Vicar of Kew.

To J. RIGBY, Esq., Kew.

To this _capital_ letter my father replied:--

Kent Villa.

DEAR AND REVEREND SIR, I cannot refrain from expressing to you my warm thanks for the very kind and disinterested manner in which you have been pleased to entertain my humble idea in regard to the restoration of Gainsborough's tomb, and the erection of a tablet to his memory in the church, the duties of which you so ably fulfil, nor can I but wholly appreciate your very kind but far too flattering reference to myself in your letter to our friend Mr. Rigby which coming from such a source is I a.s.sure you most truly valued.

Your most obedient and obliged Servant, E. M. WARD.

The tomb was restored, a new railing placed around it, and a tablet to the artist's memory was also placed by my father inside the church.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH ESQ^R DIED AUG^{ST} the 2^{ND} 1788 AGED 61 YEARS ALSO THE BODY OF GAINSBOROUGH DUPONT ESQ^R WHO DIED JAN^{RY} 20^{TH} 1797 AGED 42 YEARS ALSO MARGARET GAINSBOROUGH WIFE OF THE ABOVE THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH ESQ^R WHO DIED DEC^{MR} THE 17^{TH} 1798 IN THE 72^{ND} YEAR OF HER AGE RESTORED AND ENCLOSED AS A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT BY E. M. WARD R. A.

SEPTEMBER 1865 GAINSBOROUGH'S TOMB AT KEW CHURCHYARD AND TABLET TO HIS MEMORY INSIDE CHURCH.]

Some very pleasant memories are connected with enjoyable summers spent at Sevenoaks, where my father took a house for two years, close to the seven oaks from which the neighbourhood takes its name. Particularly I remember the amusing incident of the burglar. I was awakened from midnight slumbers by my sister knocking at the door and calling in a melodramatic voice "Awake!... awake!... There is a burglar in our room." I promptly rushed to her bedroom, where I found my other sister crouching under the bedclothes in speechless terror. Having satisfied myself as to the utter absence of a burglar in that particular room, I started to search the house--but by this time the whole household was thoroughly roused; the various members appeared with candles, and together we ransacked the establishment from garret to cellar. In the excitement of the moment we had not had time to consider our appearances and the procession was ludicrous in the extreme. My grandfather (in the absence of my father) came first in dressing-gown, a candle in one hand and a stick in the other. My mother came next (in curl papers), and then my eldest sister. It was the day of chignons, when everybody, without exception, wore their hair in that particular style. On this occasion my sister's head was conspicuous by its quaint little hastily bundled up knot. I wore a night-shirt only; but my other sister, who was of a theatrical turn of mind (she who had awakened me), had taken the most trouble, for she wore stockings which, owing to some oversight in the way of garters, were coming down.

After satisfying ourselves about the burglar--who was conspicuous by his absence--we adjourned to our respective rooms, while I went back to see the sister upon whom fright had had such paralyzing effects.

There I heard an ominous rattle in the chimney.

"Flora!" said my stage-struck sister, in trembling tones, with one hand raised (_ la_ Lady Macbeth)--and the poor girl under the clothes cowered deeper and deeper.

Two seconds later a large brick rattled down and subsided noisily into the fireplace.

"That is the end of the burglar," said I, and the terrified figure emerged from the bed, brave and rea.s.sured. Retiring to my room I recollected the procession, and having made a mental note of the affair went back to bed. Early the next morning I arose and made a complete caricature of the incident of the burglar, which set our family (and friends next day) roaring with laughter when they saw it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY BROTHER, WRIOTHESLEY RUSSELL.

1872.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY SISTER, BEATRICE.

1874.]

In those days we used to sketch at Knole House, then in the possession of Lord and Lady Delaware. My mother made some very beautiful little pictures of the interiors there, and several smaller studies. She copied a Teniers so perfectly that one could have mistaken it for the original. The painting was supposed to represent "Peter and the Angels in the Guard Room," and the guards were very conspicuous. On the other hand, as one only discovered a little angel with Peter in the distance, one could almost suppose Teniers had forgotten them until the last minute, and then had finally decided to relegate them to the background. This picture (the original) was sold at Christie's during a sale from Knole several years ago.

Of course the old house was the happy hunting ground of artists; the pictures were mostly fine although some of them were at one time in the hands of a cleaner, by whom they were very much over-restored. A clever artist (and a frequenter of Knole at that time for the purpose of making a series of studies) was Claude Calthrop (brother of Clayton Calthrop the actor and father of the present artist and writer Dion Clayton Calthrop). I was then just beginning to be encouraged to make architectural drawings, and I was making a sketch of the exterior of Knole House when one of the under gardeners came ambling by wheeling a barrow. He paused ... put down the barrow, took off his cap ...

scratched his head and said to me, "Er ... why waaste yer toime loike that ... why not taake and worrk loike Oi dew!"

Another time when I was sketching in that neighbourhood, in rather a lonely part, I fell in with a gipsy encampment. One of the tribe, a rough specimen, of whom I did not at all like the look, was most persistently attentive. He asked a mult.i.tude of questions, about my brushes, paints, and materials generally--and seemed anxious as to their monetary value. As he did not appear to be about to cut my throat--and I felt sure he harboured no murderous intentions towards my painting--I began to feel more at ease, and when no comments after the style of my critic, the gardener, were forthcoming, it struck me that perhaps I had a vagrant but fellow beauty-lover in my gipsy sentinel. I wish now that I had even suggested (in view of his evident love of colour) his changing his roving career for one in which he could indulge his love of _red_ to the utmost and more or less harmlessly.

When I was about sixteen I turned my attention to modelling, and in the vacation I started a bust of my young brother Russell. I spent all my mornings working hard and at length finished it. On the last day of my holiday I went to have a final glance at my work and found the whole thing had collapsed into a shapeless ma.s.s of clay. With the exception of watching sculptors work I had no technical knowledge to help me; but, not to be discouraged, I waited eagerly for the term to end, so that I might return to my modelling. When the time came, and my holidays began, I at once set to work again, taking the precaution to have the clay properly supported this time. Allowing no one to help me, I worked away strenuously, for I was determined it should be entirely my own. My bust was finished in time to send in to the Royal Academy, where it was accepted. I had favourable notices in the _Times_ and other papers, which astonished and encouraged me, and I went back to school tremendously elated at my success.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUST OF MY BROTHER, WRIOTHESLEY RUSSELL.

1867.

_Exhibited that year in the Royal Academy, modelled by myself._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY DAUGHTER SYLVIA.

_Sketched 1906._]

Tom Taylor, then art critic of the _Times_, wrote to my mother, saying:--

DEAR MRS. WARD,

... I must tell you how much Leslie's bust of Wrio was admired by our guests last night--particularly by Professor Owen....

Later I started another bust of Kate Terry, but I was never pleased with it, as it did not do my distinguished sitter justice, and I resolved not to send it to an exhibition.

I did not follow up my first success in the paths of sculpture, for I still suffered slightly from my strain, and I came to the conclusion that it would prove too great a tax on my strength at that time if I took up this profession.

The stage claimed a great part of my attention about this time, and I became an inveterate "first-nighter" in my holidays. From the pit (for, except on rare occasions, I could not afford a more expensive seat), or when lucky enough to have places given me, I saw nearly all the popular plays of the day; and when Tom Taylor introduced my parents to the Terry family, I became more interested than ever, owing to the greater attraction of personal interest. I grew ambitious and acted myself, arranged the plays, painted the scenery, borrowing the beautiful costumes from my father's extensive historical wardrobe.

The first time I appeared before a large audience was at the Bijou Theatre, Bayswater, which was taken by a good amateur company called "The Shooting Stars," composed chiefly of Cambridge Undergraduates. We arranged two plays, and the acting of the present Judge Selfe was especially good, also that of Mr. F. M. Alleyne.

One night, when I came down from my dressing-room, made up in character to go on the impromptu stage, I complimented an old carpenter of ours, waiting in the wings, upon the clever way in which he had arranged the stage and the scenery.

"Oh yes, sir," he replied, very modestly, thinking I was a stranger, "_I_ didn't paint the scenery, Mr. Leslie did that!"

In some theatricals at the Friths' house, when John Hare coached us, I took the part of an old butler. On my way to Pembridge Villas, attired ready for the stage, I remembered I needed some sticking plaster to obliterate one of my teeth; so leaving the cab at a corner, I entered a chemist's shop, where I was amused, because the a.s.sistant put me on one side rather rudely for other customers who came later, and after attending to them, addressed me roughly with a, "Now, what do _you_ want?" His rudeness was an unconscious tribute to my effective disguise, and his manners altered considerably when I disillusioned him.

At one time Miss Marion Terry, who was then about to go on the stage, after witnessing my acting in a play of Byron's, suggested in fun and raillery at my enthusiasm that we should make our dbut together.

Owing to her excessive sensibility and highly strung temperament, rehearsals were very trying to her at first, and for this reason her eventual success was in doubt. When one has seen her perform her many successful parts with such exquisite talent and pathos, one feels glad to realize that she finally overcame her nervousness, and that her gift of acting was not lost to the public.

I knew the Terrys very well then, and I was in love with them all; in fact, I do not know with which of them I was most in love.

Ellen Terry sat to my father for his picture of "Juliet," and Kate Terry for "Beatrice" in _Much Ado_. I remember too that when Ellen made her reappearance in the theatre, my mother lent our great actress a beautiful gold scarf, to wear in that part in which she fascinated us on the stage as fully as she did in private life. Among my cherished letters I find the following notes written to me at school, after her marriage to G. F. Watts.

1866.

MY DEAR LESLIE,

I am extremely obliged to you for your sketch and I'm sorry Alice [my sister] should be "riled" that I wanted a _character_ of her, as the people down here call caricatures. Please give my love to her and to her Mama and to all the rest at Kent Villa--when you write. Mrs. Carr and Mr. Carr (my kind hostess and host) think the caricature is a capital one of _me_!

Polly [Miss Marion Terry] sends her love, and is awfully jealous that I should have sketches done by you and _she not_!!

With kindest regards and best thanks, believe me, dear Leslie,

Sincerely yours, ELLEN WATTS.

DEAR LESLIE,

I fulfil my promise by sending you the photo of my sister Kate, that you said you liked! I _think_ it's the same. I hope you'll excuse it being so soiled, but it's the only one I have--the fact is, the Baby [her brother Fred] seized it, as it lay upon the table waiting to be put into a cover, and has nearly bitten it to pieces.

I came up from Bradford, in Yorkshire, on Monday last, where I had spent a week with Papa and Polly, and I can't tell you, Leslie, how cold it was. I intend going to Kent Villa, as soon as possible. I've promised Alice a song of Mrs. Tom Taylor's and have not sent it to her yet, "Better late than never," tho' I really have been busy.

With my best regards, Sincerely yours, NELLY WATTS.

Those were delightful days spent with delightful companions. Lewis Carroll was sometimes a member of the pleasant coterie which met at our house in those days. My sister Beatrice was one of his greatest child friends, and although he always sent his MSS. for her to read, he disliked any mention of his fame as an author, and would abruptly leave the presence of any one who spoke about his books. The public at that time were in complete ignorance of the real ident.i.ty of Lewis Carroll. Later in life, when I wished to make a cartoon of Mr. Dodgson for _Vanity Fair_, he implored me not to put him in any paper.

Naturally, I was obliged to consent, but _Vanity Fair_ extorted some work from his pen as a compromise. He was a clever amateur photographer, and in my mother's alb.u.ms there are photographs taken by him of several members of the Terry family, together with some of us.