DOI Heft:
November 12, 1864
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16874#0201
November 12, 1864.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
195
Joint Jett It.
OBIIT OCTOBER XXIX., MDCCCLXIV.
/ETAT. 46.
rjlHE simplest words are best where all words are vain. Ten days ago, a great artist, in the
noon of life, and with his glorious mental faculties in full power, but with the shade of
physical infirmity darkening upon him, took his accustomed place among friends who have this
day held his pall. Some of them had been fellow-workers with him for a quarter of a century,
others lor fewer years ; but to know him well was to love him dearly, and all in whose name
these lines are written mourn as for a brother. His monument is in the volumes of which
this is one sad leaf, and in a hundred works which, at this hour, few will not remember more easily
than those who have just left his grave. While Society, whose every phase he has illustrated
with a truth, a grace, and a tenderness heretofore unknown to satiric art, gladly and proudly
takes charge ol his fame, they, whose pride in the genius of a great associate was equalled
by their affection for an attached friend, would leave on record that they have known no
kindlier, more refined, or more generous nature than that of him who has been thus early
called to his rest.
November the Fourth.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
195
Joint Jett It.
OBIIT OCTOBER XXIX., MDCCCLXIV.
/ETAT. 46.
rjlHE simplest words are best where all words are vain. Ten days ago, a great artist, in the
noon of life, and with his glorious mental faculties in full power, but with the shade of
physical infirmity darkening upon him, took his accustomed place among friends who have this
day held his pall. Some of them had been fellow-workers with him for a quarter of a century,
others lor fewer years ; but to know him well was to love him dearly, and all in whose name
these lines are written mourn as for a brother. His monument is in the volumes of which
this is one sad leaf, and in a hundred works which, at this hour, few will not remember more easily
than those who have just left his grave. While Society, whose every phase he has illustrated
with a truth, a grace, and a tenderness heretofore unknown to satiric art, gladly and proudly
takes charge ol his fame, they, whose pride in the genius of a great associate was equalled
by their affection for an attached friend, would leave on record that they have known no
kindlier, more refined, or more generous nature than that of him who has been thus early
called to his rest.
November the Fourth.