The Works of William Hogarth: In a Series of Engravings With Descriptions, and a Comment on Their Moral Tendency — Context and Discussion

Biography as Prologue

The life of Hogarth occupies the opening pages, detailing his father's work as a schoolmaster and press corrector, and the artist's own start engraving arms on plate. This background is not merely prefatory; it primes the reader to see Hogarth as an observer of trades and professions. The biography notes that his grandfather was a yeoman and an uncle a provincial poet, suggesting a lineage of plain-speaking creativity. When the descriptions later identify a politician by the newspapers in his pocket or a beau by his bag-wig, the reader is prepared to decode such markers of class and occupation. The biographical section also mentions Hogarth's early caricature talent, which the plates themselves exhibit in exaggerated features and comic situations.

Reading the Midnight Scene

The description of "A Midnight Modern Conversation" exemplifies Trusler's method. He counts twenty-three empty flasks on the floor and table, notes the dial pointing to four in the morning, and identifies each figure by profession or type: an officer with a cockade, a politician with the Craftsman and London Evening, a beau in a bag-wig. The commentary discriminates "the different degrees of drunkenness"—the simpleton weeping, the beau sick, the politician stupefied. Trusler does not merely list details; he interprets them as moral evidence, concluding that the scene proves the company thinks "'Tis too early to part." This approach trains the reader to treat every visual element as a clue to character and vice.

Heraldry and Satire in the Consultation

The plate "Consultation of Physicians" is presented as a mock coat of arms, complete with heraldic language: "sable, an urinal, proper between twelve quack heads." Trusler reproduces Hogarth's own blazon, which includes a motto, "Et plurima mortis imago" (the general image of death). The commentary explains the satire: undertakers depend on doctors for business, and the physicians' voluminous wigs and golden-headed canes signify ignorance. The description identifies three figures in the chief as portraits, though most are unidentifiable. This section shows how Trusler blends factual observation (the urinal, the cross-bones) with moral judgment, teaching the reader to see the plates as both visual jokes and social critiques.

The Reader as Detective

Throughout the excerpts, Trusler positions the reader as an interpreter of clues. He notes that the officer's forehead is "marked, perhaps with honourable scars," and that the beau "would not now pass for a fine gentleman, but in the year 1735 was a complete beau." These asides acknowledge historical distance while insisting on the legibility of the scenes. The commentary on the "Undertakers' Arms" includes a quotation from Hogarth himself, lending authority to the moral reading. A first-time reader is encouraged to pause over each detail—the number of bottles, the position of a hand, the contents of a pocket—and to consider how Trusler's moral conclusions arise from those specifics. The descriptions reward slow, attentive looking.

This edition pairs Hogarth's engravings with a running moral gloss that treats each plate as a lesson in vice and folly. Readers new to the works may find it useful to first examine the engraving without the commentary, then compare their own observations to Trusler's. The biography and the descriptions together create a consistent voice: that of a clergyman-critic who sees in Hogarth's crowded scenes a mirror of London's professions and pleasures. The volume does not offer aesthetic analysis but rather a guided tour of the artist's moral universe.

That rainy afternoon I lingered over Hogarth’s moralizing plates, tracing each squinting figure and crooked gesture, until Trusler’s commentary nudged me toward the careful craft behind the satire. I closed the heavy volume, and somehow my hand drifted to another—Geofroy Tory Painter and engraver; first royal printer; reformer of orthography and typography under François I. — Story, Setting & Ideas—so different in spirit, yet both men loved the printed page’s quiet precision.