rs and mothers owe
him many a pleasant hour and harmless laugh. Is there no way in which
the country could acknowledge the long services and brave career of such
a friend and benefactor?

Since George's time humor has been converted. Comus and his wicked
satyrs and leering fauns have disappeared, and fled into the lowest
haunts; and Comus's lady (if she had a taste for humor, which may be
doubted) might take up our funny picture-books without the slightest
precautionary squeamishness. What can be purer than the charming fancies
of Richard Doyle? In all Mr. Punch's huge galleries can't we walk as
safely as through Miss Pinkerton's schoolrooms? And as we look at Mr.
Punch's pictures, at the Illustrated News pictures, at all the pictures
in the book-shop windows at this Christmas season, as oldsters, we feel
a certain pang of envy against the youngsters--they are too well off.
Why hadn't WE picture-books? Why were we flogged so? A plague on the
lictors and their rods in the time of Plancus!

And now, after this rambling preface, we are arrived at the subject in
hand--Mr. John Leech and his "Pictures of Life and Character," in
the collection of Mr. Punch. This book is better than plum-cake at
Christmas. It is an enduring plum-cake, which you may eat and which you
may slice and deliver to your friends; and to which, having cut it,
you may come again and welcome, from year's end to year's end. In the
frontispiece you see Mr. Punch examining the pictures in his gallery--a
portly, well-dressed, middle-aged, respectable gentleman, in a white
neck-cloth, and a polite evening costume--smiling in a very bland and
agreeable manner upon one of his pleasant drawings, taken out of one of
his handsome portfolios. Mr. Punch has very good reason to smile at the
work and be satisfied with the artist. Mr. Leech, his chief contributor,
and some kindred humorists, with pencil and pen have served Mr. Punch
admirably. Time was, if we remember Mr. P.'s history rightly, that he
did not wear silk stockings nor well-made clothes (the little dorsal
irregularity in his figure is almost an ornament now, so excellent a
tailor has he). He was of humble beginnings. It is said he kept a ragged
little booth, which he put up at corners of streets; associated
with beadles, policemen, his own ugly wife (whom he treated most
scandalously), and persons in a low station of life; earning a
precarious livelihood by the cracking of wild jokes, the singing of
riba