pens. Artists like Gavarni, Gill, and particularly Cham, through pictorial journals, made the public eye familiar with his traits-always accompanied with characteristic speech.

There is no comical representative of French nationality such as we have in Brother Jonathan and England has in John Bull, but what comes nearest to it is Joseph Prudhomme. The English tried to foist the frog on France in that character under the name of Johnny Crapaud-blundering into toad for frog-but the Gaul never accepted him.

The discursive, patriotic side of Prudhomme is shown in a court of justice, in one of the Monnier sketches. His portliness adds to his self-importance, and he answers the questions of the president of the court with that voice which is always sonorous. When asked if he is related to the accused, he answers that he might be, but he is not; thereupon he prepares to enter on the subject by way of elucidation, when the president stops him, at the same time requesting him to turn to the jury, which he does with a grand bow. He begins his deposition and soon runs off into stilted, disjointed sentences about Paris, the modern Athens-the center of art and civilization, and he is recalled to the question. Another effort is attended with a like result-the judge growing impatient. At length the witness is pressed into

a corner, when it is discovered that his testimony does not bear upon the case. He is asked if he has nothing else to say. It is all -he has done his duty by enlightening justice. The court, somewhat disgusted, orders him to return to his seat, but Prudhomme in a solemn tone, by way of conclusion, tells the gentlemen of the jury that he seizes the opportunity to assure them, and, through them, France entire, the whole of Europe and the universe, of his unbounded attachment to the king and the great and glorious institutions of the French nation. "Go to your seat," cries the president.-"To the king, to the gendarmerie," pursues Prudhomme. "Be quiet," from the president. With growing fervor, the witness continues, "All that can contribute to our happiness, the king, the constituted authorities, the gendarmerie and his august family."-"Huissier, take out the witness," shouts the judge. And here the fervent witness is ejected, amidst the laughter of the audience.

It is of course impossible to do justice to Prudhomme in any other language than his own. This court scene, as here presented, gives but a pale reflection of the man.

Prudhomme exchanging amenities with the concierge as he lights his bougie or deposits his key; delivering heavy platitudes to fellowpassengers in a diligence on the scenery and

the historic events which it calls up; dining out at set dinners of the bourgeoisie where he displays gallantry to the women and heavy stale wit to all;these are the principal phases which Monnier first showed to the public. But it was not long before he passed from the hands of Monnier and became the property of caricaturists.

In time, the character underwent changes. He was first a bachelor with a cane. Now, the delineators frequently represent him with Madame Prudhomme, and an only son bearing a pretentious name, to whom he imparts his varied knowledge of men and things with paternal care and complacency.

Gavarni was the first to draw him, but his conception was not the true one-he made him too much of a gentleman. It was Cham who caught the popular idea of Prudhomme, and familiarized the people with his well-known. characteristics.

Gavarni was more to France than John Leech was to England. Leech was a votary of the Horse, and whatever appertained to him; hence, was

much given to cabs and cabmen, tops of omnibuses with driver and guard, urchins in the way of the coming vehicle, hunters going over fences, and women riding in Rotten Row, all of which was background for the Horse. The caricatures and delineations of Gavarni cover a wider range of subjects and were much more numerous.

The two were contemporaneous in their popularity, but Gavarni's was much greater than Leech's-each in his respective country, for Gavarni is but little known in England and Leech is scarcely ever heard of in France.

That there is much humor in John Leech's faces all Americans and Englishmen concede but the Frenchman fails to see it as we do. Punch does not make him laugh. On the other hand, we think there is a grotesque extravagance in the French caricature which is overdone, and which does not amuse us as it does him. This probably arises from a want of familiarity with French physiognomy and habits, and vice versa.

Gavarni was to France, in delineation, what Balzac was in literature. He drew the history of his time with the pencil as the other did with the pen. Many of his drawings of fend the eye of the Anglo-Saxon-those relating to scenes in the life of the demi-monde, grisettes, lovers and deceived husbands, but the Gaul avers that he is prudish, squeamish, and more or less hypocritical. It is possible that there is some truth in the Gaul's statement. Masters in art and literature have generally drawn and written boldly and frankly concerning every phase of humanity, -of whom Hogarth and Shakespeare are the most brilliant examples.

Gavarni may be regarded as the French Hogarth. In delineation and caricature he has never been equaled in his own country, for the water-colors of Eugène Lami have not the completeness of Gavarni's work in the way of caricature-the burlesque comic vein. One of his reprehensible creations-from an Anglo-Saxon point of view-is Monsieur Coquardeau, who in celebrity comes next to Joseph Prudhomme. Before the time of Gavarni, the elements of character in Coquardeau existed beyond a doubt, but the artist put them together in a body and breathed into it an individuality which was unmistakable-the victim of conjugal infidelity.

There are certain signs of such a condition familiar to all Frenchmen. In color, yellow shows it; in form, horns sprouting out of the head, or the semblance thereof. A tall white night-cap, with a trembling tassel crowning the apex, may not indicate what they call a

stab in the marriage contract, but it reveals a ridiculous spouse. Naturally, Gavarni availed himself freely of these adjuncts in portraying Coquardeau.

The French have a reprehensible habit of making light of the misfortune of such a victim-unless he kills some one, when the smile disappears in the tragedy. But when the deceived is weak, and accepts the situation through, want of penetration, the world makes sport of him. makes sport of him. Poor Coquardeau is of this number. Yet the artist tries, in some sense, to justify Madame Coquardeau, by similar acts of infidelity on the part of her husband. In all this, the skeleton is never fully disclosed, but indicated by delicate touches.

Customs, in a great measure, make morals. The penalty of the Lothario who encroaches on the rights of another, in America, is severe. The aggrieved considers himself justified in shooting him down at the first opportunity, and twelve of his peers will generally be found to absolve him. But such vengeance is punished by many years of hard labor, or perhaps by death, in France only recourse then, is the so-called field of honor. If the injured man is an indifferent shot and swordsman, and the offender is skillful, it is not surprising that he does not subject himself to the risk of additional injury by engaging in unequal combat.

The

It is not likely, however, that Coquardeau

reasons in this way, for he is never convinced of a breach in the marriage contract, although he at times is strongly inclined to suspect it. His doubts and suspicions furnish the material for the artist. There are situations in the existence of this comic Othello, which, although risible, are almost painful to the Anglo-Saxon-but Monsieur Coquardeau must be seen through French spectacles.

The heartiness with which poor Coquardeau is laughed at, shows a peculiarity in French character. The Gaul may not covet his neighbor's ox nor his ass, but he often does his wife. Of course all do not do so, but there is a sufficient number to make of it a national trait. The Frenchman may be strict in the performance of every obligation, written and moral; the soul of honor in the affairs great and small of every-day life, and yet deficient in this one respect-according to the opinion of English and Americans.

Outside of his legitimate occupation, the American seems to find sufficient outlet in billiards, horses, card-playing, politics, agriculture, Christian and charitable associations. As a rule, the Gaul devotes his leisure time to the gentle sex. The American is a much better husband, but not as good a lover. He would feel himself bored to pass as much of

his time in the society of women as the Gaul does. When the American husband does not find happiness with his wife, he does not therefore seek it in the, society of some other woman; this is precisely what the Gaul does. When matrimonial bonds are thrown around him, he seems to lose his tender assiduity, and seek other recreation and amusement, and the door is thus thrown open to the Lovelace who is always watching for an opportunity. There is another reason for the more complete harmony in the marriage relation in America ; the union is generally founded on mutual affection, whilst in France other considerations prevail in the selection of life-partners. There is often inequality in taste, age and habits. This is the case with the Coquardeaus. Monsieur is middleaged and staid, Madame is young and coquettish.

One laughs at the trials of Coquardeau as revealed in the series of drawings, but with the mirth there is latent sympathy. The pathos of expression in the face of this martyr to conjugal infelicity, at times, is really touching. One is persuaded that the artist felt it too, but that his fidelity to nature would not permit him to show it-that any manifestation of a gushing kind would have been incompatible with the character of the impassible, earthly-recording-angel in which he always appeared.

Hogarth was a moralist who showed the progress of vice in the seven capital sins to the infamous end. Gavarni never preached, he related without comment; no virtuous indignation-no declamation on the subject of human depravity. Hogarth cut deeper into vice, according to his Saxon nature and greater genius; his mirthfulness is ever garnished with a moral. There was more of the Figaro in Gavarni-light, lithesome, essentially French. He was modern to the bone; there was no Athens, no Rome for him, with Herculean forms and eternal Greek profile. He came at a time when his public, surfeited with unchanging classics, began to ask if there was not also something worthy of portrayal in modern French nature. He kept completely out of the classic field; he understood the situation, and saw that there were many niches which could not be filled by Dying Gladiators and Milo Venuses, and

he resolutely set to work. There is analogy between him and Goya, the Spanish painter. Goya, with his pencil, wrote the history of the time in his monks, toreros, aficionadas, manolas and duchesses; but his imitation of Rembrandt light and shadow often obscured his subject; besides, he was fanatic, and this to some extent confused his judgment.

Gavarni, morally, was a representative man -neither better nor worse than his countrymen; free from passion, prejudice, bigotry; his artistic eye saw men and things as they were. Thus, unhampered, he struck into that mine-Parisian life-and found gold.

The amount of work which he performed is something extraordinary; the journals, books, illustrated publications and reviews of his day are full of it. One publisher has collected four volumes of his drawings, comprising, Les Lorettes, La Vie de Jeune Homme, Les Etudiants, Le Carnaval, Les Débardeurs, Les Actrices, Les Fourberies des Femmes, Paris le Matin, Paris le Soir, Les Enfants Terribles, and others. Another publisher has collected eight volumes more, and Théophile Gautier (an authority in art) estimates that his work, if put together, would fill thirty volumes.

The enfant terrible was of course known before Gavarni took up his pencil to describe him, but the philosopher of the crayon threw a new and stronger light on the imp. Sir Thomas Lawrence and others like him would have us believe that this little piece of pink and white flesh and flaxen curls is an innocent cherub. Gavarni was not caught in such

a net.

An American statesman once said that children should be put under a barrel until they reach the age of discretion. Gavarni put them under glass, where all the world could see them in their acts of naughtinessunder protest, naturally, of all good and affectionate mothers.

An old gentleman (perhaps a rich bachelor uncle) makes a visit to mamma, and the child is present. Chucking the little thing under the chin, he says,

"Little Cherub, I have brought you a bonbon; I will give it to you when I go

away." "Well, Mosieu, dive it to me now and dô away."

The effect on mamma may be imagined. A visitor is with the terrible child, who suddenly asks him:

"Who was it set the river on fire, Monsieur ?-because papa says it"

you!"

A modest-looking little girl is sitting on the sofa with a diffident young gentleman, to whom she observes,

"Aunt Amelia says you are good-lookin'and it's a pity you're so stoopid!"

A man with a turn-up nose, hat in hand, is standing in the corridor, with an air of offended dignity, while an urchin is bawling through the door,

"Mamma, it is Mosieu-you know? the man with that nose."

A thin-legged gentleman, whose face wears an astonished expression, has a little girl alongside of him pulling up her stockings, who

says,

"Mosieu Belassis,, it isn't me that has pipestem legs!"

A sentimental young gentleman is sitting alongside of a little girl who is eating nuts. which he has given her. She asks, "The rose that you gave sister? Ah, yes, yesthat you almost broke your neck to reach ?" Well, my cousin Anatole tied it to the tail of the ass; sister laughed ever so much! Have you got any more nuts?"

There are others on the same subjectsome of a character that do not find favor in the sight of stern moralists like ourselves. Words give but a faint idea of Gavarni's Ter