Had children borne, after that rape from Enna,

Much so might they have looked, when suffering

From too much salts and senna.

Many their guises, but no various grace

Or changeful charm relieved their sombre sameness

Of form contorted, and cadaverous face,

And limp lopsided lameness.

Homage to Cruikshank

Leighton's "Athlete and Python" in 1877 had been saluted as "a statue at last," and Punch welcomed his election as P.R.A. in the following year, with an excellent portrait by Sambourne of "the right man in the right place." It was in 1878 again that Punch turned aside from the flagellation of his pet aversions to pay homage to the genius of George Cruikshank, who died on February 1:—

England is the poorer by what she can ill spare—a man of genius. Good, kind, genial, honest and enthusiastic George Cruikshank, whose frame appeared to have lost so little of its wiry strength and activity, whose brain seemed as full of fire and vitality at fourscore as at forty, has passed away quietly and painlessly after a few days' struggle. He never worked for Punch, but he always worked with him, putting his unresting brain, his skill—in some forms of Art unrivalled—and his ever productive fancy, at the service of humanity and progress, good works, and good will to man. His object, like our own, was always to enforce truth and urge on improvement by the powerful forces of fun and humour, clothed in forms sometimes fanciful, sometimes grotesque, but never sullied by a foul thought, and ever dignified by a wholesome purpose.

A LOVE-AGONY. Design by Maudle

(With verses by Jellaby Postlethwaite, who is also said to have sat for the Picture.)

His fourscore and six years of life have been years of unintermitting labour, that was yet, always, labour of love. There never was a purer, simpler, more straightforward, or altogether more blameless man. His nature had something childlike in its transparency. You saw through him completely. There was neither wish nor effort to disguise his self-complacency, his high appreciation of himself, his delight in the appreciation of others, any more than there was to make himself out better, or cleverer, or more unselfish than his neighbours.

In him England has lost one who was, in every sense, as true a man as he was a rare and original genius, and a pioneer in the arts of illustration.