him down beneath the lid, and often he will send everything flying.
It is hard to tell whether or no the toy itself is very ancient, but
the kind of amusement it affords belongs to all time. It is a
struggle between two stubborn elements, one of which, being simply
mechanical, generally ends by giving in to the other, which treats
it as a plaything. A cat playing with a mouse, which from time to
time she releases like a spring, only to pull it up short with a
stroke of her paw, indulges in the same kind of amusement.

We will now pass on to the theatre, beginning with a Punch and Judy
show. No sooner does the policeman put in an appearance on the stage
than, naturally enough, he receives a blow which fells him. He
springs to his feet, a second blow lays him flat. A repetition of
the offence is followed by a repetition of the punishment. Up and
down the constable flops and hops with the uniform rhythm of the
bending and release of a spring, whilst the spectators laugh louder
and louder.

Now, let us think of a spring that is rather of a moral type, an
idea that is first expressed, then repressed, and then expressed
again; a stream of words that bursts forth, is checked, and keeps on
starting afresh. Once more we have the vision of one stubborn force,
counteracted by another, equally pertinacious. This vision, however,
will have discarded a portion of its materiality. No longer is it
Punch and Judy that we are watching, but rather a real comedy.

Many a comic scene may indeed be referred to this simple type. For
instance, in the scene of the Mariage force between Sganarelle and
Pancrace, the entire vis comica lies in the conflict set up between
the idea of Sganarelle, who wishes to make the philosopher listen to