_Punch_ he would draw for none of its rivals. With
the exception of the single lapse already alluded to, his conduct was
always high-minded and generous; and his virtue and nobility of
character have been testified to by all his friends. He declined the
offer of a large sum to draw for a well-known periodical as he
disapproved of the principles of its conductors; and on similar grounds
he refused to illustrate a new edition of Swift. Mr. Holman Hunt has
recorded his testimony as to his sterling worth. "Dicky Doyle," he tells
me, "I knew affectionately. John Leech and Doyle were never very
cordial, Doyle's staunch Romanism separating them. While so rigid and
consistent a religionist, he was one of the most charitable of men, and
would never be a party to any scandal, however much it had been
provoked. I am afraid that no portrait was ever painted of him,
certainly none showing his delightfully amusing laugh, which always
seemed to be indulged apologetically--with the face bent into the cravat
and the double chin pressed forward."

Doyle's great misfortune as an artist was that his father, cultivating
the son's fancy at the expense of his training, not only would allow him
no regular teaching, but would not permit him to draw from the
model--nothing but "observance of Nature" and memory-drawing. The result
was that Doyle remained an amateur to the end--an extremely skilful one,
whose shortcomings were concealed in his charming illustrations and
imaginative designs, but were startlingly revealed in his larger work
and in his figure-drawing. As a draughtsman he was usually feeble,
though graceful; his effects, technically speaking, were constantly
false, and his drawing often as poor as Thackeray's. He was saved by his
charm and sweetness, his inexhaustible fun and humour,[51] his
delightful though superficial realisation of character, and his keen
sense of the grotesque. When he died in December, 1883, _Punch_ devoted
to his memory a poem in which his artistic virtues are generously
appreciated, but not a word is said as to the parting of their ways.
From this tribute, this "reconciliation after death," I transcribe one
stanza:--

"Turning o'er his own past pages,
_Punch_, with tearful smile, can trace
That fine talent's various stages,
Caustic satire, gentle grace,
Feats and freaks of Cockney funny--
BROWN, and JONES, and ROBINSON;
And, huge hive of Humour's honey,
Quaint quintessence of rich