one, however, who, if he would think more, and exaggerate
less, would add not a little to his reputation.

Having pursued, all through these remarks, the comparison between
English art and French art, English and French humor, manners, and
morals, perhaps we should endeavor, also, to write an analytical essay
on English cant or humbug, as distinguished from French. It might be
shown that the latter was more picturesque and startling, the former
more substantial and positive. It has none of the poetic flights of the
French genius, but advances steadily, and gains more ground in the
end than its sprightlier compeer. But such a discussion would carry us
through the whole range of French and English history, and the reader
has probably read quite enough of the subject in this and the foregoing
pages.

We shall, therefore, say no more of French and English caricatures
generally, or of Mr. Macaire's particular accomplishments and
adventures. They are far better understood by examining the original
pictures, by which Philipon and Daumier have illustrated them, than by
translations first into print and afterwards into English. They form
a very curious and instructive commentary upon the present state of
society in Paris, and a hundred years hence, when the whole of this
struggling, noisy, busy, merry race shall have exchanged their pleasures
or occupations for a quiet coffin (and a tawdry lying epitaph) at
Montmartre, or Pere la Chaise; when the follies here recorded shall
have been superseded by new ones, and the fools now so active shall
have given up the inheritance of the world to their children: the latter
will, at least, have the advantage of knowing, intimately and exactly,
the manners of life and being of their grandsires, and calling up, when
they so choose it, our ghosts from the grave, to live, love, quarrel,
swindle, suffer, and struggle on blindly as of yore. And when the amused
speculator shall have laughed sufficiently at the immensity of our
follies, and the paltriness of our aims, smiled at our exploded
superstitions, wondered how this man should be considered great, who
is now clean forgotten (as copious Guthrie before mentioned); how
this should have been thought a patriot who is but a knave spouting
commonplace; or how that should have been dubbed a philosopher who is
but a dull fool, blinking solemn, and pretending to see in the dark;
when he shall have examined all these at his leisure, smiling in a
plea