As a matter of fact, it will be generally found that the popular joke is not true to the letter, but is true to the spirit.  The vulgar joke is generally in the oddest way the truth and yet not the fact.  For instance, it is not in the least true that mothers-in-law are as a class oppressive and intolerable; most of them are both devoted and useful.  All the mothers-in-law I have ever had were admirable.  Yet the legend of the comic papers is profoundly true.  It draws attention to the fact that it is much harder to be a nice mother-in-law than to be nice in any other conceivable relation of life.  The caricatures have drawn the worst mother-in-law a monster, by way of expressing the fact that the best mother-in-law is a problem.  The same is true of the perpetual jokes in comic papers about shrewish wives and henpecked husbands.  It is all a frantic exaggeration, but it is an exaggeration of a truth; whereas all the modern mouthings about oppressed women are the exaggerations of a falsehood.  If you read even the best of the intellectuals of to-day you will find them saying that in the mass of the democracy the woman is the chattel of her lord, like his bath or his bed.  But if you read the comic literature of the democracy you will find that the lord hides under the bed to escape from the wrath of his chattel.  This is not the fact, but it is much nearer the truth.  Every man who is married knows quite well, not only that he does not regard his wife as a chattel, but that no man can conceivably ever have done so.  The joke stands for an ultimate truth, and that is a subtle truth.  It is one not very easy to state correctly.  It can, perhaps, be most correctly stated by saying that, even if the man is the head of the house, he knows he is the figurehead.

But the vulgar comic papers are so subtle and true that they are even prophetic.  If you really want to know what is going to happen to the future of our democracy, do not read the modern sociological prophecies, do not read even Mr. Wells’s Utopias for this purpose, though you should certainly read them if you are fond of good honesty and good English.  If you want to know what will happen, study the pages of Snaps or Patchy Bits as if they were the dark tablets graven with the oracles of the gods.  For, mean and gross as they are, in all seriousness, they contain what is entirely absent from all Utopias and all the sociological conjectures of our time:  they contain some hint of the actual habits and manifest desires of the English people.  If we are really to find out what the democracy will ultimately do with itself, we shall surely find it, not in the literature which studies the people, but in the literature which the people studies.