The caricaturist of mankind, to immortalise his work, must haunt us with physiognomy. Thus Honoré Daumier in _Le Bain Chaud_ haunts us with the burlesque heroism in the face of a man about to sit down in water which pretends to scald him. Sir John Tenniel haunts us with the complacent slyness of Dizzy bringing in the hot water for February 1879 to that distrustful lie-abed John Bull. Charles Dana Gibson haunts us with the charmed vanity of an aged millionairess sitting up, bald and bony, in a regal bed, with her coffee-cup arrested in hand by the fulsome puff of her person and adornments read to her by her pretty maid. George Du Maurier haunts us with the freezing question in the face of the knight who has permitted himself to crack an empty eggshell on the "Fust o' Hapril." How does Cruikshank stand as a creator of humorous physiognomy? The answer is not from a trumpet. He invented crowds of people who seem merely the fruits of formulæ, and in comedy the simple application of the science of John Caspar Lavater is weak in effect, since laughter is tributary to surprise. Compare Daumier's man in hot water with Cruikshank's _Trotting_ (a similar subject in "The Humourist," vol. iii., 1820), and one sees the difference between mere Lavaterism and emotion detected with delight. Compare Daumier's facetious ruffian asking the time of the man he intends to rob with almost any ruffian in Cruikshank's humorous gallery and one can only say that, in effect, one drew him to haunt the mind; the other to bore it. One ruffian surpasses his type without deserting it; the other is the type itself. Here and there, however, Cruikshank creates an individual who is more than his type without being divergent from it. Do we find such a one in the serious eater in _Hope_ ("Phrenological Specimens," 1826), in whose bone, already as innutritious as a toothbrush, his dog confides for sustenance? I think so, because I see him when I think of appetite as of tragedy. Humour accepts him in deference to her idea that there is nothing that cannot be laughed at, and she is worthy of deification when she goes down, down, down, laughing where even her worshippers are mute. I doubt if Cruikshank twice excelled in respect of authenticity in humour the host and guest whom he presented in the reproduced subjects from _Heads of the Table_ (1845). Humour ascends from his _Hope_ to them as to a heaven of animals from a purgatorial region. That even what I have called Cruikshank's Lavaterism can be amusing is proved by his portrait of Socrates at the moment before he said "rain follows thunder." We owe probably to Cruikshank's inveterate love of punning the capital study in disdain as provoked by envy exhibited in one of the lions in _The Lion of the Party_ (1845). Of his animal humour I shall have more to say: these lions are more human than many of his representations of _homo sapiens_; they need no footline. [Illustration: X _Xantippe_