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pels your admiration; but it rarely makes
you laugh. You feel that the artist is onlj a
caricaturist by accident, like Maclise, when be
produced a capital album of the celebrities
of his day. Cham's slovenliness of exe-
cution is in the spirit of his Bohemian free>
dom. He is, therefore, most truly himself
in the " Charivari." Here the periodic foon
left him more free firom obligations in £tit
choice of themes. What he loved to do
was to present some one subject, that hap-
pened to strike his fancy, in a full sheet of
varied sketches, exhibiting all its comic points
of view. Thus, a dozen drawings hit off for
us the humors of the Bosuf Gras^ — the proces-
sion of the fat ox of the year, — ^revived under
the Empire. We have the beast laughing
in uproarious derision at the sight of a
horse-flesh butcher's shop, or exchanging
compliments with Baron Brisse, the literary
cuisinier, who in to-morrow's " Figaro " will be
writing on a dozen different ways of dressing
him. The ox of this particular procession
is named " Sardanapalus," after a popular
drama which was running at the time. He
has seen the play, and he cannot pass a



M. GIRARDIN: THB HORACB CRKRLEY op PRA1K3L

Stack of fire- wood in the street without try-
ing to climb to the top of it, in humble imi-
tation of the self-immolaring exploit of the
' hero. The cartoon of the " Charivari '* was
I often Cham's work. Here the free medium



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WHAT IS NBBDBO IN THE ASSEMBLY.



of the lithograph was one well suited to his
powers. He could work at his highest
speed in chalk. The Legislative Assembly
was still the butt of what may be called his
larger jokes ; he never recovered the shock
to his feelings of reverence for all bodies of
this kind which he received in 1848. His
deputy is nearly always a poor stage-player,
all attitude, both in body and mind ; and to
report him fully Cham thinks there should
be a staff of jjhotographers in the Assembly,
as well as a staff of short-hand writers. The
Exhibition of 1867 was illustrated by sheet
after sheet of these serial drawings, the gen-
eral theme of the jest being the extravagant
expectations of the Parisians. All. the
world was coming to Paris, and what might
it not mean — gold for everybody, and the
most delightful chances for the young and
the fair. Cham's concUr^f thinks so. " Wont
they court the Parisians ! '* she says, looking
at her nut-cracker face in a mirror. " I am
one." These anticipations of -wealth and
pleasure were all the more seductive for
their vagueness. The Frenchman knew
nothing of the foreigner; his imagination
was free to roam in all sorts of visions of



tlie quaint, the splendid, and
the grotesque. Pla^ng mali-
ciously on this Ignorance,
Cham draws up a code of
ceremonial for intercourse
with strangers. " When you
are presented to a foreign
sovereign, the most civil
thing to do is to leap through
the ring in his nose. Other-
wise he might think you had
merely come for your amuse-
ment." Then we have a
hght battery of fun directed
against the newly awakened
desire for knowledge among
the country school-masters.
They are to be brought to the
Exhibition at the expense
of the government, and Cham
pictures them, in their ardor
for information, precipitating
themselves on the first steam-
engine that comes in view,
like a swarm of flies on a pot
of molasses. In another
drawing a wretched small
boy, terrified by the report of
the invasion of pedagogues,
creeps under the nursery bed.
But the " press man,"
whether of pen or pencil, ^
soon repeats himself, — it is the regreta-
ble condition of continuous production, —
and Cham, to tell the truth about him,
did little more than bring out a hundred
thousand editions of one work. That work,
too, was not his own. He was inspired in
nearly all that he did by the great creation



A PARISIAN.



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CHAM.



of Monnier. This man, though little known
outside of France, was a giant of carica-
ture — one of the few who have enriched
this department of the science of animated



phrase. He is a little of everything — just
enough to dear him of the slightest risk to
his skin or to his hoard in the long stocking.
He is a little of a soldier; he adores the



nature with a new type. His creation of i National Guard. He is a little of un homme



"M. JOSEPH reUDHOMMK." BV MOMMISR.



^ Monsieur Joseph Prudhomme " will last
while the world lasts. M. Prudhomme
is the representative of the bourgeois^ or
** cit," of the golden age of French self-
esteem, antecedent to the late war. He has
the pompousness, the vanity, of the class;
its prudence pushed to the verge of cun-
ning, its worship of sleek comfort, its pleas-
ant belief that all the needful capital of
glory has been accumulated in the past, and
that the nation can live comfortably forever
on the yield of interest in tall talk. In his
familiar fire-side aspect, M. Prudhomme is
the oracle of smug common-place. He is
triteness made flesh. Thanks to him, the
** fullness of emptiness " is no unmeaning



gaiant ; he struggles with the waiting-maid
for a kiss in the passage. If he has a ruling
passion, it is didacticism, or the science of the
obvious why and the unmistakable where-
fore; he will undertake to prove to you
that nature owes much of her charm to the
diversity of the seasons. Every Ifourgeoisie
has its peculiar character, and the bourgeoisie
of France is doctrinaire. With an exquisite
perception of the fitness of things, Monnier
makes his hero a professor of fine writing.
Penmanship is the art by which M. Prud-
homme gains his bread. It would be im-
possible to enumerate the many ways in which
the man of genius presented his type. He
sketched him with pen and pencil, — for he



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749



could draw as well as write ; he put him into
comedy, he played him on the stage. By
means of every vehicle of artistic representa-
tion, he showed us M. Prudhomme in every
situation, — in love and in mimic war, as a
patriot, a father of a family, and a penman.
It was his life-work ; all his strength went
forth in this creation. He finished it to its
utmost perfection of fanciful vitality in a
thousand touches, each one bettering the
last, imtil the perfect Joseph stood before
us, with his fat, fussy fece, with the specta-
cles by which he seemed to be affiliated to
the learned professions, with the huge shirt-
collar which gave dignity to his whole moral
being.

The most superficial acquaintance with
Cham's work shows us that this type had
fixed itself definitely in his mind. It was
Monnier, in a sense, who taught him to
see ; only, still more varied than Monnier,
— or at least more industrious, — he carried
out the apotheosis of the bourgeois in a
thousand details of manners, with which his
master was unacquainted. This subtle in-
vention of fancy had, in fact, appealed to
him on every side, — as a humorist and
as an aristocrat. M. Prudhomme is*
of the new social order that has
ousted Cham's "set;" let the inter-
lopers look to themselves. Cham
added nothing to the philosophic
conception of him; he only gave a
thousand new examples of each well-
known trait. M. Prudhomme comes
into the Exhibition sketches. He
dresses as a Chinaman, — as he tells
his wife, to secure some little of the
attention which is sure to be exclu-
sively reserved for people of foreign
mien. He prudently salutes the statue
of the king of Prussia, which has been
sent to the show. True, Prussia has been
intolerably insolent to France, but M.
Prudhomme is determined to have all
the bad breeding on one side. He
has, indeed, had a gala time of it
during this international gathering,
and when it is all over he takes a
friend into a cabinet to see the museum of
hats, each of which he has lifted to a reign-
ing sovereign. There is the Emperor of
Russia hat, the hat of the King of Greece,
the hat of the Sultan. They are to be kept
under glass cases forever, the priceless treas-
ures of the Prudhommesque home.

Another main division of Cham's work
was his pictorial review of the Salon. Year
by year he was at the opening of this great



picture show, and his verdict was awaited
with more impatience than the verdicts of
the critics. It was delivered in the form
of an outrageous caricature of the more
striking pictures. Artists highly valued a
place in this collection; it was always an
extensive advertisement ; and it was some-
times a happy means of learning one's
faults — but not always : for when Cham could
not find a fault he would invent one. By
long habit, he had become a kind of ma-
chine for making fun. His eye for the
ridiculous was unfailing : in the very spheres
and triangles of geometry he would have
seen something grotesque. He did produce
a comic grammar, and he might have pro-
duced a comic Euclid. If you had shaken
him out of a sound sleep and ordered jokes
on any subject, he could have tiurned
them off" for you by the page. This is
the journalist's faculty of readiness; and
he was the journalist or nothing. At the
Salon he reveled in the enjoyment of
this power. His footsteps were dogged;
artists carried round the good news that
he had stopped before a comrade's work. A



PRUDHOMME SALUTING THB STATUS OP TUB KING OP PRUSSIA.

few scratches of his unsparing pencil were
fame, or an addition to fame. The only men
who had a grievance agkinst him were those
he did not caricature. In Burger's charming
picture of " The Bath " no one would think
there was much to laugh at. This very ac-
curate drawing of a female figure standing
for refreshment in the spray of a fountain
might almost be offered as a prize puzzle
question for the ridiculous. Given these



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MEMORANDUM SKBTCH OF BRIDGBMAN'S "DIVBRSXONS OF AN ASSYRIAN KING.



finely flowing lines of form, this perfect
modeling and grace of pose — where is the
comic situation ? Cham sees it by imagin-
ing that the young person is not so much
in a shower-bath as in a shower, and that
the sculptured dolphin which supports the
basin is gallantly holding an umbrella over




CHAM AFTER BRIDGEMAN.



her head. Mr. Bridgeman gives us a fine
picture of an Assyrian king fighting lions
in the arena. His majesty holds him-
self very erect tp show his royal pluck:
Cham's mocking fancy has chosen to see



that he is too stiff to have any life in him.
" The lion never budges," he says, " for he
is convinced that he has an af&ir with a
bonhomme of wood. G^rdme exhibits " The
Clothes Merchant of Cairo," one of his
fine Eastern studies of costume and char-
acter. There is an incongruity in it some-
where, though we never find it out
till the " Charivari " appears with
Cham's hideous drawing of a Turk
who buys his sabers of his tailor.
G6rdme is true to Eastern manners,
no doubt ; but it is enough for Cham
that he is false to the manners of the
West Sometimes the Salon sketches
are a happy exposi of the wealcnesses
and tl>e rancors of artists.

" Oh I " says a Bohemian of the
brush, meeting another, " I want to
have a talk with you."

" Come along, then, and let us
stand before your picture; we shall
be sure not to be disturbed."

Cham's annual Salon series was

hardly finished when he had to begin

to think of his almanacs. For many

of these he had to do litde more than

make a selection ftx)m the drawings

of the year. They consisted of sea-

I sonable illustrations of every phase of

Parisian life. In the January page we

I have the agony of New Year's presents.

i The very postman brings you his gift, — an

almanac, — which you are expected to ac-



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knowledge with a tip. Here, perhaps,
Chajn may strike a new and unwonted note
in his sketch of an, old man, — M. Prud-
homme, it may be, in his dotage, — who
asks for a calendar with "longer days."
In anotlier drawing we see the ruffian at
the court of assizes, who thought he might
save his skin by wishing the judge "A
happy New Year." " And he gave you*
nothing in return ? " asks an expectant
friend, who is waiting to know his fate.
** Yes ; five years." In another is the Iwur-
geois, who, foreseeing a host of uninteresting
callers, prepares to receive them with a
loaded bomb-shell on his knee. "Come
in ! come in ! " he cries, cheerily, in answer
to the first knock, " I am only just unscrew-
ing the top of this thing; and I am so awk-
ward, you cannot think." For the racing
season we have a thief complaining that the
pockets in the new-fashioned sporting-coats
are so uncommonly deep. A little later on
we are at the sea-side, where a bathing-
man, following the gaimt figure of a female
in bathing-dress, declares in a rhapsody of
delight that he will dip her for nothing, be-
cause of the memories her slender shape
awakens of the herring fishery of his youth.
In the shooting season we have the sports-



*'do vou hunt, too?"

man's question to a mysterious stranger.
" And do you hunt, too ? " " Yes, sir, all
the year round : I am a bailiff." A little
later on we are at the Opera ball with its
throng of dSbardeuses and fogies who are
seeing life. The ignorance of these young
women, who are not exactly the fine flower
of Parisian intelligence, sometimes leads to
very clumsy guesses as to the position of
their accidental acquaintance. " He is al-



ways talking politics," says one, " he must
be a deputy." " I think he is a sculptor,"
says the other, " fix)m what he said about
the statu guo^ The brand-new Opera-
House itself does not escape without a



BROCMJJBCnONS OP YOUTH.

touch or two at the expense of the architect.
Cham requests you to take off your shoes
and stockings before mounting the mag-
nificent staircase; and he thinks that the
fountain at the bottom of it must have been
built to give the flimkeys something to fish
in while waiting for the conclusion of the
piece.

No man made more sketches than Cham,
— not even Dor6, who is said to be one
of the fastest workers on record. Cham
drew right and left : for the " Charivari," for
the Monde-Illustr^, for the publishers of
almanacs, of albums, of toy-books, — in short,
for everybody who wanted the pictorial
comic man.- His workshop and his home
were in the rue Nollet, in the Batignolles, —
not a very savory quarter, and next to the
Larin Quarter, one of the most Bohemian
in Paris. Here, at his standing desk he
knocked off his first projects for sketches.
Rough as his work looks, it was srill rougher
in the form in which it was first presented
to his editors. If he had a dozen sketches
to do, he sent in three times the number
of preliminary suggestions, each no more
than a few scratches marking the position
of the figures, with the proposed motto
scribbled in ink below. The accepted de-
signs were afterward more carefully worked
up. This is exemplified in a fac-simile of
his "project of caricature" for G^r6me*s
picture representing the entry of a mosque.
According to custom, the shoes of the wor-



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CHAM.



shipers are left in the porch; the painter
has not forgotten them; but Cham natu-
rally chooses to believe that he has for-
gotten everything else. As he sees the
work it is all shoes ; and he hastily dashes
oflf that idea in picture, with the legend:
" M. G6r6me has not made all these
things; some of them were supplied by
prison labor." The rough idea for a joke
on the bad quality of the government
lucifer matches is in the form of a scrawl,
which is understood to represent a rural
gendarme, stopping another scrawl, which
is supposed to represent a sportsman
lighting his pipe. " I must report you,"
says the man of law ; " you are using
matches that will strike, so they must be of
clandestine make."

Cham's work was very emphatically a
part of his life. His invention was exercised
as freely in society as in his calling. He
"exhibited for nothing" to his friends, and
he was one of the pleasantest dinner-party
men in Paris. Nearly all his work has the
character of the impromptu. He had the
American ^ft of humorous exaggeration; he
saw jokes m large, like Mark Twain. He
was talking one day with a Gascon, who
bragged that his father's ancient baronial
dining-hall was the wonder of the world.
It was so high you could hardly see the roof
" My father had a dining-room," said Cham,
" which was just as remarkable the other way.
It was so low that the only fish we could
serve at table was sole." ** It is no use



fighting duels with me," he said, in allusion
I to his weight and long reach, " when I make
I a thrust m Paris, the point of the sword




CHAM AFTBS C^RdMK.

goes into the provinces." He has drawn
his own lanky figure in many of his books.
In the latest of these sketches onlv the head
stapds out distinctly ; all the rest fades away
in thin, nebulous scratches, which give a
good effect of indefinite length. It was only
natural that he should deal out to himself
the same measure as to others, for he was a
chivalrous man, and he had the tenderest of
hearts. He was not only kind to animals,
he was almost a slave to them. His pet dog
ruled the studio, and, but for the Comtesse
de No^, would have ruled the house.
Cham's letter on vivisection is a humane cry
of anguish fit)m first to last, and there are
passages in it worthy to form his epitaph.



£//



MATCHES OP CLANDBSTINS MAKB.



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the ground covered with the fruit of xl li ^_- ^_. ^ Xf)

certain varieties. The elder Pliny, ' ^ ~'~"

tirK^ ..r.^4.^ «l,^.,*. . - . T^ r.*^*.^^ 4.U ,4. KRANCONIA AND BELLE DE KONTENAV RASPBERRIES, WITH AN I

Who wrote about 45 a. d., states that altumn branch of the latter
Vol. XIX.— 52.



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754



SUCCESS WITH SMALL FRUITS,



the Greeks distinguished the raspberry
bramble by the term '-^Licea,'^ and, like so
many other Grecian ideas, it has found
increasing favor ever since. Mr. A. S.
Fuller, one of the best read authorities on
these subjects, writes that " Paladius, a
Roman agricultural author, wlio flourished
in the fourth century, mentions the rasp-
berry as one of the cultivated fruits of
his time." It thus appears that it was
promoted to the garden long before the
strawberry.

While it is true that the raspberry in vari-
ous forms is found wild throughout the con-
tinent, and that the ancient gardeners in
most instances obtained their supply of
plants in the adjacent fields or forests, Mr.
Charles Downing is of the opinion that the
large-fruited foreign varieties are descendants
of the "Mount Ida bramble," and from that
locality they were introduced into the gar-
dens of Southern Europe.

In America, two well-known and distinct
species are enriching our gardens and grac-
ing our tables with their healthful fruit. We
will first name Rubus Strigosus^ or the wild red
raspberry, almost as dear to our memory as
the wild strawberry. It grows best along
the edge of woodlands and in half-shadowy
places along the roadside.

Professor Gray thus describes this spe-
cies:

" R. Strig6sus, Wild Red R. Common,
especially North; from two to three feet
high ; the upright stems, stalks, etc., beset
with copious bristles, and some of them
becoming weak prickles, also glandular;
leaflets oblong-ovate, pointed, cutserrate,
white-downy beneath, the lateral ones (either
one or two pairs) not stalked; petals as
long as the s^als; fruit light-red, tender
and watery, but high flavored, ripening all
summer.'*

The second great American species, Rubus
Occidentalism will be described hereafter.
Since these papers are not designed to teach
botany, I shall not refer in these papers to
other species which are of no practical value,
and, for the present, will confine myself to
the propagation and cultivation of R,
Idceus and R. Strigosus and their seedlings,
ending with a description of the different
varieties.

PROPAGATION.

Varieties of these two species usually
throw up suckers from the roots in sufficient
abundance for all practical purposes, and



these young canes from between the hills or
rows are, in most instances, the plants of
commerce and the means of extending our
plantations. But where a variety is scarce,
or the purpose is to increase it rapidly, we
can dig out the many interlacing roots that
fill the soil between the hills, cut them into
two-inch pieces, and each will develop within
a year into a good plant. Fall is the best
season for making root cuttings, and it can
be continued as late as the frost permits.
My method is to store the roots in a cellar
and cut them from time to time, after out-
of-door work is over. I have holes bored in
the bottom of a box to ensure drainage, spread
over it two inches of moist (not wet) earth,
then an inch layer of the root cuttings, a
thin layer of earth again, then cuttings until
the box is full. If the cellar is cool and
free from frost, the cuttings may be kept
there until spring ; or the boxes containing
them can be buried so deeply on a dry
knoll in the garden as to be below frosL
Leaves piled above them ensure safety.
Make sure that the boxes are buried where
no water can collect either on or beneath
the surface. Before new roots can be made
by a cutting, a whitish excrescence appears
at both its ends, called the callus, and
from this the rootlets start out. This essen-
tial process goes on throughout the winter,
and hence the advantage of making cut-
tings in the fall. Occasionally, when pur-
chasing a variety that we are anxioi^ to
increase, some of the roots may be taken
off for cuttings before setting out the
plants.

These litUe root-slips may be sown, as
one would sow beans, early in the spring,
as soon as the ground is dry enough to
work. A plot of rich, moist land should be
chosen, and the soil made mellow and fine
as if for seed ; drills should then be opened
eighteen inches apart, two inches deep on
heavy and three inches deep on light land.
The cuttings must now be dropped three
inches from each other in the little furrows,
the ground leveled over them and firmed,
which is done best by walking on a board
laid on the covered drill. If the entire cut-
ting-bed were well sprinkled with fine com-
post, and then covered with a mulch of straw
so lightly — to the depth of an inch or two
— that the shoots could come through it
without hindrance, scarcely a cutting would
fail. Unfailing moisture, without wetness,
is what a cutting requires.

If forced under glass, roots may be divid-
ed into half-inch bits, and in this way nur-



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serymen often speedily provide themselves
with large stocks of very scarce varieties.
The cuttings are placed in boxes of sand
until the callus forms and little buds appear
on the surface of the roots, for which proc-
esses about five weeks are required. They
are then sown in shallow boxes containing
about three inches of soil formed of equal
parts of sand and decayed leaves, and sub-
jected to the heat of the green-house.
When they have formed plants from three
to five inches high they may be potted, if
very valuable, or, if the weather is warm
enough, they can be transplanted at once
into the open nursery-bed, as one would a
strawberry-plant. I have set out many
thousands in this way, only aiming to keep
a little earth clinging to the roots as I took
them from the shallow box. Plants grown
fi-om cuttings are usually regarded as the
best, but if a sucker plant is taken up with
fibrous roots \ should regard it as equally
good.

CHOICE OF LAND. ITS PREPARATION.
PLANTING.

All that has been said about the thorough
preparation of the soil for strawberries by
drainage, deep plowing, trenching, etc.,
applies to raspberries, but differences
should be noted in respect to fertilizers.
Land can scarcely be made too rich for
any variety of strawberries, but certain
strong-growing raspberries, as the Cuth-
bert, Herstine, and Turner, should not
be over-fertilized. Some kinds demand
good, clean culture, rather than a rich-
ness til at would cause too great a growth
of cane and foliage. In contrast the more
feebly growing kinds, as the Brandy-
wine, and most of the foreign Varieties,
require abundance of manure. Muck
sweetened by lime and frost, is one of the
simplest and best, but anything will
answer that is not too full of heat and
ferment. Like the strawberry, the rasp-



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