This incessant brain-work produced an extreme nervous sensitiveness. In this state he was much affected by noise and was literally driven from his house in Brunswick Square by street music. He removed to Kensington, where he hoped to obtain a release from this annoyance by adopting a device of double windows. But he had no peace. He often introduced in the pages of _Punch_ the barrel-organ nuisance. The public, however, at that time had no idea what these sketches from real life cost the artist. In 1864, Leech was ordered to take a holiday on the Continent. Upon his return to his London home in the autumn of the same year, although better in health, he was still strangely susceptible to noise. He spoke with more than his usual earnestness about the sufferings which the street organs gave him, and about the smallness of the sympathy which he received from people who had no weakness in the same direction. This extraordinary sensitiveness to noise was only a secondary phase or symptom of the real ailment. The real malady from which he suffered was breast-pang, or spasms of the heart, a form of angina pectoris. Although it was necessary to warn Leech against all excitement, riding, quick walking, or overwork, it was not supposed that he was in immediate danger, and, if he could only find rest and quiet, great hopes were entertained of his recovery. However, the sad end came when quite unexpected. In the morning of the 29th of October, 1864, he spoke hopefully of the future to his wife. In a few hours afterwards he whispered into the same living ear--"I am going," and fell into his father's arms in a faint. Three hours afterwards he expired. The news of his death went over the country with a dismal shock; for in what house was John Leech not an inmate in one form or another? Leech was tall, with an elegant figure, over six feet in height, graceful and gentlemanly in manner, with a fine head and a handsome face. In action he was nimble, vigorous, and yet gentle, capable of the heartiest mirth, and yet generally quiet. He was singularly modest, both as a man and an artist. The perpetual going to nature kept him humble as well as made him rich. His consideration, too, for others was apparent at all times, and the gentleness of his nature was remarkable. When it is considered that all these beautiful traits of character were accompanied by such extraordinary talent and wisdom, one is profoundly impressed with the greatness of the man. No wonder so many mourned when such a great, gentle, and graceful spirit passed away. It was a national loss, and as such was realised throughout the homes of the United Kingdom. {017} [Illustration: 017] {018} [Illustration: 018] {019} [Illustration: 019] {020} [Illustration: 020] {021} [Illustration: 021] {022} [Illustration: 022] {023} [Illustration: 023] {024} [Illustration: 024] {025} [Illustration: 025] {026} [Illustration: 026] {027} [Illustration: 027] {028}