The suggestion of the supper came in the first place, from Sir John Aird, a patron of Van Beers'; and, as Sir John wished it to be a unique entertainment, he felt he could not do better than leave its arrangement to the originality of Van Beers himself.

Van Beers called on me some little time before the date, and asked me if I could collect a number of both my own and Pellegrini's caricatures, including those of several of the expected guests, so that slides might be made from them to throw upon a sheet with the aid of a lantern; and, after some difficulty, I found the right people to do the work.

The supper from beginning to end was proved to be a gigantic surprise.

As the midnight hour struck, the very representative gathering, very hungry and expectant, sat down at the long and charming decorated tables. Everywhere the eye rested on the most dazzling arrangements.

Exquisite lights illuminated the room, charmingly a.s.sorted gla.s.s-flowers diffusing the electricity, which at that period was a decided novelty and only just becoming popular. Our sense of expectancy was t.i.tillated to the uttermost by the alternating lights thrown upon the scene from different angles, and the soup, which seemed somewhat tardy in making its appearance, was welcomed. For a moment all was in darkness, until suddenly a lurid glow arose in the weirdest manner from the table, which was discovered to be made entirely of gla.s.s covered with a very transparent table cloth. The bright light coming up from beneath gave the a.s.sembled guests a ghastly and weird appearance, accentuated no doubt by our increasing hunger. When the general illumination appeared once more and normalities were, so to speak, resumed, an excellent menu began to make things go. Between each course there was a fresh surprise in the form of a novelty entertainment--princ.i.p.ally musical. From one corner of the room came an angelic voice singing a selection from an opera, which led to a discussion as to the ident.i.ty of the singer who proved to be Melba. Then came Hollman, the 'cellist, followed by Florence St.

John, who gave us a cheerful song from a comic opera. One bright particular star followed another until by degrees everything glowed.

In the midst of the repast a monster pie was brought in and placed opposite Alma Tadema (who was in the chair). He cut it, and to our delighted astonishment countless little birds flew out in all directions alighting here there and everywhere, as though to complete the delightful scheme of decoration, whilst with one accord they seemed to burst into exquisite song. Toasts followed and suitable speeches, the artists joined the general company and were individually thanked for the pleasure they had given. It had been arranged that the caricatures should appear earlier in the evening, but owing to a mistake on the part of the operator they arrived as the last item of the evening's entertainment, and after such an excellent supper, in which the wines were truly worthy of the perfect quality of the fare, the a.s.sembly could hardly be expected to crane their necks very far back in search of the caricatures of familiar faces thrown by the lantern-slides upon the ceiling. And in any case, to my mind, the effect was spoiled by the exaggerated angle at which they were reflected.

After the coffee the party broke up about three o'clock. I had arranged to leave London by the five o'clock train for Lichfield, so had engaged a bedroom at the Euston Hotel in order to lose no time in changing. I went to bed and slept soundly for over an hour, was duly aroused, caught my train and arrived at Elmhurst, the residence of Mr.

and Mrs. George Fox, in time for early breakfast.

The Lichfield festival was being held at the time of my visit, and there was a great gathering of the clergy and their wives. I attended a very fine service in the Cathedral, after which Mrs. Maclagan (the Bishop's wife) gave a big luncheon party to which I had been invited.

My main object was to make a cartoon of the Bishop of Lichfield for Mrs. Maclagan, who was determined that a cartoon of her husband should appear in _Vanity Fair_. She did her utmost to persuade him to give me sittings, but he was very reluctant and not to be cajoled, so she gave me this opportunity to observe him, and placed me near him at the luncheon table. There were scarcely any laymen present, indeed I believe that Mr. Fox and I were the only men present not "of the cloth"; and nearly all the clergymen had come to the festival from a distance. My name got mixed up with that of a decidedly important parson who was announced as Mr. Leslie Ward--not altogether to his satisfaction I fear.

Mrs. Maclagan being a perfect hostess, had chosen me an admirable companion, a lady who started the conversation by asking me which plays I had seen in London. I gathered she had been intending to go on the stage, previous to her marriage, but she had become a Dean's wife and devoted her talents to charity performances and "drew in the shekels" for the Church. I had a very enjoyable lunch, a charming _vis vis_, and an excellent subject in view.

I prolonged my visit to await the return of the Dean of Lichfield, Dr.

Bickersteth, who was absent. As he did not return at the expected date I gave up the idea and hope of seeing him for the time being, but on my return journey, to my great delight, the Dean was on the platform and _en route_ for some local station. I got into the same carriage, and was able to take a good look at him. He was a very good subject, and made an excellent caricature.

When I decided to give my attention to the Rev. R. J. Campbell I studied him closely at the City Temple. On my return I drew him in every sort of way but could not satisfy myself, for he had so many gestures and different att.i.tudes, and when he works himself up and droops over the pulpit "fearless but intemperate" he looks rather like a gargoyle. Not long after I had succeeded in caricaturing him to my satisfaction, I met him at one of Sir Henry Lucy's delightful luncheon parties, where, after the ladies had left the dining-room, I sat next him, and in the course of conversation, gathered that he thought I had hit him rather hard.

"Well, Mr. Campbell, the caricature was done before I met you," I said, jestingly. "Had I known you I couldn't have done such a cruel thing." On parting he said, "If you ever caricature me again I shall expect you to be kind, so I needn't feel frightened of you in future."

When I sketched the Very Rev. Hermann Adler (the Chief Rabbi) I visited him at his house. While I was engrossed in my subject, his daughters came to see how the caricature was progressing.

"Oh, father!" they exclaimed, "it's just like you."

"How dare you! I'll cut you both out of my will," threatened the Rabbi, in mock anger.

Cardinal Vaughan I "stalked" and made many a note of before he sat to me. He usually wore an Inverness cape, and his finely cut features I found both attractive and impressive, but I could always see the making of a caricature in them.

I had stalked and sketched Dr. Benson, Archbishop of Canterbury, before he sat to me at Lambeth Palace. When I was drawing his son, Mr.

A. C. Benson (then a Master at Eton), I showed him a little portrait sketch of his father, which pleased him so much that I gave it to him, but I have always regretted that I did not make an equestrian picture as he seems most familiar to me on horseback.

On many occasions my subjects have been particularly friendly and delightful in aiding me in my work, and sometimes extending their kindness across the boundary of professional moments. I remember a very delightful hour spent with Dr. Armitage Robinson--a subject in a thousand--when Dean of Westminster. He was astonishingly well up in Abbey lore, and together we visited chapels and crypts and strange hidden places which I feel sure must be practically unknown to the majority of visitors. When I heard he was leaving Westminster for Wells I felt an artist's regret that anything less imperative than death should have been permitted to disturb the impression of this picturesque Abbot in the peculiarly appropriate setting of old Westminster.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Studies from memory._ REV. R. J. CAMPBELL.

1904.]

The finest and handsomest young athlete I ever drew as an undergraduate was R. B. Etherington-Smith, known to his intimates as "Ethel." He was rapidly making his mark as a surgeon, and his sad and untimely death was deplored by every one who knew him.

Among the cricketers I first caricatured F. R. Spofforth--the demon bowler--followed by W. G. Grace and C. B. Fry, whom I portrayed as a runner. John Loraine Baldwin, the veteran cricketer, I introduced into the series in his self-propelling invalid chair; he was a very fine old man, and the founder of the "Zingari," and also of the Baldwin Club.

Philipson, the distinguished wicket-keeper, I induced to stand in his rooms at the Temple as though keeping wicket; and Ranjitsinhji I closely observed playing cricket at Brighton, after finding it very difficult to keep him up to the mark with his appointments.

If I were to mention all my subjects in their various professions, I should fill more s.p.a.ce than I am permitted, but among other well-known cricketers whom I have portrayed and caricatured are G. L. Jessop, Lord Harris, Ivo Bligh (Lord Darnley), George Hirst, F. S. Jackson, and Lord Hawke.

But amongst my pleasantest recollections are those of the university-rowing men with whom I came in close contact, for in every way possible they extended their hospitality to me, and I shall always remember with pleasure my visits to Oxford and Cambridge especially during the rowing season.

When studying Muttlebury, known as "Muttle," while instructing his eight on horseback from the bank, he provided me with a mount at the same time, to enable me to watch him in the capacity of a coach. I had a final glimpse of him, however, practising rowing on the floor of his room. My visits were usually referred to in the _Granta_, and a considerable amount of chaff was indulged in at my expense. On this particular visit when I went down to draw Mr. Muttlebury the following appeared under the heading of "Motty Notes!"

"Mr. Leslie Ward ('Spy' of _Vanity Fair_) came up on Monday to take Mr. Muttlebury's portrait, which is to appear in _Vanity Fair_ just before the Boat Race. The question how to make it most characteristic will be a difficult one to settle. Certainly if our mighty President is sketched in a rowing att.i.tude, it would scarcely be a case of all skittles and straight lines. Mr. Ward rode down with the crew, and is said to have been much impressed with the romantic beauty of our broad and rapid river, which he thought it would be quite impossible to caricature adequately.

"He was also struck with the colleges, and catching sight of the new buildings of Jesus from the common, said it was a fine house, and inquired who lived there.(!)

"On Tuesday morning, Mr. Muttlebury submitted to the torture. Left sitting."

[Ill.u.s.tration: F. R. SPOFFORTH (DEMON BOWLER) 1878.]

I very frequently travelled to Cambridge with Mr. "Rudy" Lehmann, whose reputation as a rowing coach--both for his own University, as well as Oxford and Harvard--is so widely known as to make further comment superfluous. He was the originator of the _Granta_ and is on the staff of _Punch_, for which journal one of his best known and most amusing contributions was a skit purporting to be from the Emperor William to Queen Victoria. As a man of letters he has made his mark.

He is the father of a very fine little boy who should make a reputation as an oar, and follow in the footsteps of his distinguished father.

When I arrived in Cambridge on one of many occasions after a visit at Oxford where I had gone with the object of producing C. M. Pitman for _Vanity Fair_, I discovered the contemporary number of the _Granta_ had again been on my track and chaffed me more than ever; as I was on excellent terms with the authors of that publication, I took their friendly "digs" in the spirit they were intended. Here is a further specimen of their humorous prose:

"Mr. Leslie Ward has turned up again to gather his usual crop of caricatures for _Vanity Fair_. Mr. Pitman[6] is to suffer first, I understand. Last year I think I informed you how Mr. Ward borrowed a cap and gown in order to attend the lectures of Professor Robinson Ellis[7] whom he was commissioned to draw; and I have no doubt he will go through adventures just as surprising on his present visit.

"On arriving in Oxford last Monday, Mr. Ward remembered that some years ago he had breakfasted in certain rooms in King Edward Street, with a friend whose name he had forgotten. He therefore concluded that these must be the lodgings of the President of the O.U.B.O.

Imagine his astonishment after he had driven there, when he was informed that Mr. Pitman had never occupied the rooms. Eventually, however, he ran his victim down at 155, High Street.

"Mr. Ward's next proceedings were characteristic of his amiable nature. At the bottom of the stairs he dropped his gloves, at the top of the stairs he dropped his stick, and in the room itself he dropped his hat. Having recovered all his scattered property, he took off his coat, and in doing so distributed over the floor a considerable fortune in loose gold and silver and copper, which for greater security he had placed in one of the outside pockets of his garment.

Great and resounding was the fall thereof, but Mr. Ward, on having his attention called to the fact, merely observed with an easy carelessness that marks the true artist, that he thought he had heard something fall but wasn't sure.

"On being asked what other celebrities besides Mr. Pitman he proposed to draw, he declared that he had all the names written down on a piece of paper. Up to the present, however, though Mr. Ward had looked for it in the most unlikely places, this piece of paper has defied every effort to find it. Is it true, by the way, that once when on a visit to Cambridge, Mr. Ward who was staying at 'The Hoop,' wandered into the 'Blue Boar' and insisted, in spite of the landlady's despairing efforts to persuade him to the contrary, that he had slept there on the previous night and wanted to be shown his room, as the staircase had somehow become unfamiliar to him?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: 1896. SAM LOATES.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: 1884. ARTHUR COVENTRY.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: FRANK WOOTTON. 1909.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: FORDHAM. 1882.]

Returning in the train, from one of my visits to the "Varsity," I fell asleep and pa.s.sed the junction where I should have changed. I awoke, hearing a noise overhead, followed by the disappearance of the lamps, a fact that I did not pay much attention to, imagining they were being replenished. These sounds were followed by a clinking of chains and sudden jerks, which usually accompany the process of shunting, and which I thought meant that another train was being coupled to the one I occupied. A complete silence followed, and after a short interval--I was alone in the carriage--I opened the window and looked out, and discovered that my carriage and its immediate neighbours, had been shunted into a siding for the night. I was feeling extremely cold and did not care to risk a walk of an exploring nature, as express trains kept flashing by and the night was dark. Presently I saw men with lamps pa.s.sing by some distance away, and by dint of shouting loudly, I attracted the attention of a porter, who called out when he saw me--

"What are you doin' there? Get out of that!"

"I shall be only too delighted," I said, when he approached. "I've been here for an hour."

I felt cold and simply furious. However, I followed the porter very gingerly over the rails to the station, where I had to wait a long time, and finally arrived in London at an unearthly hour. Since then I have been very wary of sleeping in trains.

CHAPTER XI

IN THE LOBBY