oo young a nation to seek the beautiful. That
may come when you Americans grow weary of being rich. Then
you will, as a nation, cultivate art and letters, and--who
knows?--one day you will surpass the Old World in the
splendor of your buildings, the genius of your authors. You
are a great people, but your highest powers are still
slumbering.

At present you are too busily occupied in assimilating the
foreigner, too busily engaged in affairs purely material, to
leave either time or taste for either the beautiful or the
occult. When America does take to beautifying her own home
she will astonish the world.

WHAT "PUNCH" HAS MEANT TO ENGLAND.

London's Famous Funny Paper is Really
Funny to Those Who Know How
to Appreciate Its Jokes.

Sir Francis C. Burnand has resigned the editorship of London _Punch_ after
a service of twenty-three years. It is hard to think of him as old, but,
being in his seventieth year, doubtless he had begun to find the cares of
his position somewhat irksome.

Eminent as was his fitness for the editorship he held so long, he started
out in life with no notion of becoming a humorist. Amateur dramatic
performances took much of his time at Cambridge. After leaving the
university, he became a barrister. Converted to the Roman church, he
studied for the priesthood, but abandoned this prospective future in order
to devote himself to the stage. Though he did not become an actor, he
wrote many stage pieces--plays, librettos, etc.; at the same time he was
writing jokes for the humorous papers, and when he was twenty-five years
of age he became a regular contributor to _Punch_. Says the New York
_Evening Post_:

The resignation of Sir Francis C. Burnand, for twenty-five
years editor of London _Punch_, reminds one how little it
has been subject to the vicissitudes of journalism. As if
by fore-ordination, the admirable parodist, Owen Seaman,
takes the head of the historic table, and _Punch_ will, if
anything, be more _Punch_ than ever. Others may change, but
_Punch_ retains a kind of Olympian uniformity. From its
first number, sixty-five years ago, to the last, its outward
appearance and inward savor are practically identical.
England has been in conspiracy to provide it with talent.

During the editor's term of office the paper lost such
artists as Charles Keene, Du Maurier, and Sir John Tenniel;