Fancy him deep in the silent jungle or out on
the arid plain. Fancy him scorched by a burning
sun whenever abroad, and bored by inane
enjoyments whenever at home— with hookahs
of sickly scent, dancers of monotonous motion,
fiddlers of soulless music. Fancy him— but
there is no need to fancy anything of the kind.
Not for the indolent Asiatic does Punch disport
himself in India, but for the active European;
not for dreamers and drivellers, inhalers
of hookahs and patrons of zenanas; but for
stickers of pigs, smokers of cheroots, drinkers
of brandy-pauee. It is to our brave and fair compatriots
in the East that Punch appeals, and it
is in the jocose illustration of their manners and
customs that he finds his principal sport. The
natives are not forgotten; but when they are
remembered, it is generally less for their own
amusement than that of other people.

I have before me a volume of the Indian
Punch, of the old series, which was published
under the name of the Delhi Sketch Book. It appeared
during the administration of the Marquis
of Dalhousie, when mutinies and massacres were
as yet undreamed of, and when Indian society
retained most of the old characteristics, of which
the last are now fast being effaced; when the
policy of the government was to " respect the
prejudices of the natives," and annex as much
of their territory as possible; when white jackets
were still admissible for evening dress, and black
ladies were still presentable as wives; when the
smoking of hookahs was not yet considered the
practice of a barbarous age, and elderly gentlemen
even ventured to take them out to dinner with
them; when the divinity that did hedge the civil
service was unprofaned by the system of competition;
when the Company's officer was everywhere
and the Queen's officer nowhere, in the race for
appointments; when subaltern officers were supposed
to be always in debt, and often in liquor;
when a ball was necessarily followed by a supper,
and the supper was frequently followed by a
"row," and a duel next morning; when play
was high and morals —— but I will not venture
on the antithesis. Suffice it that the period
in question, though comparatively recent, still
bore considerable relation to the good old times,
when a great many things were different from
a great many other things, and when very few
things were exactly as they are in the present
day: the later period being much the gainer in
the majority of instances, sentimental prejudices
to the contrary notwithstanding.

First impressions of publications as well as
persons, are formed from outward appearance.
The Delhi Sketch Book would scarcely command
a favourable judgment at first sight. Its
mechanical arrangements are decidedly weak.
In form it resembles its English original;
but its execution is not comparable. The
typography is rude, and is sadly wanting in
revision. The illustrations— even those interspersed
with the letter-press— are drawn on
stone, and make a very poor appearance beside
well cut, or even ill cut, wood engravings.
There are marks of haste and carelessness in
almost every page. And well there may be;
for we are continually informed by the editor
(who addresses his readers upon the state and
prospects of the journal whenever he feels
inclined) that his appliances and means are
of a most meagre description. He has never
been able to get a good lithographer; his
amateur contributors cannot draw on stone;
and the transfer of their sketches from paper is
no easy matter, considering the crude state in
which they are sent. It is therefore no wonder
that lines which should be soft, turn up hard;
that some lines are scarcely produced at all;
and that a shadow occasionally looks very
like a smudge. The pictorial as well as the
literary contributions are generally sent from
long distances, and they have no advantage of
correction from their authors; only those, therefore,
which come from the pen or pencil of the
editor himself have anything like a fair chance.
On the whole, considering the many reasons
why the work should not be produced, the
result is by no means discreditable to the efforts
employed to bring it into the world. This
is usually the apologetic opinion expressed
by the editor, and with considerable reason.
It must be said, too, for the Delhi Sketch
Book, that— too often expressed in a rude and
even coarse manner— it includes a great deal of
artistic and literary merit. Its range of subjects
are, as may be supposed, rather circumscribed.
The members of the services, in past
times more than in the present, may be said
to have monopolised society in India, and,
being the principal purchasers of the publication,
as well as the principal contributors to
its pages— both with pen and pencil— it may
be supposed that the  topics treated were
those mainly interesting to themselves. Accordingly
the Delhi Sketch Book presents us with
a nearer view of military and official life than
any periodical published in this country, and
exhibits a correctness of detail which we could
not look for in London without a great chance
of being disappointed:— except, indeed, in the
drawings of Mr. Leech, who has a familiar hand
for military subjects, and evinces an adjutant's
accuracy in saddles, sabres, bits, and even
buttons.

The satire of Punch in India is a reflexion of
mess and club gossip, with a dash of the drawing-room
and the field. We find no illustrations
of precocious London youth, no scenes taken out
of the streets and the parks. There are no cab-men
or omnibus conductors to hang jokes upon.
Servant-galism is rare, and flunkeyism almost
unknown— for European female servants usually
marry off as soon as they land, and I doubt if
half a dozen private persons in the country have
European men-servants, unless they be soldiers.
Even the British swell— without whom the
London caricaturist would languish and die— is
not represented in his own element, but as a
fish out of water, whose agonies are so intense
as to excite sympathy rather than laughter.
But, in revenge for these omissions, we find
several new subjects for satire, and food for