and
complaining of its strength! There seems to be hardly a mirthful
corner of English life that Leech has not seen and loved and painted
in this singularly genial and optimistic manner.

[Illustration: "THE JOLLY LITTLE STREET ARABS"

From the original drawing for _Punch_ in possession of John Kendrick
Bangs, Esq.]

His loves are many and his hates are few--but he is a good hater all
the same. He hates Mawworm and Stiggins, and so do we. He hates the
foreigner--whom he does not know, as heartily as Thackeray does, who
seems to know him so well--with a hatred that seems to me a little
unjust, perhaps: all France is not in Leicester Square; many Frenchmen
can dress and ride, drive and shoot as well as anybody; and they began
to use the tub very soon after we did--a dozen years or so,
perhaps--say after the _coup d'etat_ in 1851.

Then he hates with a deadly hatred all who make music in the street or
next door--and preach in the crossways and bawl their wares on the
parade. What would he have said of the Salvation Army? He is haunted
by the bark of his neighbour's dog, by the crow of his neighbour's
Cochin China cock; he cannot even bear his neighbour to have his
chimney swept; and as for the Christmas waits--we all remember _that_
tragic picture! This exaggerated aversion to noises became a disease
with him, and possibly hastened his end.

Among his pet hates we must not forget the gorgeous flunky and the
guzzling alderman, the leering old fop, the rascally book-maker, the
sweating Jew tradesman, and the poor little snob (the 'Arry of his
day) who tries vainly to grow a moustache, and wears such a shocking
bad hat, and iron heels to his shoes, and shuns the Park during the
riots for fear of being pelted for a "haristocrat," and whose
punishment I think is almost in excess of his misdemeanor. To succeed
in over-dressing one's self (as his swells did occasionally without
marring their beauty) is almost as ignominious as to fail; and when
the failure comes from want of means, there is also almost a pathetic
side to it.

[Illustration: DOING A LITTLE BUSINESS

OLD EQUESTRIAN. "Well, but--you're not the boy I left my horse with!"

BOY. "No, sir; I jist spekilated, and bought 'im of t'other boy for a
harpenny."--_Punch_.]

And he is a little bit hard on old frumps, with fat ankles and scraggy
bosoms and red noses--but anyhow we are made to laugh--_quod erat
demonstrandum_. We also know that he has a strong objectio