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By GEORGE F. GADD.

T what period of his chequered history Man first essayed to express the lighter side of his nature through the medium of pictorial art, it is, of course, impossible to determine. The evolution of his power to represent visible objects in outline, quite apart from any distinguishing quality, would necessarily be very gradual, and, in its early stages, of so exceedingly imperfect a character as to be almost unrecognisable, save, perhaps, by the perpetrator himself.

Such relics of attempts to imitate nature as are preserved to us from prehistoric times show clearly that the humour of our remote ancestors must have been, chiefly, of an involuntary nature, and this is not greatly surprising, when we recollect that an incompetent workman cannot afford to dally with the muses; indeed, the idea of turning into a designedly humorous mould that which in its most serious aspect is already a gross caricature, is unthinkable. Thus we find that the sculpture of savages, like that presented by many antique relics, is grotesque, and indubitably comical, the more so when the effort of the artist to be rigidly austere is plainly apparent.

This austerity of purpose, which we owe to the restraining power of religious thought in all ages, has a very important bearing upon the humorous art of the present day. The mind naturally shrinks from the contemplation

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of what might have resulted, in this branch of labour, from an unchecked development of wit through some thousands of years. The untutored and unguided conception of things is essentially on the physical plane, and in nothing is this more vividly exemplified than in the expression of what we call fun. Even to-day, with all the advantages of civilisation existent, it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that the great majority of human beings take their amusement, not merely as a relaxation of their mental energies; a welcome slackening of the cords which are normally so taut; but as an almost total separation of their conscious entity from any intellectual attributes whatever.

For example, there is, in most of our music halls, a disposition to rapturous delight when a cudgel is smartly applied to the head-or, better still, the paunch—of an unsuspecting fellow-creature. The representation of undue nasal inflammation suggesting the free use of alcoholic stimulants is a never-failing source of mirth. Falstaffian proportions, and other abnormal bodily developments the more outrageous the better-lack not their meed of applause, quite independently of any ability displayed in the performance; and the old story of a second terrestrial satellite, after an evening of free libation (this must not be confused with libration, by the way) is invariably greeted with shrieks of delight.

To go further, do not many of us frequently-well, sometimes tolerate the narration of a story whose humorous qualifications depend upon circumstances not necessarily intended for publication, nor even offering a guarantee of good faith? How then may we properly take upon ourselves to reproach the humble artist of prehistoric times, in that his primitive antics, or his rude scratchings upon the equally rude supports of his preglacial dwelling, may have been somewhat questionable in their ethics? Judging by this apparent lack of development in mankind's sense of humour, after so great a

lapse of time, the pessimist may perhaps regard that attribute as a hopeless dissociation from the other and more progressive of human qualities, and, like W. S. Gilbert's House of Lords, as not susceptible of any improvement. But careful consideration enables us to form a happier opinion than this, which is fortunate, for pessimism seems incongruous where humour is concerned. A glance into comparatively recent history shows, in fact, that, in nearly all respects, the expression of wit has improved enormously. That it does not yet appeal to more than a small section of humanity cannot be denied, but it is not the less true that the better class of humorous art is to-day at a very high level of excellence, and far transcends the best recorded work of other times.

It is not unreasonable to suppose that the power of caricature which has ever been the principal vehicle of wit-has, throughout history, flowed and ebbed with the rise and fall of mental freedom. Civil and religious restraint would necessarily check the development of this form of art, but while hampering the satirist, it would also tend to divert his thoughts and aspirations into cleaner channels. The sudden removal of this restraining influence would produce a result in accordance with the laws governing natural forces, and for a time decadence would set in.

This view is fully supported by facts of not very distant date. The opening of the sluice-gates at the Reformation transformed pent-up and quiet waters into an ungovernable torrent, whose force was felt throughout a period not terminated even in the latter days of the eighteenth century; for though most of the spreading wastes. soon dried up for lack of depth, certain small channels pursued a more enduring course.

Anything more disgusting than the unbridled pictorial satire of these "reformed" times, it would, if we may credit historians, be difficult to conceive. Naturally the Pope and his followers were the chief objects of the