William Hogarth

NAME William Hogarth

WHAT FAMOUS FOR William Hogarth was an English painter, printmaker, pictorial satirist, social critic, and editorial cartoonist, widely regarded as the most influential British artist of his generation. He is best known for his narrative series of images that told moral stories about vice, corruption, and human folly, helping to pioneer what would later be recognised as sequential art and modern satire.

BIRTH William Hogarth was born on November 10, 1697 in Bartholomew Close, Smithfield, London, and was baptized on November 28 at St Bartholomew the Great church. His birth occurred during the reign of William III, six years after the Glorious Revolution.

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FAMILY BACKGROUND Hogarth came from humble beginnings. His father, Richard Hogarth, was a schoolmaster and writer who had arrived in London from Westmorland (in northern England) around 1690, hoping to teach Latin and Greek. Richard married Anne Gibbons, daughter of the family with whom he lodged in Bartholomew Close. 

The couple had several children, but their first three died in infancy, and their fourth, Richard, died at age ten. William was their fifth child and the eldest to survive into adulthood, along with his two younger sisters, Mary (born 1699) and Ann (born 1701). Two younger brothers, Thomas and Edmund, were also born but died in childhood.

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CHILDHOOD Hogarth's early years were marked by financial instability and hardship. In 1701, when William was four years old, the family moved from Bartholomew Close across Smithfield to a house at the end of St John Street, and soon after to St John's Gate, the old gatehouse of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem. In 1704, Richard Hogarth opened a Latin-speaking coffee house at St John's Gate, where only classical languages could be spoken—an ambitious but commercially disastrous venture.

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The business failed around 1707, and Richard was imprisoned for debt in the notorious Fleet Prison, where he spent approximately five years. As was customary at the time, his wife Anne and the children were required to accompany him into incarceration. The family eventually lived in cheaper accommodation within the "Rules of the Fleet"—property outside the prison gates—at Black and White Court, near Ship Inn. During this period, Anne Hogarth made children's ointment to help support the family financially.

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The trauma of his father's imprisonment profoundly affected young William, who later blamed Richard's death in 1718 on "illness brought on by the usage he had received from grasping booksellers" and "disappointments from great mens Promises". This experience shaped Hogarth's lifelong distrust of publishers and his determination to maintain independence as an artist. (1)

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Despite these hardships, Hogarth showed an early aptitude for drawing. He later recalled having "a fondness for drawing" from infancy, and that "shows of all sorts gave me uncommon pleasure when an infant; and mimickry, common to all children, was remarkable in me". His father's ongoing difficulties as a writer "turned his natural ability in drawing and 'mimickry' into an ardent desire to be an artist" rather than following his father's literary path. (2)

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EDUCATION Because of the family's financial problems, Hogarth's formal education was limited. He attended school where his "exercises...were more remarkable for" his ornamental drawings than for academic achievement. At age 16, in February 1714, Hogarth began a seven-year apprenticeship in silver engraving to Ellis Gamble in Blue Cross Street (near Leicester Fields, now Leicester Square). While this was not his preferred career path, the skills he gained in engraving proved invaluable for his future work as an artist and printmaker. (2)

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By 1720, Hogarth left his apprenticeship early and set up his own engraving shop at age 23, initially offering silver engraving, copper-etched plates for printing business cards, and book illustrations. That same year, seeking to expand beyond the "rigid limitations of his trade," he enrolled at the original St Martin's Lane Academy in Peter Court, run by John Vanderbank, where he studied drawing from casts and live models alongside future leading figures in English art such as Joseph Highmore and William Kent. 

Hogarth had an instinctive distaste for formal copying, "likening it to emptying water from one vessel into another," preferring direct observation of actual life. Around 1724, he began attending Sir James Thornhill's Free Academy in Covent Garden, where Thornhill—the celebrated painter of the Painted Hall at Greenwich and dome of St Paul's Cathedral—conducted life-drawing classes. It was at Thornhill's academy that Hogarth would meet his future wife, Jane, Thornhill's daughter. (3)

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CAREER RECORD 1720: Set up independent engraving business

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1721: Produced his first satirical print attacking those responsible for the South Sea Bubble financial collapse

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1724: Published Masquerades and Operas, his first major independent work attacking contemporary taste

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1730-31: Created A Harlot's Progress, his earliest series of moral works

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1734: Elected Governor of St Bartholomew's Hospital; his father-in-law James Thornhill died

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1735: Successfully lobbied for the Engravers' Copyright Act (Hogarth's Act), passed June 25, protecting artists' copyright; founded St Martin's Lane Academy on a cooperative basis, which became an important precursor to the Royal Academy.

1736: Moved into house in Leicester Fields (now Leicester Square) that he would occupy until his death; completed The Pool of Bethesda mural for St Bartholomew's Hospital

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1739: Became a founding Governor of Thomas Coram's Foundling Hospital

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1757: Appointed Serjeant Painter to King George II in June, succeeding his brother-in-law John Thornhill, receiving salary of approximately £200 per annum

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1764: Published final work Tail Piece or The Bathos

APPEARANCE Hogarth was notably short, standing at most five feet tall (approximately 152 cm), which was short even by 18th-century standards. His physical stature contrasted with his towering reputation and pugnacious character. 

He had a round face, an alert and somewhat pugnacious expression, and a distinctive scar on his forehead which he often included in self-portraits.

Self-Portrait by Hogarth, ca. 1735

FASHION  Hogarth's approach to fashion reflected his character: practical, unpretentious, and decidedly English. Historical accounts and paintings suggest he dressed in typical middle-class 18th-century attire—the standard three-piece suit of coat, waistcoat, and breeches worn with a linen shirt, knitted stockings, black leather shoes, and a three-cornered hat. ​

In his self-portraits, he is often seen in a simple indoor cap rather than a formal wig, signaling his identity as a "working" artist.

As a member of the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks, Hogarth would have worn the society's distinctive uniform: a blue coat and buff waistcoat with brass buttons bearing a gridiron motif and the words "Beef and liberty". This costume reflected the society's patriotic and anti-Continental stance, which aligned perfectly with Hogarth's nationalist sentiments.

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In his work, Hogarth frequently satirized excessive fashions and Continental affectations, championing honest English simplicity over foreign ostentation.

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CHARACTER  Hogarth was a mass of productive contradictions: a formidable talent fused with fierce independence and an unmistakably combative edge. Independent-minded, sharp-tongued, and unapologetically patriotic, he harboured a deep suspicion of pretension in all its forms. He bristled at fashionable foreign influences in art, instead championing a resolutely English style grounded in close observation and social realism. Critics have called him “a big, complicated artist”: at once a severe moralist and something close to the surreal, with a razor-sharp eye equally attuned to high art and popular culture. One of his earliest champions, Charles Lamb, admired the “comprehensiveness of genius” in Hogarth’s work—his rare ability to fuse seriousness and mirth within a single image.

By temperament, Hogarth was sociable and high-spirited, a keen and amused observer of human behaviour with a particular fondness for the theatre and public entertainments. He was, by all accounts, a convivial companion who knew London’s exuberant street life intimately—its fairs, playhouses, brothels, and taverns. Friends remembered him as energetic and passionately devoted to his work, though prone to flashes of irritability and pugnacity

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SPEAKING VOICE Hogarth was noted for being a "cheerful and entertaining companion who loved a jest and told a good story ", suggesting an animated and expressive speaking manner. As a regular member of the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks and frequenter of coffee houses and taverns, where he engaged in "noisy revelry" and "evenings of eating, drinking and singing", Hogarth clearly participated actively in boisterous conversation.​

SENSE OF HUMOUR Hogarth’s humour was sharp-edged and uncomfortably funny—satirical, dark, and often deliberately cruel. He relished visual gags, symbolic clues, and the exposure of hypocrisy, taking particular aim at politicians, clergy, and ambitious social climbers. His prints weren’t just meant to be looked at; they were meant to be decoded. 

Contemporaries understood that Hogarth’s work operated like language as much as image. Critics noted that his engravings were “not merely illustrative, but verbal, ironic, iconic and emblematic,” a quality captured perfectly by Charles Lamb’s famous line: “Other pictures we look at—his prints we read.” 

His comic range was unusually broad. Hogarth could be rollicking or savage, populist or intellectually demanding, sometimes all at once. He made jokes that were daft and bawdy alongside satire that required cultural literacy to fully grasp. One observer called him “a writer of comedy with a pencil,” a description that fits his fondness for verbal puns translated into visual form. (6)

Yet the humour always served a serious purpose. Hogarth used comedy to scold authority, puncture pomposity, mock religious excess, and expose bad behaviour across every layer of English society. His satire was never prudish; he knew London’s streets, taverns, and brothels firsthand, and his moral outrage often arrived wrapped in laughter that could both amuse and enrage.

Just as easily, he could soften his tone. Alongside the brutal political lampooning of the election series sits the warmth and tenderness of works like The Graham Children. That blend of seriousness and mirth—comic observation fused with moral weight—brought Hogarth close to what one critic called “the drama of real life.” His humour was unmistakably English: earthy, skeptical, and fearless in skewering pretension wherever it appeared. (7)

Below is a self-portrait depicting Hogarth painting Thalia, the muse of comedy and pastoral poetry, 1757–1758.

William Hogarth eloped with Jane Thornhill (c. 1709-1789) in March 23, 1729, marrying at Old Paddington Church without her father's permission. The marriage initially caused an estrangement with Jane's father, the celebrated painter Sir James Thornhill, who "thought that his low-born" son-in-law was an unsuitable match. However, Thornhill "quickly forgave his new son-in-law," and by 1731 the couple moved into Thornhill House at the Great Piazza, Covent Garden.

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The marriage proved "stable and contented, though childless". They remained devoted throughout their lives, referring to each other affectionately as "Billy and Jenny". Jane appears to have been a serene, elegant presence in Hogarth's life; he may have portrayed her repeatedly in his paintings as a figure of beauty and grace amid scenes of chaos and vice. (3)

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After Hogarth's death in 1764, Jane survived him by 25 years, continuing to sell his work and guard his reputation until her own death on November 13, 1789. She successfully managed the print business, maintained control over his copperplates, and in 1767 secured extended copyright protection for his works.

Jane Hogarth by William Hogarth, c. 1750

The Hogarths had no children but were actively involved with the Foundling Hospital, fostering foundling children and supervising wet nurseries near their Chiswick home. Hogarth's sister Anne moved in with William and Jane at Leicester Fields in 1742 and lived with them thereafter. His two sisters, Mary (1699-1741) and Ann (1701-1771), ran a children's clothing shop called "the Old Frock-Shop" at the King's Arms, Little Britain Gate.

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Hogarth cultivated extensive friendships across London's artistic, literary, and theatrical worlds. He became a close friend of David Garrick (1717-1779), "the greatest actor of the age," painting portraits of him including the remarkable David Garrick as Richard III. Garrick later wrote Hogarth's epitaph and gave two decorative urns for Hogarth's Chiswick gateposts.

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Literary friends included Henry Fielding, the novelist and Justice of the Peace, Laurence Sterne and Samuel Johnson.​

Through St Martin's Lane Academy and the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks, Hogarth knew George Lambert, Francis Hayman, and other artists.

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Dr Thomas Morell (1704-1784), a classical scholar and Handel's librettist, was probably Hogarth's closest friend in Chiswick. Morell wrote that from the time Hogarth came to Chiswick, he was "intimate with him to his death and very happy in his acquaintance". Other friends included surgeon John Ranby, writer James Ralph (who helped with The Analysis of Beauty), and Arthur Murphy. (5)

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Hogarth maintained important connections with Thomas Coram, the philanthropist whose portrait he painted and whose Foundling Hospital he actively supported. George Frideric Handel was another ally in supporting the Hospital.

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Hogarth's combative nature created enemies. His most famous feud erupted in 1762 with radical politician John Wilkes and poet Charles Churchill, who attacked him viciously in The North Briton after Hogarth published his political anti-war satire in The Times. The conflict continued until Hogarth's death, with both sides producing vitriolic caricatures.

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MONEY AND FAME Hogarth was one of the first English artists to successfully market his own work directly to the public through prints. He achieved significant financial independence and wide fame during his lifetime, unusual for an artist of the period.

The engravings of A Harlot's Progress (1732) brought Hogarth his first major financial breakthrough. The tremendous success "immediately established Hogarth's financial and artistic independence". Already the first edition comprised 1,240 sold copies at guinea per set—a substantial sum. This success meant "he was henceforth free, unlike most of his colleagues, to follow his own creative inclinations". (3)

William Hogarth's A Harlot's Progress, plate 1, showing Molly's arrival in London

A Rake's Progress and subsequent series continued this commercial pattern. Hogarth innovatively sold his works through subscription and at various price points, "even print[ing] on different grades of paper to sell at lower prices" to reach the widest possible audience. His business acumen was remarkable—he "took on the jobs of advertising, engraving and selling print versions of his paintings, thus establishing himself as an independent artist rather than a print-publisher's hack". 

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Beyond print sales, Hogarth earned income from conversation pieces and portraits in the 1730s, though he "quickly tired of these little works, which involved numerous portraits for relatively poor remuneration". His appointment as Serjeant Painter to the King in 1757 brought an annual salary of approximately £200, a respectable professional income. (6)

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Hogarth was "a popular artist during his lifetime". By 1745—"in many ways, the high point of Hogarth's career"—he was widely celebrated. His works were extensively copied (both legitimately and through piracy), demonstrating their popularity. His fame extended to the Continent, where his theoretical work The Analysis of Beauty was "respectfully received, especially on the Continent".

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Contemporary magazines defined him as "the celebrated comic painter" upon his death. By 1804, The Gentleman's Magazine called him "the ingenious and inimitable artist". Though "often criticised during his lifetime," Hogarth has been "posthumously appreciated as a forefather" of British art. (6)

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FOOD AND DRINK Hogarth was a member of the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks, founded in 1735. The society's fourth rule mandated that "Beef Steak shall be the only meat for dinner, and the broiling [will] begin at two ... on each day of Meeting". Members wore blue coats with brass buttons bearing the motto "Beef and liberty," reflecting the patriotic symbolism of beef consumption.

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For Hogarth and his contemporaries, eating beef was "an act laden with meaning, a bold emblem of patriotism set against the backdrop of England's 18th-century wars with France". His 1748 painting O the Roast Beef of Old England encapsulated this philosophy, depicting robust English beef contrasted with "emaciated French onlookers and a corpulent monk". The painting celebrated beef as quintessentially English, contrasting native vitality with French weakness. (9)

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At Beefsteak Society meetings, meals were ceremonial affairs. Broiled steaks arrived "hissing and piping hot" on pewter plates, accompanied by "baked potatoes, Spanish onions cold and fried, beet root, and chopped eschalot," with "toasted cheese end[ing] the repast". Porter (in pewter), port wine, punch, and whiskey toddy accompanied the dinner. The society's gatherings involved not just eating but "noisy revelry" afterward. (10)

The Gate of Calais (also known as, O the Roast Beef of Old England), 1749

Hogarth's famous 1751 prints Gin Lane and Beer Street demonstrate his views on alcohol. Beer Street portrayed beer-drinking as wholesome and patriotic, showing "happy and healthy" people "nourished by the native English small beer and ale". Conversely, Gin Lane depicted gin consumption as destructive, showing "shocking scenes of infanticide, starvation, madness, decay, and suicide". These prints supported the 1751 Gin Act and reflected Hogarth's belief in moderate consumption of traditional English beverages. (11)

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Hogarth was a regular imbiber at the Rose and Crown pub. Coffee houses also featured in his social life—these were centers of artistic and intellectual exchange.

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Hogarth's last recorded meal is poignant: before going to bed on October 25, 1764 (the night he died), he ate a pound of beefsteaks for dinner, and looked more robust than he had in a while.

ARTISTIC CAREER William Hogarth’s career has one of those satisfyingly improbable arcs that history occasionally produces, moving from the painstaking engraving of silverware to the invention of an entire way of telling stories in pictures. He began not as a grand painter of kings or myths, but as a teenage apprentice in Leicester Fields, learning to etch coats of arms, shop bills, and bookplates for Ellis Gamble—useful skills, if not exactly the stuff of immortality.

By 1720, Hogarth had set up on his own as an engraver, turning out trade cards, tickets, and book illustrations for London booksellers. It paid the rent, just about, but left him irked by the fact that publishers controlled what he produced and how much he earned. In 1724, he pushed back with Masquerades and Operas, a satirical print attacking the city’s infatuation with foreign entertainments. It was his first clear signal that he intended to do more than decorate other people’s projects.

At the same time, Hogarth was quietly retraining himself as a painter, studying at the original St Martin’s Lane Academy and experimenting with portraits and small group scenes. A turning point came in 1727, when a tapestry worker named Joshua Morris refused to pay him, arguing that Hogarth was “an engraver, and no painter.” Hogarth sued, won, and in the process secured a public, legal affirmation that he was, in fact, both.

By the early 1730s, he had a respectable middle-class clientele, but conventional portraiture bored him. His real breakthrough arrived with A Harlot’s Progress, a six-part story following a country girl’s rise and ruin in London. Painted first and then engraved, it was an instant hit. Hogarth realized that he could treat pictures like scenes in a play—“my picture was my stage,” as he put it—and in doing so effectively invented what he later called the “modern moral subject.”

He refined the formula with A Rake’s Progress, charting a young man’s journey from inherited wealth to Bedlam, and Marriage A-la-Mode, a caustic take on aristocratic marriages of convenience. Sold by subscription, these series made Hogarth famous and, crucially, financially independent. He no longer needed patrons to survive, which freed him to be as pointed as he liked.

Throughout the 1730s and 1740s, Hogarth balanced portraits and single-scene paintings with increasingly ambitious print series. Works such as Four Times of the Day captured the rhythms and absurdities of London life, while Industry and Idleness contrasted virtue and vice with almost instructional clarity. In the 1750s, his tone hardened. Beer Street and Gin Lane took on the social catastrophe of gin addiction, while The Four Stages of Cruelty delivered an uncompromising sermon on brutality.

Hogarth also saw himself as a theorist. In 1753, he published The Analysis of Beauty, arguing that variety, movement, and the serpentine “line of beauty” were central to visual pleasure. Critics mocked it, but the ideas travelled, especially on the Continent, and helped establish him as the intellectual architect of what many called an “English School” of painting—urban, contemporary, and defiantly independent of foreign academic rules.

His later years were not tranquil. An Election, inspired by the Oxfordshire election of 1754, was a ferocious exposé of political corruption. Even after being appointed Serjeant Painter to George II in 1757, Hogarth continued to provoke. His final political allegory, The Times (1762), triggered a public feud with radical politician John Wilkes and satirist Charles Churchill, ending his career in a flurry of pamphlets and caricatures.

Taken as a whole, Hogarth did something quietly revolutionary. He turned contemporary London life into high art, used sequential images to tell morally charged stories, and sold them directly to a broad public. In doing so, he laid down the visual grammar that would later resurface in caricature, comics, and graphic storytelling—and proved that you could make a career, and a small fortune, by telling uncomfortable truths with a sharp eye and a copper plate.

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MUSIC AND ARTS Hogarth's relationship with music and the broader arts was intimate and multifaceted, extending beyond visual art into active patronage and collaboration.

Hogarth's most significant musical connection was with George Frideric Handel (1685-1759), the great Baroque composer. Both men were deeply involved with the Foundling Hospital, where Handel held benefit concerts that raised approximately £7,000 (over a million pounds in today's money) for the charity. The Hospital's Gerald Coke Handel Collection, which includes manuscripts and scores of Messiah and the Foundling Hospital Anthem, remains a major research resource.

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Hogarth's close friend Dr Thomas Morell (1704-1784) was one of Handel's librettists from 1746, creating texts for several oratorios. 

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Hogarth loved the theatre. His first major success, The Beggar's Opera (1728), depicted a scene from John Gay's theatrical farce. He became intimate with the theatrical world, and actor-manager David Garrick was a particularly close friend.

David Garrick as Richard III, 1745 by William Hogarth

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Hogarth was central to London's artistic establishment. He founded St Martin's Lane Academy in 1735, which became "an important arena for artistic discussion and experiment" and a precursor to the Royal Academy (founded 1768). (3)​

LITERATURE Hogarth's connections to literature were extensive, encompassing both personal friendships with major writers and profound influences on literary development.

Henry Fielding (1707-1754), the novelist, playwright, and magistrate, was among Hogarth's closest literary friends. They shared "enthusiasm for honest naturalism in art". Fielding's novels, particularly Tom Jones, showed clear influence from Hogarth's narrative visual style. One scholar noted that "It was the example of his friend Hogarth which taught [Fielding] to restrain the tendency" toward "burlesque and caricature," leading to more balanced realism.  Fielding even described his own writing as "comic-epic-poems in prose," mirroring Hogarth’s "pictorial dramas. (3)

Laurence Sterne, author of Tristram Shandy, was another friend. Samuel Johnson, the great lexicographer and critic, was also an acquaintance, though their relationship appears less close than others.

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Hogarth's narrative art influenced 18th-century novelists "in their subject matter and focus on individual narratives". His sequential prints—A Harlot's Progress, A Rake's Progress, Marriage A-la-Mode—operated like visual novels, telling complete stories with moral weight and psychological depth. (12)

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Hogarth himself wrote significantly. His Autobiographical Notes provide valuable firsthand accounts of his life and philosophy. More substantially, The Analysis of Beauty (1753) represents a major contribution to aesthetic theory, "combining practical advice on painting with criticism of the art establishment". In it, he "expressed his belief in the 'beauty of a composed intricacy of form,' which 'leads the eye a kind of chace' and advocated variety, irregularity, movement, and exaggeration". (3)

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Perhaps Hogarth's most significant literary legacy was pioneering the "comic strip." His sequential narrative prints can be seen as "the forerunner of cartoons and comic strips", establishing a visual storytelling tradition that continues in contemporary graphic novels and comics. (12)

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NATURE He was primarily an urban artist, more interested in the "theatre" of the London streets than in rolling landscapes. However, he moved to a country retreat in Chiswick later in life to enjoy the fresh air and garden.

Hogarth's The Analysis of Beauty (1753) centered on nature as the source of aesthetic principles. His purpose was "to consider the variety of lines which form bodies" as found in nature. (13)

PETS Hogarth was famously devoted to dogs, particularly pugs, whose companionship marked his life and work. Trump (c. 1730-c. 1745) was Hogarth's best-known pet, featured prominently in his 1745 self-portrait The Painter and his Pug. According to the Tate Gallery, "Hogarth's pug dog, Trump, serves as an emblem of the artist's own pugnacious character". ​

Trump's appearance differed from modern pugs—"with his gangly legs and long muzzle, Trump's appearance is quite different to that of today's pugs". He was "the product of an age before dog shows and breed standards, when pugs came in a wider variety of shapes". The breed was then called "Dutch dogs" or "Dutch mastiffs," and Trump's name was "an anglicisation of Tromp, the name of two famous Dutch admirals of the 17th century". (7)

William Hogarth, The Painter and his Pug, 1745

Hogarth's fondness for Trump manifested unusually for the time. After visiting a fair on the frozen Thames in 1740, "Hogarth had a souvenir sheet printed with Trump's name as a memento". The 19th-century painter John Phillip reported that Trump "drank from a 'marble cistern' positioned on a stool in front of a bow window"—exceptionally luxurious treatment for a pet. (7)

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Besides dogs, Hogarth kept birds at his Chiswick home, where he marked the graves of his dogs and birds.

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HOBBIES AND SPORTS Hogarth enjoyed walking the streets of London, observing human behavior for his sketches. He was also a member of various social clubs and was involved in the philanthropic work of the Foundling Hospital.

He attended theatrical performances regularly. His fascination with drama was both professional and recreational—he studied actors' expressions and gestures while enjoying the entertainmen

Observational drawing was both work and pleasure for Hogarth. His 1748 trip to France with artist friends (Thomas Hudson, Joseph and Alexander Van Aken, Francis Hayman, and Henry Cheere) combined tourism with artistic study. Even his fateful sketching at Calais, which led to his arrest, began as a leisurely artistic exercise.

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SCIENCE AND MATHS In The Analysis of Beauty (1753), Hogarth explicitly argued against mathematical approaches to proportion in art. He concluded that "no exact mathematical measurement by lines can be given for the true proportions of a human body" due to "the intricate variety of the constituent forms and their ever changing positions". He criticized artists like Albrecht Dürer and Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo who attempted to codify beauty through mathematical ratios.​ (13)

Despite rejecting rigid mathematics, Hogarth demonstrated sophisticated understanding of geometry and optics. His theory of the "line of beauty"—the serpentine S-curve—represented a geometric principle he believed governed aesthetic appeal. He described this as "a network of lines that capture or grasp the three-dimensional form," analogous to modern "mensorial three-dimensional documentation of forms in computer graphics".

PHILOSOPHY & THEOLOGY William Hogarth’s beliefs, such as they were, did not sit tidily on a single shelf labelled Religion (Handle With Care). They sprawled across several shelves at once, some of them slightly warped, and at least one with a sarcastic note pinned to it. Officially, he was Anglican—respectable, pew-owning, Sunday-attending Anglican. He was buried at St Nicholas’ Church in Chiswick, where his wife Jane reliably occupied her pew each week, presumably trying not to glance too pointedly at the stained glass while thinking about her husband’s latest print.

But Hogarth’s Christianity came with a raised eyebrow and a sharp pencil. He had very little patience for religious institutions behaving badly, which, to his mind, was most of the time. Clergy who confused holiness with power, enthusiasm with virtue, or authority with goodness were fair game. In The Reward of Cruelty, he stages what can only be described as a theological practical joke: condemned murderer Tom Nero is dissected by clergymen in a grotesque parody of the Eucharist, a sort of reverse sacrament where nothing is redeemed and everything smells faintly of hypocrisy. Hogarth’s message seems to be: if this is what religion looks like when it forgets mercy, perhaps we should all step back slowly.

The reward of cruelty (Plate IV)

He was particularly allergic to religious enthusiasm—the kind that mistook emotional collapse for spiritual awakening. His print Credulity, Superstition, and Fanaticism takes aim at Methodism with the enthusiasm of a man who has sat through one too many excitable sermons. John Wesley, understandably unimpressed, called the work “lewd Obscenity & blasphemous profaneness” and announced that he detested the artist. 

Yet for all this mischief, Hogarth was not a nihilist in fancy dress. Beneath the satire sat a deeply Protestant moral engine. His great narrative series—A Harlot’s Progress, A Rake’s Progress, Industry and Idleness—run on a simple, rather alarming principle: actions have consequences, and they are rarely negotiable. Work hard and behave decently, and life may go tolerably well. Ignore conscience and chase pleasure, and you will almost certainly end up ruined, imprisoned, or anatomised. This is not subtle theology, but it is recognisably Protestant, with its emphasis on moral responsibility rather than priestly mediation.

Like many thoughtful Londoners of his time, Hogarth absorbed Enlightenment ideas in coffee houses, where philosophy was served alongside weak beer and strong opinions. He read Locke, knew Mandeville, and admired Shaftesbury’s aesthetic ideas, which suggested that beauty itself might point toward the divine. This did not make him a card-carrying deist, but it did incline him toward natural observation over revealed certainty, and toward scepticism whenever someone claimed to have God neatly explained.

At heart, Hogarth’s moral philosophy was practical. He did not preach; he showed. He trusted that if you depicted the journey from petty cruelty to full-blown depravity clearly enough, people might recognise themselves halfway along and stop. His view of human nature was realistic, occasionally bleak, but never indifferent. He mocked human weakness mercilessly, yet devoted real time and money to charities like the Foundling Hospital. In other words, he believed people were ridiculous, often awful, and still worth caring about.

POLITICS Hogarth’s politics, like most things about Hogarth, refused to sit still long enough to be labelled. They shifted, overlapped, contradicted themselves, and occasionally tripped over practical realities such as who was paying the bills and who was currently in power. If you were hoping for a neat party badge, you would leave disappointed and possibly slightly mocked in the margin.

On paper, Hogarth looked Whiggish. He came from the commercially minded middle classes, believed in professional independence, and moved in circles where Whig ideas—Parliamentary authority, religious tolerance, and social reform—were the fashionable furniture. His father-in-law, the painter Sir James Thornhill, prospered under Whig patronage during the reign of George I, and Hogarth’s deep involvement with the Foundling Hospital fitted comfortably with Whig notions of enlightened philanthropy and improvement.

But Hogarth was never a team player in the usual sense. His Humours of an Election series makes it painfully clear that, when given the chance, he regarded both Whigs and Tories as equally capable of lying, bribing, bullying, and generally behaving like children let loose with other people’s money. Rather than championing the Whigs, the series exposes their “New Interest” corruption alongside the “Old Interest” Tory variety, suggesting that once an election began, principle was often the first casualty, regardless of party colour.

If Hogarth had one political constant, it was English nationalism—robust, beef-fed, and deeply suspicious of anything French. His membership in the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks, whose motto was “Beef and Liberty,” says quite a lot all by itself. His painting O the Roast Beef of Old England (The Gate of Calais), produced after an unpleasant encounter with French authorities, turned personal irritation into a full-blown patriotic statement: hearty English abundance versus scrawny continental inadequacy. Subtle it is not, but subtle was not the point.

In his later years, Hogarth edged closer to explicit government support. The Times (1762) backed official efforts to bring the Seven Years’ War to an end, aligning him firmly with the administration. This did not go down well with radical Whigs such as John Wilkes and Charles Churchill, who responded with pamphlets, poems, and personal attacks of impressive venom. Hogarth replied in kind, caricaturing Wilkes in a print that became a bestseller, though it also dragged him into a bruising public feud that dominated his final years.

William Hogarth The Times plate 1

His appointment as Serjeant Painter to King George II in 1757 further tied him to the establishment. The role was largely ceremonial, but symbolically significant: Hogarth was now officially inside the system he had spent decades ridiculing. Even so, he never entirely stopped biting the hand that fed him.

Politically, Hogarth was often most effective when arguing through images rather than slogans. Prints like Gin Lane and Beer Street helped build public support for the Gin Act of 1751, while The Four Stages of Cruelty bolstered arguments for legislation allowing the dissection of executed murderers. These works functioned as visual lobbying, proving that Hogarth could influence policy without ever standing for office or pretending to like politicians very much.

At the same time, his Election series remains one of the most savage critiques of British democracy ever produced—depicting bribery, voter intimidation, mob violence, and general chaos with a weary implication that this is what happens when ideals collide with human nature.

In the end, Hogarth’s politics were neither tidy nor consistent. He supported authority when it suited his moral and national instincts, attacked it when it became pompous or corrupt, and reserved the right to change his mind mid-sketch. This ambiguity made him controversial in his own time and endlessly interesting afterward. He was not loyal to parties so much as to principles—though even those, on occasion, were willing to bend under the weight of English beef, public order, and a strong sense of being thoroughly fed up.​

SCANDAL Hogarth's career included several notable controversies and scandals, both personal and professional.

1. Morris Lawsuit (1727-28): In 1727, tapestry maker Joshua Morris commissioned Hogarth to design Element of Earth. When Morris discovered Hogarth was an engraver, and not a painter by formal training, he refused payment. Hogarth sued him for the money in the Westminster Court, where the case was decided in his favour on May 28, 1728. While Hogarth won, the public dispute highlighted questions about his qualifications as a painter.

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2. Arrest in Calais (1748): The most dramatic scandal occurred in July 1748 when Hogarth traveled to France during the armistice before the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. While sketching the gate and fortifications at Calais, he "was taken into custody" and "actually carried before the governor as a spy". He was "committed a prisoner to Grandsire, his landlord, on his promising that Hogarth should not go out of his house till it was to embark for England".

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3. The Wilkes-Churchill Feud (1762-1764): The most bitter scandal of Hogarth's life erupted after he published The Times, Plate 1 (1762), supporting government efforts to end the Seven Years' War. Radical Whig politician John Wilkes and poet Charles Churchill launched devastating attacks in The North Briton No. XVII (September 1762).

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The text was "a harsh criticism of Hogarth and his work", with Wilkes stating "Hogarth was only capable of depicting vice, and incapable of showing virtue," calling it "Gibbeting by numbers". Churchill's poem An Epistle to William Hogarth was equally savage. (16)

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Hogarth retaliated with his famous caricature of Wilkes, which became a bestseller, depicting him with exaggerated, demonic features. But the counterattacks continued, with Churchill and Wilkes producing further satirical prints showing the two men beating Hogarth and mocking his pug, Trump.

Hogarth's satirical engraving of the radical politician John Wilkes.

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4. Religious Controversy: Hogarth's prints satirizing religious enthusiasm caused scandal among believers. His Credulity, Superstition, and Fanaticism (1762) was so controversial that his friends discouraged him from publishing his original etching, saying it was too strong, and might be taken as an attack on all Christian belief. John Wesley wrote that he "detest[ed] the artist" for this "horrid composition of lewd Obscenity & blasphemous profaneness".

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5. Accusations of Lewdness: Throughout his career, moralists criticized Hogarth's frank depictions of prostitution, drunkenness, and sexual impropriety. While his stated purpose was moral instruction, his detailed renderings of vice led some to accuse him of pandering to prurient interests. The tension between moral message and potentially titillating content remained controversial.

MILITARY RECORD William Hogarth had no military service. but military themes appeared significantly in his work:

The March of the Guards to Finchley (1750) depicted "the then fairly new Guards regiments in their mitre style headgear carousing in Tottenham Court prior to marching off to quell the Jacobite rebellion of 1745". The painting showed soldiers drinking, carousing with prostitutes, and generally behaving disreputably before heading to battle—a realistic rather than heroic portrayal of military life. (18)

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The Times, Plate 1 (1762) was Hogarth's appeal for the cessation of the Seven Years' War, supporting peace negotiations. 

HEALTH AND PHYSICAL FITNESS For six decades, Hogarth maintained an active, productive life with no recorded serious illnesses. He displayed remarkable energy throughout his career, producing an astonishing volume of work while managing multiple social and professional commitments. His ability to work on large-scale paintings like those at St Bartholomew's Hospital (1736-37) required physical stamina.

Hogarth's health deteriorated significantly in his early sixties. He was "in weak condition" by 1760, experiencing periods of illness in 1762. Most seriously in 1763, he had a stroke that left him severely handicapped. Despite this, he continued working on The Bench on his final day, with some help.

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HOMES Hogarth's residences reflected his rising social and economic status throughout his life.

Early Childhood (1697-1701): Born at Bartholomew Close, Smithfield, in a room rented by his father Richard Hogarth in the Gibbons family home. This was a modest, lower-middle-class dwelling in an area near Smithfield Market.

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St John's Gate, Clerkenwell (c.1701-1709): When Hogarth was four, the family moved "across Smithfield to a house at the end of St John Street," then "just round the corner to St John's Gate, the old gatehouse of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem". This medieval gatehouse became "their home for the next seven or eight years". Here Richard Hogarth opened his ill-fated Latin-speaking coffee house in 1704. (1)

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Fleet Prison and "Rules" (1707-c.1712): Following his father's bankruptcy, Hogarth and his family were confined with Richard in Fleet Prison. They later lived in cheaper accommodation in areas outside the prison walls where prisoners could reside—specifically at Black and White Court, near Ship Inn.

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Post-Prison Residence (c.1712-1720): After Richard's release, the family moved to Long Lane, remaining in modest circumstances until William's father died in 1718.

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Independent Lodgings (1720-1729): Upon establishing his engraving business in 1720, Hogarth likely maintained independent lodgings, though specific addresses aren't recorded. 

Thornhill House, Covent Garden (1731-1736): After reconciling with his father-in-law, Hogarth and Jane "moved to Thornhill House, Great Piazza, Covent Garden in 1731. This represented a significant social elevation—Covent Garden was a fashionable artistic quarter. The house belonged to Sir James Thornhill, placing the young couple in a substantial, prestigious residence.

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Leicester Fields, London (1736-1764): In 1736, Hogarth moved into a house in Leicester Fields (now Leicester Square). It was one of London's more fashionable addresses, home to artists, intellectuals, and professionals. The house served as both residence and workplace, with studio space for painting.

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The property included panelled rooms with fireplaces and wooden floorboards. Hogarth's sister Anne moved in with William and Jane in 1742, and the household included servants. After Hogarth's death, his widow Jane continued living there until 1770. The house was demolished in 1870, but its location is commemorated today.

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Hogarth's House, Chiswick (1749-1764): In 1749, having decided that London was quite enough of London, Hogarth bought himself a country retreat in Chiswick. The house, acquired from the widow of Georg Andreas Ruperti for somewhere between £1,000 and £1,500, sat just northwest of Chiswick village, surrounded by orchards and open fields—exactly the sort of place where an overworked satirist could glare thoughtfully at nature.

This was not a permanent escape but a strategic one. Hogarth intended the house as a weekend and summer refuge from the racket of his Leicester Fields home (now Leicester Square), where carriages, commerce, and general human folly were in constant supply. Within a year he was already improving it, adding an extra room to each floor and constructing a garden building with an upstairs studio, which he used for painting. The extension is still visible today, politely advertising itself through mismatched brickwork and mortar. He also installed the large central oriel window, presumably to let in more light—and perhaps more opportunities for judgment.

After Hogarth’s death, his wife Jane continued to use the house, and when she eventually sold it, she chose to remain there rather than return to the bustle of Leicester Fields, a quiet vote in favour of Chiswick tranquillity.

The house very nearly did not survive into the modern age. In 1901, plans were drawn up to demolish it and replace it with new housing, a fate that has claimed many less fortunate buildings. Salvation arrived in the form of Lieutenant Colonel William Shipway, who bought the property for £1,500, paid for its restoration, and opened it to visitors in 1904. Even the later arrival of the Hogarth Roundabout and a widened six-lane road failed to finish it off. Against considerable odds, the house endured, and today it stands handsomely restored as a museum—proof that even in London, history occasionally wins.

William Hogarth's house in Chiswick By Colin McLaughlin

TRAVEL In May 1732, Hogarth embarked on his best-documented journey: a five-day trip through Kent with four companions—Ebenezer Forrest, William Tothall, John Thornhill, and Samuel Scott. They traveled from the Bedford Arms tavern in Tavistock Row, visiting various sites in Kent.

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This expedition deliberately satirized "the tradition of the Grand Tour as well as the practice of antiquarians in Britain," demonstrating Hogarth's "irreverent relationship with historical traces of the country's past". The journey was documented with drawings by Hogarth and Scott, with Forrest serving as scribe, resulting in The Peregrination. (15)

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Hogarth’s most memorable—and ill-advised—venture abroad took place in July 1748, during the brief lull in hostilities that preceded the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. With Europe momentarily not at war with itself, Hogarth seized the chance to visit Paris, travelling in a congenial pack of artist friends that included Thomas Hudson, Joseph and Alexander Van Aken, Francis Hayman, and Henry Cheere. It was meant to be cultural enrichment; it turned into something closer to an international incident.

On the return journey, the group fractured. According to the antiquary George Vertue, most of the party continued onwards to Flanders and the Netherlands, while Hogarth and Hayman sensibly aimed straight for Calais and a boat home. Unfortunately, while killing time in Calais and waiting for a favourable wind, Hogarth did what came naturally: he started drawing. His chosen subject—the town gate and drawbridge, still inconveniently decorated with English arms—was, from a French military perspective, a rather poor choice.

Hogarth’s innocent sketching of the fortifications promptly attracted suspicion. He was arrested, hauled before the governor, and forced to explain that he was an artist, not a spy with particularly bad espionage instincts. After producing other drawings as evidence of his harmless intentions, he was released, though not entirely trusted, and placed under the parole of his landlord until the weather allowed him to leave France.

The episode left a lasting impression. Hogarth returned to England relieved, indignant, and thoroughly cured of any desire for Continental travel. The experience also found its way into art: O the Roast Beef of Old England (The Gate of Calais) stands as both a patriotic joke and a visual souvenir of the trip that convinced Hogarth that England—and its beef—were vastly preferable to foreign soil.

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DEATH William Hogarth died during the night of October 25–26, 1764, at his house in Leicester Fields, London, aged 66 years and 11 months—having spent the day very much behaving like a man who did not yet realise it was his last.

Earlier on October 25 he had been conveyed, in a weakened condition, from his beloved villa in Chiswick back to Leicester Fields. He had been unwell for more than a month and was clearly frail by this point, yet observers noted that he remained in good spirits. In typical Hogarth fashion, he continued to work despite his condition, making final retouches to The Bench that same day, assisted where necessary.

The day also included one final brush with the wider intellectual world. Hogarth received a letter from Benjamin Franklin and drafted a rough reply—an understated but poignant reminder that, even at the end, he was connected to the transatlantic exchange of ideas that shaped the Enlightenment.

That evening, before retiring to bed, Hogarth reportedly boasted that he had eaten a full pound of beefsteak for dinner and appeared more robust than he had in some time. It was a characteristically English final indulgence for an artist who had made roast beef a national symbol.

The improvement was short-lived. After going to bed he was suddenly taken violently ill and began vomiting. In distress, he rang his bell so forcefully that it broke, summoning his servant, Mrs Mary Lewis. Hogarth died roughly two hours later, in her arms.

Contemporary accounts differ on the precise cause of death. John Nichols claimed it was an aneurysm in the chest, while Horace Walpole described it as “a dropsy of his breast,” likely indicating fluid accumulation linked to heart failure. Both accounts point to a sudden cardiovascular collapse.

Hogarth was buried at St Nicholas Church, Chiswick, close to the country retreat he loved. His friend David Garrick wrote the epitaph for his tomb, which fittingly hails him as the “great Painter of Mankind”—a final acknowledgement of his role as the most acute visual chronicler of 18th-century English life.

APPEARANCES IN MEDIA Hogarth's life, personality, and works have inspired numerous subsequent artistic and media representations.

1. 19th Century Literature: Victorian writers frequently referenced Hogarth. Charles Dickens, himself a great observer of London life, was deeply influenced by Hogarth's visual storytelling.

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2. 20th-21st Century Films and Television:

Bedlam (1946) - film utilizing Hogarth's work

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The Rake's Progress (1939) - film adaptation

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Artists' Notebooks (1964) - documentary

3. Theatre and music Hogarth’s life and works have inspired numerous plays and operas, including Igor Stravinsky’s opera The Rake's Progress.

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4. Novels: Michael Dean authored I, Hogarth: A Novel, a fictionalized biography. 

Jenny Uglow wrote the massive 709-page biography Hogarth: A Life and a World, published in multiple editions and widely acclaimed.

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5. Academic Studies: Ronald Paulson produced definitive scholarly works including the multi-volume Hogarth and Hogarth's Harlot: Sacred Parody in Enlightenment England. Countless art history texts, dissertations, and scholarly articles examine his work.

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6. Cultural References: Hogarth's name has been applied to institutions and locations:

The Hogarth Press, founded by Leonard and Virginia Woolf in 1917, took his name

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Hogarth Roundabout and Hogarth Business Park in Chiswick

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Hogarth Lane in Chiswick

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Numerous pubs, cafes, and businesses bear his name

ACHIEVEMENTS Pioneered modern satirical and narrative art

Created some of the most influential moral series in Western art

Helped establish copyright protection for artists

Elevated printmaking to a respected art form

Remains a defining voice of 18th-century British culture

Sources: (1) Tales From the Brazier (2) Biographical Anecdotes of William Hogarth, With a Catalogue of His Works by John Nichols (3) Britannica (4) The Independent (5) Brentford and Chiswick Local History Society (6) Colonial Williamsburg (7) Apollo magazine (8) Dorset magazine (9) Atlas Obscura (10) Geri Walton (11) Wikipedia (12) The Art School (13) William Hogarth The Analysis of Beauty (14) National Library of Medicine (15) Yale University Library Online Exhibitions (16) Kate Shrewsday (17) London Historians Blog