. Rodd’s until it is sold. As regards the other portraits in oil, collected by Mr. Rodd, and now offered by him for sale, after the manner of booksellers, “at the prices annexed,” they can be judged of with like facility. Like booksellers, who tempt the owners of empty shelves, with “long sets to fill up” at small prices, Mr. R. “acquaints the nobility and gentry, having spacious country mansions, that he has many portraits of considerable interest as specimens of art, but of whom the picture is intended to represent, matter of doubt: as such pictures would enliven many of their large rooms, and particularly the halls, they may be had at very low prices.” Mr. Rodd’s ascertained pictures really form a highly interesting collection of “painted British Portraits,” from whence collectors may select what they please: his mode of announcing such productions, by way of catalogue, seems well adapted to bring buyers and sellers together, and is noticed here as an instance of spirited departure from the ancient trading rule, viz. Twiddle your thumbs Till a customer comes. * [64] There is an account of lord Lovat in the _Every-Day Book_. * * * * * DEATH’S DOINGS. “I am now worth one hundred thousand pounds,” said old Gregory, as he ascended a hill, which commanded a full prospect of an estate he had just purchased; “I am now worth one hundred thousand pounds, and here,” said he, “I’ll plant an orchard: and on that spot I’ll have a pinery-- “Yon farm houses shall come down,” said old Gregory, “they interrupt my view.” “Then, what will become of the farmers?” asked the steward, who attended him. “That’s their business,” answered old Gregory. “And that mill must not stand upon the stream,” said old Gregory. “Then, how will the villagers grind their corn?” asked the steward. “That’s not my business,” answered old Gregory.