John Leech, His Life and Work Volume II Part 8

"I was reading a novel," said Mr. Elmore to me, "and the next instant, as it seemed, I found myself suffering great pain in a strange bed, with strange surroundings, in what I afterwards found was a French cottage."

The sufferer also found that more than three weeks had elapsed between the blow and the recovery of consciousness from it. Where, in my blind ignorance I venture to ask, was the ever-living soul all this time?

One of the amus.e.m.e.nts of the visitors at Folkestone consists in watching the arrival of the French packet; and I have noticed that the more stormy the day, the greater is the crowd that forms itself into an avenue, through which the voyagers must pa.s.s in landing. This amus.e.m.e.nt, I think, is not very creditable to us, because it is derived from an enjoyment arising from the sufferings of our fellow-creatures. The rosy pa.s.senger, who is evidently "a good sailor," attracts no attention--we rather resent his condition as inappropriate to the occasion; but the man from whose face every vestige of colour has flown, whose legs can scarcely support him as he walks up the gangway, is an object of great delight to us. We are generally--not always--silent in our enjoyment, scarcely ever receiving a poor sea-sick creature as Leech was once welcomed at Boulogne.

In 1854, Leech and his wife went to Boulogne to stay with d.i.c.kens. The day was stormy, and when the artist stepped ash.o.r.e, he was received with cheers by a crowd of people, mostly English, who loudly congratulated him as looking more intensely miserable than any of the wretched pa.s.sengers who had preceded him. Leech told d.i.c.kens that he had realized at last what an actor's feelings must be when a round of applause greets his efforts.

"I felt," he said, "that I had made a great hit."

My intimacy with Leech led to the usual exchange of hospitalities. I recall with pleasure the occasions on which I had the great delight of welcoming him at my house in London or at the seaside. He never varied from the simple, modest demeanour of the perfect gentleman, was never noisy or argumentative, and always considerate of the feelings of others; prodigal in his praise of his brother artists; never, if he could avoid it, speaking of himself or his works, but if, in course of conversation, allusion had been made to some cut more than commonly attractive, he would meet it with: "Glad you like it, my dear fellow; don't see anything particularly funny in it myself;" or, "Ah! I wish you could have seen it on the wood; they seem to me to have cut all the prettiness out of the girl's face."

The first time I dined with Leech was at his house in Notting Hill Terrace, on the occasion of some Highland sports that took place in Lord Holland's park hard by, out of which Leech made some capital sketches, that afterwards appeared in _Punch_. Leech's dinners, without being too lavish or extravagant, were always unexceptionable as to food, and notably so as to wine; of the latter, being no judge himself, he took care it should be supplied by "one who knew," and who was also reliable.

One of the guests at this particular dinner was the Rev. Mr. White, whose acquaintance our host had made at the Isle of Wight. I mention this gentleman because he was not only a very jovial clergyman, but a great friend of Leech and d.i.c.kens, and the author of some plays which had more or less success--one of them, with the t.i.tle of "The King of the Commons," was played under Phelps' management, and had a considerable run.

"White," Leech whispered to me, "is a great judge of port. I hope to goodness he will like some I have got on purpose for him--and for you, my boy; only you know nothing about it, do you?"

"Not a bit," said I.

When the port appeared we watched the clergyman, and, judging by his expression, the port was successful; but Leech was not satisfied till in reply to his inquiry as to its qualities the clergyman, smacking his lips, said:

"Sir, the Church approves."

At one of the delightful dinners at Leech's double-windowed house--double-windowed to keep out noise, which distressed him all his life--on the Terrace, Kensington, I first met Shirley Brooks, thus commencing a life-long friendship with one of the most charming companions, one of the wittiest men and the best story-tellers that ever made "the hours go by on rosy wing." One of the strongest men on the _Punch_ staff--afterwards editor--Brooks and Leech became somewhat intimate, but whether the intimacy ever became merged into close friendship, I doubt. I frequently dined at Brooks's, but never met Leech there--indeed, from what I have heard, I am pretty sure that, with the exception of his old fellow-student, Percival Leigh, who was one of his nearest and dearest friends, Leech's feeling towards his brother members of the _Punch_ staff never reached friendship in the true meaning of the word. Albert Smith, of whose entertainments Leech said one of the severest things I or anyone ever heard him say--"After all, Frith, it is only bad John Parry"--was a loud, and, to me, a rather vulgar person--too antagonistic to the gentle Leech for the growth of friendship. At the _Punch_ meetings, however, I have it from one who was occasionally present, that Albert Smith always addressed Leech as "Jack," being the only one of the company who used the familiarity. This provoked Douglas Jerrold, who had often winced under the infliction, to ask Leech one day, "How long is it necessary for a man to know you before he can call you 'Jack'?"

After this remark "Jack" was less frequently heard. My authority for the above is the late Mr. George Hodder, an author who I fear has left no "footprints in the sands of time." It was said of him that, on being introduced to a very distinguished artist, he remarked--perhaps feeling the necessity of making a complimentary speech--"Art is a grand thing, sir." This unfortunate gentleman died from injuries received by the upsetting of a coach in Richmond Park.

It is not at all uncommon for middle-cla.s.s entertainers--though they may possess a fair staff of servants--to seek outside a.s.sistance when they gather an unusual number of guests round their hospitable boards. On one occasion--and very likely oftener--Leech sought such supplementary aid, and found it in the form of his parish clerk, a solemn person who was not too proud to add to his stipend by "going out to wait." As is usual with his cla.s.s, the clerk-waiter arrived in good time to help in furnishing forth the dinner-table, having an eye to the placing of the flowers, plate, etc. The guests, amounting to ten or twelve, were announced in due course, all old acquaintances, and all expecting their dinners with the punctuality for which their host was noted. Hungry men, though they may be good talkers under happier circ.u.mstances, are seldom brilliant; on this occasion, though d.i.c.kens and Jerrold may have been amongst the guests, the conversation languished at last into silence.

Half an hour pa.s.sed. What could have happened? Suddenly one of the guests--was it d.i.c.kens or Jerrold?--sprang from his chair, and going to Leech, with extended hand, said:

"Well, it's getting late; I'm afraid I must go. Thank you, dear boy, for a delightful evening; the dinner was capital, the turtle first rate--never tasted finer salmon; and as to the champagne----"

The puzzled looks of Leech and his guests ended in a roar of laughter, in the midst of which a black and solemn figure appeared, and in the tones in which he would have given the responses at church, said:

"Dinner is served."

The a.s.sembled guests received the welcome announcement with a chorus of "AMEN!"

CHAPTER XV.

SPORTING NOVELS.

Amongst the many books ill.u.s.trated by Leech are some sporting novels, written, I think, by a Mr. Surtees. "Ask Mamma," "Handley Cross," "Plain or Ringlets," "Mr. Romford's Hounds," etc., owe their origin to this prolific gentleman. As these works are ornamented by coloured steel engravings and innumerable woodcuts by Leech, it has been my duty to look into them; read them, I cannot. I hope if the author is still living he will attribute my want of appreciation to a want of sympathy with his heroes and heroines, though I admit, in the portions I have read, that he shows considerable humour as well as power in expressing it. This, from one who knows his own ignorance of the subject in question, should be gratifying to Mr. Surtees.

Though to my mind Leech is quite at his best in "Pictures of Life and Character," there are examples of his powers in all these books which quite justify my selection of some of them for the gratification of my readers. "Mr. Romford's Hounds" is "embellished" with twenty-five large steel plates, in one of which a certain Mr. Facey, who has a charming Miss Lucy for his hunting companion, is checked by an obstacle which causes him to exclaim to Lucy, "Dash it! this is a rum customer," "as he stood in his stirrups, looking at what was on the far side."

"Oh, throw your heart over it," said Lucy, "and then follow it as quickly as you can."

"Heart!" muttered Facey. "I shall never find it again if I do. It would be like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay."

"Let _me_ try, then," said Lucy.

It would be difficult indeed to surpa.s.s the beauty of the girl's figure in this drawing, exquisitely drawn, true in character and action as it is. Mr. Facey's expression, too, exactly conveys the idea that the longer he looks at the awkward place the less he likes it. The horses--notably the action of the one ridden by the young lady--are in every way admirable. The background, with a few slight touches, gives us a stretch of country--a withered tree, a flock of birds, and the cloudy sky, with no doubt the southerly wind that "proclaims the hunting morning."

"Mr. Romford's Hounds" gives us another sportsman, who rejoices in the name of m.u.f.fington. This gentleman is possessed for the moment of a horse called, or, rather, miscalled, Placid Joe, whose former name, Pull Devil, seems better-suited to his propensities, as shown in the drawing, in which Placid Joe has taken the bit between his teeth, to the discomfiture of Mr. m.u.f.fington. From the following telegram it would seem that Placid Joe had been borrowed for the day's hunting. Thus it ran:

"Mr. Martin m.u.f.fington, at the White Swan, Showoffborough, to Mr.

Green, Brown Street, Bagnigge Wells Road, London.

"That brute Placid Joe has no more mouth than a bull. He's carried me right into the midst of the hounds, and nearly annihilated the huntsman. I will send him back by the 9.30 a.m. train to-morrow, and won't pay you a halfpenny for his hire."

The character of Mr. m.u.f.fington, together with his action as he tugs in vain at Placid Joe, are admirable; but the horse, good as it is in action, appears to me less well proportioned than Leech's horses almost invariably are, the head and neck being too small. But what could surpa.s.s the huntsman and his steed just recovering from the "cannoning"

received from Placid Joe? The scattered hounds, the riders behind, and the landscape leave nothing to be desired.

"Plain or Ringlets" contains twelve coloured plates and no less than forty-three woodcuts. Judging from a slight acquaintance with the letterpress and a careful study of the ill.u.s.trations in this book, I find that the author deals less exclusively with the feats of the hunter than in "Mr. Romford's Hounds"; shooting, racing, etc., are allowed to figure prominently, and the pursuit of "lovely woman"--in which there seem to be as many false scents and heavy falls as beset the chasing of the fox--plays an important part in "Plain or Ringlets." Unlike the policeman's, I have often thought that the riding-master's life must "be a happy one." I am borne out in this, I think, by the ill.u.s.tration, in which Leech is delightfully at home. Says our author:

"Smiling, cantering bevies of beauties, with their shining hair in gold or silver beaded nets, and party-coloured feathers in their jaunty little hats, alone imparted energy to the scene as they t.i.t-tupped along with quickly following tramp, led by the most magnificent and affable of riding-masters, who thus advertise their studs, just as Howes and Cushing advertise their grand United States Circus. Bless us, what a pace some of them go!"

What life and motion there are in this group! How is it, by what occult influence do we find those two lovely creatures right and left of the riding-master, instead of one place of honour being reserved for the stout middle-aged lady, who, strange to say, seems quite contented with her position? I don't believe those two girls want any teaching, for do they not sit their horses with perfect grace, as safely at home in their saddles as they would be in one of the lounges in their drawing-rooms, which either of them would fill so charmingly? Look what pretty creatures the magician Leech can call up for us by a few scratches of his pencil, in the rear of this cantering procession!

The Duke of Tergiversation (Phoebus, what a name!), says the author of "Plain or Ringlets," found on inheriting his estate that "the life had been eaten out of it" before the death of his father put him in possession of his ancestral property. The Duke, however, seems to have made the acquaintance of a banker, named Goldspink, who yielded to his persuasions and promises to the extent of allowing his aristocratic customer to overdraw his account to such a formidable amount as seriously to imperil the stability of the bank. Mr. Goldspink then seeks an interview with his Grace, which the Duke, after endeavouring by all sorts of shifts to avoid, was at length compelled to grant.

"Ah, my dear Mr. Goldspink!" exclaimed the Duke, advancing with outstretched hands and all the cheerful cordiality imaginable as our "crab-actioned" friend followed the smoothly-gliding butler, Mr.

Garnett, into the presence. "Ah, my dear Goldspink, this is indeed most kind and considerate! First neighbour that has come to greet us. How, may I ask, is your worthy wife and your excellent son?" taking both the banker's hands and shaking them severely.

The banker makes a mental calculation of the Duke's liabilities, with a clear understanding that "his Grace is on the gammon-and-spinach tack,"

and then says:

"Thank your Grace--his Grace--my Grace--that is to say--they are both pretty well. Hope the d.u.c.h.ess and Lord Marchhare----"

"The d.u.c.h.ess and Marchhare are both at this moment enjoying a quiet cup of tea in her pretty little boudoir, where, I am sure, they will be most happy to see Mr. Goldspink," said the Duke, motioning him to the gilt-moulded white door opposite.

This cut seems to me to show Leech's power of marking the difference of character in the persons represented in a degree noticeable by the most ordinary observer. The Duke is an aristocrat from top to toe; the insincerity of his welcome even is apparent; while the squat and "crab-like" figure of the banker is no less true to nature; his delight at shaking hands with a Duke making him forget for the moment the serious issues dependent upon the interview.

At the eleventh hour I find myself forbidden to show my readers any of the admirable drawings which ill.u.s.trate this book.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE "BON GAULTIER BALLADS."

I will here leave the sporting novels for a time and introduce my reader to the "Bon Gaultier Ballads," and if he make his first acquaintance with that work through this introduction, I respectfully advise him to improve it by a more intimate knowledge, for he will not only find excellent reading, but ill.u.s.trations by Richard Doyle and others, scarcely inferior to those by Leech.