greater. It is to his brother-artists rather than to the public at
large that his most successful appeal is made--but with an intensity
that can only be gained by those who have tried in vain to do what he
has done, and who thereby know how difficult it is. His real magic is
that of art.

This perhaps accounts for the unmistakable fact that Leech's
popularity has been so much greater than Keene's, and I believe is
still. Leech's little melodies of the pencil (to continue the parallel
with the sister art) are like Volkslieder--national airs--and more
directly reach the national heart. Transplant them to other lands that
have pencil Volkslieder of their own (though none, I think, comparable
to his for fun and sweetness and simplicity) and they fail to please
as much, while their mere artistic qualities are not such as to find
favour among foreign experts, whereas Keene actually gains by such a
process. He is as much admired by the artists of France and Germany as
by our own--if not more. For some of his shortcomings--such as his
lack of feeling for English female beauty, his want of perception,
perhaps his disdain, of certain little eternal traits and conventions
and differences that stamp the various grades of our social
hierarchy--do not strike them, and nothing interferes with their
complete appreciation of his craftsmanship.

[Illustration: WAITING FOR THE LANDLORD!

RIBBONMAN (_getting impatient_). "Bedad, they ought to be here be this
toime! Sure, Tiriace, I hope the ould gintleman hasn't mit wid an
accidint!!!"--_Punch_, July 27, 1878.]

Perhaps, also, Leech's frequent verification of our manly British