The circumstances of this picture having escaped the notice of the
biographer of Hogarth is by no means singular. Mr. Halls, one of the
magistrates at Bow-street, has, among other choice specimens by Hogarth,
the lost picture of the Harlot's Progress; the subject telling her
fortune by the tea-grounds in her cup, admirably characteristic of the
artist and his story. In my own collection I have the original picture
of the Fish-Women of Calais, with a view of the market-place, painted
on the spot, and as little known as the others to which I have alluded.
There are, no doubt, many other equally clever performances of Hogarth's
prolific pencil which are not generally known to the public, or have not
yet been engraved. ~350~~in the same neighbourhood, in Russel-court, at
the old Cheshire Cheese, the inimitable but dissolute Tom Brown wrote
many of his cleverest essays. Then too commenced the midnight revelries
and notoriety of the Cider Cellar, in Maiden-lane, when Sim Sloper, Bob
Washington, Jemmy Tas well, Totty Wright, and Harry Hatzell, led the way
for a whole regiment more of frolic-making beings who, like Falstaff,
were not only, witty themselves, but the cause of keeping it alive in
others: to these succeeded Porson the Grecian, Captain Thompson, Tom
Hewerdine, Sir John Moore, Mr. Edwin, Mr. Woodfall, Mr. Brownlow,
Captain Morris, and a host of other highly-gifted men, the first lyrical
and political writers of the day,--who frequented the Cider Cellar after
the meetings of the _Anacreontic, beefsteak_, and _humbug_ clubs then
held in the neighbourhood, to taste the parting bowl and swear eternal
friendship. In later times, Her Majesty the Queen of Bohemia{7} raised
her standard in Tavistock-row, Covent Garden, where she held a midnight
court for the wits; superintended by the renowned daughter of Hibernia,
and maid of honour to her majesty, the facetious Mother Butler--the
ever-constant supporter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, esquire, and a
leading feature in all the memorable Westminster elections of the last
fifty years. How many jovial nights have I passed and jolly fellows
have I met in the snug _sanctum sanctorum!_ a little _crib_, as the
_fishmongers_ would call it, with an entrance through the bar, and into
which none were ever permitted to enter without a formal introduction
and the gracious permission of the hostess. Among those who were thus
specially privileged, and had the honour of the _entre_, were
the reporters for the morning papers, the leading members of the
_eccentrics_, the actors and musicians of the two Theatres Royal, merry
members of both Houses of