John Leech, His Life and Work Volume II Part 10

Then Edith, the bride, made her appearance upon the ramparts.

"And she said unto her lord, as he leaned upon his sword, 'One short and little word may I speak?

I cannot bear to view those eyes so ghastly blue, Or mark the sallow hue Of thy cheek.

"'I know the rage and wrath that my furious brother hath Is less against us both than at me.

Then, dearest, let me go, to find among the foe An arrow from the bow, Like Broomlee!'"

To this n.o.ble offer of self-sacrifice Sir Launcelot will not listen for a moment. He replies:

"'All our chances are not lost, as your brother and his host Shall discover to their cost rather hard!

Ho, Provan! take this key; hoist up the malvoisie, And heap it, d'ye see, In the yard.

"'Of usquebaugh and rum you will find, I reckon, some, Beside the beer and mum, extra stout; Go straightway to your task, and roll me all the casks, And also range the flasks Just without.

"'If I know the Gorbaliers, they are sure to dip their ears In the very inmost tiers of the drink.

Let them win the outer court, and hold it for their sport, Since their time is rather short, I should think!'

"With a loud triumphant yell, as the heavy drawbridge fell, Rushed the Gorbaliers pell-mell, wild as Druids; Mad with thirst for human gore, how they threatened and they swore, Till they stumbled on the floor O'er the fluids.

"Down their weapons then they threw, and each savage soldier drew From his belt an iron screw in his fist; George of Gorbals found it vain their excitement to restrain, And, indeed, was rather fain To a.s.sist.

"With a beaker in his hand, in the midst he took his stand, And silence did command all below; 'Ho, Launcelot the bold! ere thy lips are icy cold, In the centre of thy hold Pledge me now!'

"Dumb as death stood Launcelot, as though he heard him not; But his bosom Provan smote and he swore, And Sir Roderick Dalgleish remarked aside to Neish, 'Never, sure, did thirsty fish Swallow more!

"'Thirty casks are nearly done, yet the revel's scarce begun; It were knightly sport and fun to strike in!'

'Nay, tarry till they come,' quoth Neish, 'unto the rum-- They are working at the mum And the gin!'

"Then straight there did appear to each gallant Gorbalier Twenty castles dancing near, all around; The solid earth did shake, and the stones beneath them quake, And sinuous as a snake Moved the ground.

"Why and wherefore had they come seemed intricate unto some, But all agreed the rum was divine; And they looked with bitter scorn on their leader highly born, Who preferred to fill his horn Up with wine."

Like the fateful moment at Waterloo, the time had now come to strike, and Sir Launcelot and his friends took full advantage of it.

"'Now make the trumpets blast, and comrades follow fast, Smite them down unto the last,'

Cried the knight.

"Saint Mungo be my guide! it was goodly in that tide To see the Bogle ride in his haste; He accompanied each blow with a cry of 'ah!' or 'oh!'

As he always cleft the foe To the waist.

"'George of Gorbals, craven lord! thou didst threat me with the cord; Come forth and brave my sword, if you dare!'

But he met with no reply, and never could descry The glitter of his eye Anywhere."

The Gorbaliers were destroyed to a man, and in obedience to an order from Sir Launcelot the casks and empty flasks were removed by the "cellar master," but not without a shock--

"For he swore he heard a shriek Through the door.

"When the merry Christmas came, and the Yule-log lent its flame To the face of squire and dame in the hall, The cellarer went down to tap October brown, Which was rather of renown 'Mongst them all.

"He placed the spigot low, and gave the cask a blow, But his liquor would not flow through the pin; 'Sure, 'tis sweet as honeysuckles!' so he rapped it with his knuckles, But a sound as if of buckles Clashed within.

"'Bring a hatchet, varlets, here!' and they cleft the cask of beer-- What a spectacle of fear met their sight!

There George of Gorbals lay, skull and bones all blanched and gray, In the arms he bore the day Of the fight!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

From Leech's contributions to the "Bon Gaultier Ballads" my third selection consists of an ill.u.s.tration of "The Lay of the Lover's Friend." The "Lay" is a capital skit on the propensity of certain lovers to inflict the sorrows caused by the loss of their hearts upon friends to whom the loss is a matter of indifference. Says the friend:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"'I would all womankind were dead, Or banished o'er the sea; For they have been a bitter plague These last six weeks to me.

It is not that I am touched myself, For that I do not fear; No female face has shown me grace For many a bygone year.

But 'tis the most infernal bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.

"'Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall, Or down to Greenwich run, To quaff the pleasant cider-cup, Or feed on fish and fun; Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill To catch a breath of air-- Then, for my sins, he straight begins To rave about his fair.

Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.'"

Judging from the angry face of "the lover's friend" as he stretches out his hand towards the claret, it will require even more than the consolation to be derived from the finest brand to enable him to endure his friend's moaning with common patience. One studies with wonder and admiration the few touches with which the story is told in this little drawing. See the handsome frowning face of "the lover's friend," so perfectly in contrast with that of the absorbed lover, whose voice can almost be heard expatiating on the beauty of the lost one, and the hardness of her heart!

CHAPTER XVII.

Sporting Novels (_continued_).

"Handley Cross" is another of the sporting novels so admirably ill.u.s.trated by Leech. The hero of this book is a certain Mr. Jorrocks, a retired "great city grocer of the old school." A fortune gained in the grocery business enabled Mr. Jorrocks to retire into country life, where the sports of the field awaited him. He became a mighty hunter, the possessor of the finest horses and "the best pack of 'ounds in all the world," who would make the foxes cry "Capevi!" He is M.F.H., and so great an authority on sporting matters as to warrant his announcing himself as a lecturer on the duties of all concerned in the truly British sport of the chasing of the fox. Mr. Jorrocks's antecedents were such as to preclude the possibility of the display of brilliant oratorical powers. His mode of expression--including the absence of the letter "h," where it should be used, and its presence where it should not--was what might have been expected from the retired grocer whose little figure adorns the ill.u.s.tration.

Leech's old friend, Mr. Adams, tells me that a man named Nicholls, Lady Louise Clinton's coachman, was the model for Mr. Jorrocks. Leech never went anywhere, not even to church, without his little sketch-book; and on a special Sunday at Barkway Church, where Lady Clinton had her pew, she was followed by a little man who, after handing her ladyship her books of devotion, took his seat outside the pew, and became an unconscious study for Leech; who in a few minutes transferred an exact likeness to the sketch-book, which was afterwards as exactly reproduced in the "hunting lecture."

A curious reader can study Mr. Jorrocks's lecture in the pages of "Handley Cross." He will there wonder with me how it came about, that so distinguished an audience of aristocratic men, and lovely women, could listen for many minutes to an oration which must have lasted at least two hours, and which ends with the following peroration: "So shall little Spooney jog on rejoicin'! Each succeedin' year shall find him better mounted, and at each fresh deal he will become a wiser and I 'opes a nappier man."

Mr. Jorrocks concluded amidst loud and universal applause.

Leech's mastery of character--unexaggerated, true to nature, without a trace of caricature--can be seen in the foreground figures of this etching. The man standing behind the lady with the lovely profile is a gentleman, though perhaps not a wise one; but what can the beautiful profile find in Mr. Jorrocks's discourse to amuse or enlighten her? And those pretty creatures in the distance, who certainly seem a little bored, how is it that they did not slip away with their cavaliers behind them, and so leave Mr. Jorrocks to talk about 'unting to 'is 'eart's content?

One of Mr. Jorrocks's sporting friends is Mr. Charley s...o...b.., a good-looking young gentleman who finds himself belated after a hard day's hunting. He wanders about an unknown country, darkness comes upon him, and he endeavours in vain to find his way to Handley Cross. "The night was drear and dark, the wind whistled and howled with uncommon keenness, the cutting hail drifted with the sharpness of needles against his face. Horse and rider were equally dispirited," says the chronicler. This free and easy, or, rather uneasy, fox-hunter, determined to seek shelter for the night at the first house he came to, that promised from its appearance a comfortable bed, with, perhaps, an introductory supper. He soon found himself "under the lee of a large house, and having dismounted, and broken his shins against a sc.r.a.per, he at length discovered a bell-pull in the door-post, which having sounded, the echoing notes from afar proclaimed the size and importance of the mansion." "A little maiden" gave Charley admission, and, with surprising alacrity, provided him with "ham sandwiches, hot water, lemon, nutmeg,"

etc., to say nothing of a bottle of sherry!

To the common mind the ease with which Mr. Charles s...o...b.. managed to procure for himself a supper and lodging in a stranger's mansion will be a matter of surprise; in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred he would have met with a very different reception. We rejoice in his success, because it gives us a likeness of his good-looking self, in conjunction with that of one of the prettiest and daintiest waiting-maids ever created by Leech's pencil.

Had I been permitted I should have selected a drawing from "Handley Cross," which heads a chapter called "The Waning Season," not from its subject (which has little interest), but because it is an admirable example of Leech's mastery of landscape. The figure of the old hedger, with his big gauntlets and bill-hook, is as true as possible to nature, well drawn, and perfect in action, as he stoops over the f.a.ggots he has collected; but I would call more attention to the drawing of the foreground and distance of the landscape; the stunted tree and the wattled fence in its perspective cunningly going off almost to the horizon--thus leading the eye into s.p.a.ce--with its lines so skilfully broken by the leafless trees. The sky, too, though represented by a few lines, composes artistically with the forms in the distance and the rest of the wintry landscape.