joyous man. If he so rapidly seized the
ridiculous, it was through his love of fun; but while he laughed at
others, so kind and genial was he ever that he made others join and
laugh with him also.

We said that his genius was universal. He is eminently so in his
artistic creations. Take, for instance, his unique comic sketches and
compare them with those of other leading caricaturists. Our impression
must be that none are like his. Leech, Doyle, and Gavarni have attained
a reputation which the world acknowledged long ago, and which no one
would dare dispute; yet they differ entirely from the Genevese
caricaturist. "Oldbuck" (_M. Vieux Bois_) is as universal as music or
Shakspeare, and belongs to no one country in particular. All of Leech's
pretty women, his "Mr. Briggs" and his "Frederick Augustus," with his
"_Haw_" and other swell words and airs, are all unmistakably English.
They could have been born on no other soil than England. It requires an
Englishman, or an American familiar with English fashions and foibles,
to appreciate them. The German, the Frenchman, the Spaniard, the
Italian, or the Russian, could no more understand them without a
previous initiation, or study and experience of English manners, than
they could speak English without long application and practice. The same
may be said of Richard Doyle's famous "Foreign Tour of Messrs. Brown,
Jones, and Robinson." Here we have an irresistible series of sketches,
depicting what the famous trio saw, what they said, and what they did,
in Belgium, Switzerland, and Italy. The interest of that work lies in an
intense expression of English nationality, carried everywhere by the
three Englishmen. Their mishaps and adventures are exactly such as every
American has witnessed a thousand times, when some of his cousins from
the fast-anchored isle have visited him. Gavarni, though freer with his
pencil than either Doyle or Leech, is still as much of a Parisian as
Albert Smith was a Londoner. Every one of his spirited sketches is
intensely French, and, above all, Parisian. To a person who knew nothing
of Paris, who had never been in Paris, and who was not somewhat _au
fait_ with the gay and triste, the splendid and squalid, the brilliant
and unequal society there, these sketches would be meaningless. Again,
Gavarni's pictures are not series. He does not develop his heroes and
heroines. He does not make us feel for them in their mishaps. We do not
laugh _with_ them, as we