which is said by numbers of other people, but has not perhaps been said lately with the full authority of an eminent cartoonist.  He said that he thought “that they might congratulate themselves that the style of caricature which found acceptation nowadays was very different from the lampoon of the old days.”  Continuing, he said, according to the newspaper report, “On looking back to the political lampoons of Rowlandson’s and Gilray’s time they would find them coarse and brutal.  In some countries abroad still, ‘even in America,’ the method of political caricature was of the bludgeon kind.  The fact was we had passed the bludgeon stage.  If they were brutal in attacking a man, even for political reasons, they roused sympathy for the man who was attacked.  What they had to do was to rub in the point they wanted to emphasise as gently as they could.” (Laughter and applause.)

Anybody reading these words, and anybody who heard them, will certainly feel that there is in them a great deal of truth, as well as a great deal of geniality.  But along with that truth and with that geniality there is a streak of that erroneous type of optimism which is founded on the fallacy of which I have spoken above.  Before we congratulate ourselves upon the absence of certain faults from our nation or society, we ought to ask ourselves why it is that these faults are absent.  Are we without the fault because we have the opposite virtue?  Or are we without the fault because we have the opposite fault?  It is a good thing assuredly, to be innocent of any excess; but let us be sure that we are not innocent of excess merely by being guilty of defect.  Is it really true that our English political satire is so moderate because it is so magnanimous, so forgiving, so saintly?  Is it penetrated through and through with a mystical charity, with a psychological tenderness?  Do we spare the feelings of the Cabinet Minister because we pierce through all his apparent crimes and follies down to the dark virtues of which his own soul is unaware?  Do we temper the wind to the Leader of the Opposition because in our all-embracing heart we pity and cherish the struggling spirit of the Leader of the Opposition?  Briefly, have we left off being brutal because we are too grand and generous to be brutal?  Is it really true that we are better than brutality?  Is it really true that we have passed the bludgeon stage?

I fear that there is, to say the least of it, another side to the matter.  Is it not only too probable that the mildness of our political satire, when compared with the political satire of our fathers, arises simply from the profound unreality of our current politics?  Rowlandson and Gilray did not fight merely because they were naturally pothouse pugilists; they fought because they had something to fight about.  It is easy enough to be refined about things that do not matter; but men kicked and plunged a little in that portentous wrestle in which swung to and fro,