unlucky craftsman who does not possess some such natural critics in
his family, his home, or near it--mother, sister, friend, wife, or
child--who will look over his shoulder at his little sketch, and say:

"Tommy [or Papa, or Grandpapa, as the case may be], that person you've
just drawn doesn't look quite natural," or:

"That lady is not properly dressed for the person you want her to
be--those hats are not worn this year," and so forth and so forth.

When you have thoroughly satisfied this household critic, then is the
time to show some handy brother-craftsman your amended work, and
listen gratefully when he suggests that you should put a tone on this
wall, and a tree, or something, in the left middle distance to balance
the composition, and raise or depress the horizon-line to get a better
effect of perspective.

In speaking of some of my fellow-artists on _Punch_, and of their
work, I shall try and bring both these critical methods into
play--promising, however, once for all, that such criticism on my part
is simply the expression of my individual taste or fancy, the taste or
fancy of one who by no means pretends to the unerring acumen of
Molière's cook, on the one hand, and who feels himself by no means
infallible in his judgment of purely technical matters, on the other.
I can only admire and say why, or why I don't; and if I fail in making
you admire and disadmire with me, it will most likely be my fault as
well as my misfortune.

I had originally proposed to treat of Richard Doyle, John Leech, and
Charles Keene--and finally of myself, since that I should speak of