John Leechs Pictures of Life and Character | Page 6

designer who is still alive and at work. Did we not see, by his own hand,
his own portrait of his own famous face, and whiskers, in the Illustrated
London News the other day? There was a print in that paper of an
assemblage of Teetotalers in "Sadler's Wells Theatre," and we
straightway recognized the old Roman hand--the old Roman's of the
time of Plancus--George Cruikshank's. There were the old bonnets and
droll faces and shoes, and short trousers, and figures of 1820 sure
enough. And there was George (who has taken to the water-doctrine, as
all the world knows) handing some teetotal cresses over a plank to the
table where the pledge was being administered. How often has George
drawn that picture of Cruikshank! Where haven't we seen it? How fine
it was, facing the effigy of Mr. Ainsworth in Ainsworth's Magazine
when George illustrated that periodical! How grand and severe he
stands in that design in G. C.'s "Omnibus," where he represents himself
tonged like St. Dunstan, and tweaking a wretch of a publisher by the
nose! The collectors of George's etchings--oh the charming
etchings!--oh the dear old "German Popular Tales!"--the capital "Points
of Humor"--the delightful "Phrenology" and "Scrap-books," of the
good time, OUR time--Plancus's in fact!--the collectors of the Georgian
etchings, we say, have at least a hundred pictures of the artist. Why, we
remember him in his favorite Hessian boots in "Tom and Jerry" itself;
and in woodcuts as far back as the Queen's trial. He has rather deserted
satire and comedy of late years, having turned his attention to the
serious, and warlike, and sublime. Having confessed our age and
prejudices, we prefer the comic and fanciful to the historic, romantic,
and at present didactic George. May respect, and length of days, and
comfortable repose attend the brave, honest, kindly, pure-minded artist,

humorist, moralist! It was he first who brought English pictorial humor
and children acquainted. Our young people and their fathers 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
ribald songs, and halfpence extorted from passers-by. He is the Satyric
genius we spoke of anon: he cracks his jokes still, for satire must live;
but he is combed, washed, neatly clothed, and perfectly presentable. He
goes into the very best company; he keeps a stud at Melton; he has a
moor in Scotland;