Edward Lear went south in
search of warmth, but wound up unexpectedly in Sassafras, in July, the bleak
midwinter. Great fanning ferntrees hold together amidst fog finally lifting
above gullies. Perhaps he lost his way on purpose. It’s a long way from his
classical landscapes. Or maybe not. Foreground figures tramp muddy tracks as if
stumbling upon Arcady. He composed upon the occasion: “There is a man of
Sassafras / Whose every second word’s ‘Alas!’ / One more fit / And he will quit
/ That fitful man of Sassafras.” It takes up the entire picture wall of Humpty
House.
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