ive forms I have a very real sensibility; and I am not,
as I peruse one of them, privy to the public's delight: my copy cannot
be shared with me by hundreds of people whose mirth is wonderful to see
and hear. And the bare contents are not such as to enchant me. However,
for the purpose of this essay, I did go to a bookstall and buy as many
of these papers as I could see--a terrific number, a terrific burden to
stagger away with.

I have gone steadily through them, one by one. My main impression is of
wonder and horror at the amount of hebdomadal labour implicit in them.
Who writes for them? Who does the drawings for them--those thousands of
little drawings, week by week, so neatly executed? To think that daily
and nightly, in so many an English home, in a room sacred to the
artist, sits a young man inventing and executing designs for Chippy
Snips! To think how many a proud mother must be boasting to her
friends: 'Yes, Edward is doing wonderfully well--more than fulfilling
the hopes we always had of him. Did I tell you that the editor of Natty
Tips has written asking him to contribute to his paper? I believe I
have the letter on me. Yes, here it is,' etc., etc.! The awful thing is
that many of the drawings in these comic papers are done with very real
skill. Nothing is sadder than to see the hand of an artist wasted by
alliance to a vacant mind, a common spirit. I look through these
drawings, conceived all so tritely and stupidly, so hopelessly and
helplessly, yet executed--many of them--so very well indeed, and I sigh
over the haphazard way in which mankind is made. However, my concern is
not with the tragedy of these draughtsmen, but with the specific forms
taken by their humour. Some of them deal in a broad spirit with the
world-comedy, limiting themselves to no set of funny subjects, finding
inspiration in the habits and manners of men and women at large. 'HE
WON HER' is the title appended to a picture of a young lady and
gentleman seated in a drawing-room, and the libretto runs thus: 'Mabel:
Last night I dreamt of a most beautiful woman. Harold: Rather a
coincidence. I dreamt of you, too, last night.' I have selected this as
a typical example of the larger style. This style, however, occupies
but a small space in the bulk of the papers that lie before me. As in
the music-halls, so in these papers, the entertainment consists almost
entirely of variations on certain ever-recurring themes. I have been at
pains to draw