" Caricature
is a likeness having some comical exaggeration or distortion. Now,
caricature is a legitimate and potent instrument of humour, which great
masters have used with consummate effect. Leonardo da Vinci, Michael
Angelo, Rembrandt, Hogarth, use it; but only at times, and in a
subsidiary way. Rabelais, Swift, Fielding, use this weapon not
unfrequently; Shakespeare very sparingly; Goldsmith and Scott, I think,
almost never. Caricature, the essence of which is exaggeration of some
selected feature, distortion of figure, disproportion of some part, is
a potent resource, but one to which the greater masters resort rarely
and with much moderation.

Now with Charles Dickens caricature--that comical exaggeration of a
particular feature, distortion of some part beyond nature--is not only
the essence of his humour, but it is the universal and ever-present
source of his mirth. It would not be true to say that, exaggeration is
the sole form of humour that he uses, but there is hardly a character
of his to which it is not applied, nor a scene of which it is not the
pervading "motive." Some feature, some oddity, some temperament is
seized, dwelt upon, played with, and turned inside out, with incessant
repetition and unwearied energy. Every character, except the walking
gentleman and the walking lady, the insipid lover, or the colourless
friend, have some feature thrust out of proportion, magnified beyond
nature. Sam Weller never speaks without his anecdote, Uriah is always
"'umble," Barkis is always "willin'," Mark Tapley is always "jolly,"
Dombey is always solemn, and Toots is invariably idiotic. It is no
doubt natural that Barnaby's Raven should always want tea, whatever
happens, for the poor bird has but a limited vocabulary. But one does
not see why articulate and sane persons like Captain Cuttle, Pecksniff,
and Micawber should repeat the same phrases under every condition and
to all persons. This, no doubt, is the essence of farce: it may be
irresistibly droll as farce, but it does not rise beyond farce. And at
last even the most enthusiastic Pickwickian wearies of such monotony of
iteration.

Now, the keynote of caricature being the distortion of nature, it
inevitably follows that humourous exaggeration is unnatural, however
droll; and, where it is the main source of the drollery, the picture as
a whole ceases to be within the bounds of nature. But the great
masters of the human heart invariably remain t