On the day of his death—having spent the rest of the previous day, after his failure to complete the Punch drawing, in bed—he begged to be allowed to draw. "It would amuse me," he said. A medical friend who was present gave a reluctant permission, and seeing no immediate appearance of danger, the doctor left him to his amusement. "Instead, however, of beginning at once," says Miss Leech, "he threw himself upon a couch in the room, and after a little while he was persuaded to go to bed and keep himself perfectly quiet. This he did, but scarcely had he composed himself for sleep than he suddenly started up and, calling to his father and sister, fell back and expired in their arms without a sigh."
Thus, on the 29th of October, 1864, died John Leech, done to death by overwork in his anxiety for others, who, let us hope, were worthy of the sacrifice. It is not too much to say that the death of this inimitable artist was a sorrow to all English-speaking people, and no less to many foreign peoples, who—"as one touch of nature makes the whole world kin"—fully relished the beauty, truth, and humour of all Leech's work. Of this we have ample proof in the elaborately appreciative remarks of French and German writers. Among the former, M. Ernest Chesnau, in the Gazette des Beaux Arts of June, 1875, has an exhaustive article on Leech and his works—too long for reproduction here. Of the loving sympathy felt by his German brethren, the following tribute from the German Punch—the Kladderadatsch—offers ample evidence. It is entitled "A Cypress Branch for the Tomb of John Leech."
"Poor John! Thy German brethren, too, stand in the shape of a weeping willow at thy grave, for our locks are turned to mourning branches that droop down over thy simple cross. Ungrudgingly we behold thy glory, thy 'like nature' which stirred up the foul carp-pond of life. We remember thy fox-hunting and angling gentlemen, thy ladies, the pretty ones and the declining, thy blue stockings, thy gentlemen, thy volunteers, thy sportsmen, thy Flunkeiana, and thy immortal Mr. Briggs, this pearl of English bonhommie. Mr. Punch, too, whose greatest ornament thou wert, sits mourning on thy tomb. He has cast off his merry Punchinello costume, and is nothing but a sorrowing old man. Farewell, merry John, thou boy of endless good-humour.
"We erect this little monument in thy own spirit, with an eye that laughs through tears, for after thou hadst conquered the first bitter pangs of death, thou must surely at thy last moment have smiled at leaving this miserable world."
A Cypress Branch for the Tomb of John Leech.
The English journals vied with each other in expressions of sorrow for this irreparable loss. The death of Garrick, said Dr. Johnson, "eclipsed the gaiety of nations." How much more truly this may be said of the premature death of Leech! Never was man so loved and honoured by his personal friends, never was a man's death more sincerely mourned than that of "dear, kind John Leech" by those who had the delightful privilege of knowing intimately all the endearing qualities of his heart and mind. See what that great man, who was so soon to follow him to the grave, says, and think what the simple words imply! Says Dickens, in a letter to Forster written a few days after Leech's death, "I have not done my number ('Our Mutual Friend'). This death of poor Leech has put me out woefully."
It was predicted that Leech's death would be death to Punch. How false and foolish that prophecy was, none knew so well as Leech himself; but while admitting to the full the great talent of the present Punch staff of artists, it cannot be denied that Leech's place is vacant, and I assume the prophetic mantle and proclaim (I hope mistakenly) that it will never be filled. It should always be borne in mind that though it is impossible to exaggerate the benefit that Punch derived from Leech's pencil, the artist is also deeply indebted to Punch for the exceptional opportunities the peculiar character of the paper offered for the display of his powers. The fact is, the paper and the illustrations were exactly suited to each other, and always worked harmoniously together.