He had considerable intellectual vanity, but it never relapsed into common conceit. He was generous in recognizing the talent and genius of others, but was singularly perverse in some of his utterances. He said once that only four of his contemporaries interested him. He bore with extraordinary patience the assertions of foolish persons who calmly asserted that both in America and England other artists had anticipated the peculiarities of his style and methods. I have seen the works of these Lambert Simnels and Perkin Warbecks, and they proved, one and all, crows in peacocks' feathers. Beardsley's style, nevertheless, influenced (unfortunately, I think) many excellent artists both younger and older than himself. In France his work was accepted without question: he was always gratified by the cordiality which greeted him in a country where he was more generally understood than in his own. He has illustrious precedents in Constable and Bonnington. Italy, Austria, and Germany recognized in him a master some time before his death. At Berlin his picture of _Mrs Patrick Campbell_, the actress, is now in a place of honour in the Museum. A portrait study of himself is in the British Museum Print Room; a few examples are at South Kensington; but all his important work is in private collections; much of it is in America and Germany. In England, putting aside the notoriety and sensation caused by his posters and the Yellow Book, appreciation of his work has been confined rather to the few. He enjoyed, however, the friendship and intimacy of great numbers of people, shewing that his amiable qualities, no less than his art, received due recognition. His conversation was vehement and witty rather than humorous. He had a remarkable talent for mimicking, very rarely exercised. He loved argument, and supported theories for the sake of argument in the most convincing manner, leaving strangers with a totally wrong impression about himself, a deception to which he was much addicted. He possessed what is called an artificial manner, cultivated to an extent that might be mistaken for affectation. He never could sit still for very long, and he made use of gesture for emphasis. His peculiar gait has been very happily rendered in a portrait of him by Mr Walter Sickert; he also sat to M. Blanche, the well-known French portrait painter; the portrait by himself is tinged with caricature.