would with friends or acquaintances, but we
laugh _at_ them. We do not once recognize _ourselves_ in them. His
portraits stand before us, but we gaze at them as we would at some
half-civilized creatures, with curiosity more than with mirth; and while
we admire and acknowledge the truthfulness of the sketch, we do not
desire to have any familiarity or contact with the individuals
represented. Furthermore, Gavarni is more limited than Doyle, by making
the "Sweep," the "Rag-Picker," the "Grisette," tell his or her own
story; and what each one says is necessary to the comprehension of the
person before you. But very different is Toepffer. He possesses, with the
funny conception of Leech and Doyle, a freer pictorial conception than
either, and holds a pencil that is more at command than Gavarni's. In
his single outlines, often of the rudest kind, there is the very
rollicking of freedom, the exact hitting of traits and character. He
dashes down his creation with the quickness of thought, and with as
much confidence that Messrs. Oldbuck, Crepin, and Jabot will leap into
the very existence he wishes them to assume, as Giotto had, when, with a
single sweep of his arm, he drew his magic circle. It may be objected,
that the comparison between the two Englishmen and the two Continentals
is hardly equal. Doyle and Leech lost, doubtless, much of their freedom
by drawing with hard pencils upon box for the wood-engraver. Toepffer and
Gavarni swept the soft, yielding crayon over the lithographer's stone,
and hence we have the very conception of the artists in their sketches.

The whole Continent roared over "M. Vieux Bois," then England began to
laugh, and finally America. Yet "M. Vieux Bois" was only the portrait of
a foolish old bachelor in love. Though born in Geneva, he was neither
Swiss nor French, neither English nor American; he was simply human. He
exemplifies Toepffer's universality.

I have already mentioned the "Nouvelles Genevoises," the "Voyages en
Zig-Zag," and the "Presbytere." But it is not possible to quote from
them. Before pages so lively and so picturesquely effective, one feels
embarrassed in selecting any particular portion, lest another should be
left unnoticed,--like the child, who, being told that he may help
himself to choice flowers, feels afraid that he will not take those he
most wants, and, in his hesitation, dares not so much as untie the
bouquet. The reader must choose for himself. He can accompany the
a