HOGARTH HOUSE, CHISWICK be 
ioe 
candle,” the Mecca to be reached is worth the ‘pilgrimage, part 
of which may be made by way of the river-side, and picturesque 
Mall. 
It is to be feared, however, that lack of interest, due to changed 
views of the mission of art, or, rather, to the circumstance that 
nowadays many people deny art’s claim to a mission at all, has 
much to do with the defection of the pilgrims. 
The art critic of to-day looks askance at every modern picture 
with a story. He often writes, openly or anonymously, in half 
a dozen papers, varying his words but not his views, and thus 
disseminates these among a wide public ; and so great is the power 
of the Pre s, that by a light word he can make or mar a reputation. 
The reputation of Hogarth is of course unassailable ; it has stood 
the test of changing taste and fashion, but it can be temporarily 
lowered, and eclipsed. 
For when the public is told that a painting with a story or a 
message is to be despised, however admirable its technique; that 
an appeal to the intellect, or the emotions, is commonplace ; that 
“the painter is not to think, but to see, and record exactly what he 
sees;”’? when, on the other hand, the Post Impressionist claims 
that an entire philosophy lies hidden in his unattractive perform- 
ances ; when the Futurist asserts that the truth is veiled in certain 
rhythmic scratches and blotches, of which the purport is too recon- 
dite for the ordinary intelligence to grasp; when, trusting to 
native cleverness and facility, there are some, who, though they 
profess to follow the great French Impressionists, yet neglect the 
patient methods by which they arrived at breadth and brilliancy, 
and offer merely dashing sketches as finished pictures; when, in 
an era of self-advertisement and wanton violation of the honoured 
canons of art, strange, unwholesome productions from abroad 
astonish the land of Turner and Reynolds, and are admired by 
some—it is surely wonderful that Hogarth should receive any 
recognition at all! For he is the prince of story-tellers; his art 
is all story, it is literary from beginning to end. Of him William 
Sharp says: ‘“ Into the darkest work the artist has put meaning, 
and there is instruction and sarcasm in all that he has introduced.” 
Therefore, whenever he duly subordinates details, and lets them 
simply unfold themselves to the observer, bit by bit, without disturb- 
ing the unity of the whole, is his picture any the worse ? 
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