Edward Lear, the artist, Author of "Journals of a Landscape Painter" in
various out-of-the-way countries, and of the delightful "Books of
Nonsense," which have amused successive generations of children, died on
Sunday, January 29, 1888, at San Remo, Italy, where he had lived for twenty
years. Few names could evoke a wider expression of passing regret at their
appearance in the obituary column; for until his health began to fail he
was known to an immense and almost a cosmopolitan circle of acquaintance,
and popular wherever he was known. Fewer still could call up in the minds
of intimate friends a deeper and more enduring feeling of sorrow for
personal loss, mingled with the pleasantest of memories; for it was
impossible to know him thoroughly and not to love him. London, Rome, the
Mediterranean countries generally, Ceylon and India, are still all dotted
with survivors among his generation who will mourn for him affectionately,
although his latter years were spent in comparatively close retirement. He
was a man of striking nobility of nature, fearless, independent, energetic,
given to forming for himself strong opinions, often hastily, sometimes
bitterly; not always strong or sound in judgment, but always seeking after
truth in every matter, and following it as he understood it in scorn of
consequence; utterly unselfish, devoted to his friends, generous even to
extravagance towards any one who had ever been connected with his fortunes
or his travels; playful, light-hearted, witty, and humorous, but not
without those occasional fits of black depression and nervous irritability
to which such temperaments are liable.

Great and varied as the merits of his pictures are, Lear hardly succeeded
in achieving any great popularity as a landscape-painter. His work was
frequently done on private commission, and he rarely sent in pictures for
the Academy or other exhibitions. His larger and more highly finished
landscapes were unequal in technical perfection,--sometimes harsh or cold