t that
kindness misplaced might bring a train of evils in its place; sympathy
was the one thing wanted; the quinine of stern justice (except against
the great and rich) should ever be watered down with mercy. It was, in
fact, the religion less of the practical politician and true reformer,
than of the worthy, upright, kind-hearted, unthinking Christian. His
very fearlessness made men fear him, as his motives and ability
compelled their respect; and the majority, who cared less for political
philosophy than for political fervour, applauded him blindfold, and in
due time accorded to _Punch_ a place in their esteem second only to that
enjoyed by the "Times." Of course, "bitterness" was expected in the
satirical papers of that day; and it is not pretended that Jerrold was
ever so unreasonable or so anarchical in the pages of _Punch_ as William
Brough revealed himself in the brilliant attacks on the propertied
classes in which he indulged in his Liverpool journal. He lost, of
course, no opportunity of assailing the Duke of Wellington, and Louis
Philippe, and the "Morning Post" (articles in which he attacked the
snobs of England before Thackeray did), and other of _Punch's_ permanent
butts; but his chief merit lies in his having set up the hereditary sins
of Society as targets, and shot his barbed darts into them with unerring
accuracy of aim. Of his bitterness it was said that it was
"healthy--healthy as bark," just as Thackeray--was it not?--had
previously said of his own writings in "Britannia."

It was not till a year afterwards (1842) that he began his "_Punch's_
Letters to his Son." They were tender enough, and show little evidence
that they were written in weakness and in pain. His health, indeed, gave
him periods of agony of a rheumatic character, pain in his hands so
great that at one time he could not write, and at another his whole
racked body practically paralysed, until a "cure" at Malvern gave him
back control of it. On another occasion, but that was in later years,
when he was asked how he was, he replied, "As one that is waiting and is
waited for," and he often wrote, said his son, when the movement of the
pen was fierce pain to him. We may see in this physical torment,
perhaps, the mainspring of much of his caustic humour. Mr. Cooper, R.A.,
would ascribe to over-indulgence much of Jerrold's suffering. "His
countenance was open and bright (when sober!), and showed nothing of
that satirical bitterness for which