land 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 song leaves no record in the air!--Lord Macartney, the famous
ambassador to China, a country of which our knowledge was then almost as
dim as that we have of the moon--the 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 resting-place 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 are
from the pen of David Garrick, two from that of Arthur Murphy.

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 character--which it might have received as covering the remains
of so great an artist. A small slab, in relief, takes from it, however,
the charge of insipidity; it contains a comic mask, an oak branch,
pencils and mahl-stick, a book and a scroll, and the palette, marked
with the "line of beauty."

It has been remarked, that "while he faithfully followed nature through
all her varieties, and exposed, with inimitable skill, the infinite
follies and vices of the world, he was in himself an example of many
virtues." And the following poetical tribute by David Garrick is
inscribed on the tomb:

"Farewell! great painter of mankind,
Who reached the noblest point of Art;
Whose pictured morals charm the mind,
And through the eye correct the heart
If Genius fire thee, reader, stay;
If Nature touch thee, drop a tear;
If neither move thee, turn away,
For Hogarth's honored dust lies here!"

Dr. Johnson also composed an epitaph, which Cunningham considers "more
to the purpose, but still unworthy:"

"The hand of him here torpid lies,
That drew the essential forms of grace;
Here closed in death the attentive eyes
That saw the manners in the face."

The tributes--