prints is herewith reproduced, while perhaps slightly inferior artistically to "The Harlot's Progress," is certainly the most widely known of his creations. Thackeray esteemed it the most important and highly wrought of the Hogarthian comedies.

In the first print we see the negotiations for a marriage between the daughter of a rich alderman and young Lord Viscount Squanderfield, the vicious son of a gouty old earl. The fathers present as fine a contrast as the young people, the arrogance of birth of the nobleman, his coronet and goldlace against the money-bags and mortgage-deeds of the alderman. It is evident that love has no great part in the match, for the young viscount is admiring himself in the glass, while the bride is playing with the marriage-ring and listening to Counselor Silvertongue, who has been drawing the settlements. The succeeding pictures carry the ill-omened marriage to its dismal end. My lord takes his pleasure elsewhere than at home, fuddling himself in evil haunts; while my lady amuses herself with foreign singers, masquerades, and the society of the sinister Silvertongue. The day comes when my lord returns home at the inopportune moment, draws his sword upon the counselor, who kills him, and is caught while trying to escape. My lady returns to her father, the city alderman, and faints upon reading Silvertongue's last speech before his execution at Tyburn. It is the old, old story, the old, old moral, the old, old sermon, about marrying for rank or money, and about evil ways and associations. To Hogarth belonged the comedy of vice, the vice of the old eighteenth-century London—the London of Temple Bar and Tyburn and the old London Bridge, with its row of tottering houses; the London of Harry Fielding, who, of all Hogarth's contemporaries, was probably nearest to him in

mental kinship. His immediate successor in English pictorial humor, William Henry Bunbury, took as his field the comedy of society. At the time of Hogarth's death, in 1764, Bunbury was a lad of fourteen. Consequently, it was a somewhat different England which came under his observation, but still the red-blooded, robust, outspoken England of Fielding's Tom Jones, and which was later to inspire Gillray's terrible pencil. But Bunbury reflects the politer and more ceremonious side of the age. He was an aristocrat, as a youth he had made the "grand tour," he held a militia commission, and he had no liking for depicting the miseries of Gin Lane and Beer Alley. He began to publish his prints as early as 1767, when he was but seventeen years of age, most of his early work being based on his impressions of

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foreign travel. To this period belong "The Englishman at Paris," the "Tour to Foreign Parts," "The Kitchen of a French Post-House," showing peasants, dandies, monks, lean Frenchmen, in contrast to stout and well-fed Britons. His life as an amateur soldier naturally led him to treat of military subjects, and among his best-known prints are Recruits," The Deserter," "The Militia Meeting," and A Visit to Camp." One of his most famous sketches was "The Long Minuet," as danced at Bath, the great rendezvous of eighteenth-century fashionable English society. Mr. Selwyn Brinton, in his "Eighteenth Century in English Caricature," writes of "The Long Minuet as a forerunner of a line of humor which the Germans have developed in Fliegende Blätter, and which Caran d'Ache has made use of with great success in France.

The next great figure in the history of caricature is Gillray. The two prints reproduced here-" Gulliver Inspected by a Brobdingnagian" and "Bonaparte the King-Baker "— are characteristic, yet there are probably forty or fifty other prints from which any two might have been taken, and the selection would have been just as felicitous. Then there are thirty odd sketches conceived and executed with great power, and illustrative of one side of his great but perverted genius, which could not be printed at all, of which one must speak evasively, and which were found overstrong even by an age which did not flinch from the broadest of jests and found little shame in open allusion to the elemental facts of physical life. Looking at these prints one somehow sees the shadow of the madness which darkened his later years.

The age of Gillray was a realistic one, an age of ceremony and sharp distinctions of caste. A great man was known by his exterior, and he flaunted his vices in much