"'All the better,' said he; 'it will not be able to run away far;' and he bought it.
"He was fond of being here (at Moulton Grange), and used to enjoy taking quiet rides along the lanes, and over the many-acred, well-gated grass fields, full of heavy Hertford and Devon cattle; and many a delightful chat have I had with him _in rebus Punchibus_, its contributors, artists, publishers, editors, etc. I am inclined to think that the man he liked best in the world was R. Hole, and then Thackeray and Millais; but of course I cannot say this with any certainty."
I stop Mr. Nethercote's narrative for a moment for Mrs. Leech to be heard; that lady assured Canon Hole--now Dean of Rochester--after Leech's death, that the two men whom her husband loved best in the world were himself and Millais. Thackeray was asked to name the man he loved above all others, and he named Leech; but on another occasion, when he was asked the same question by his daughter, as recorded in Fitzgerald's "Memoirs," he said:
"Why, Fitz, to be sure; and next to him Brookfield."
We will now listen again to Mr. Nethercote, who says:
"By his desire I accompanied him one night to see 'Lord Dundreary,'
and I shall never forget his dismay on seeing that neither the farce nor the acting had 'fetched' me. He could not understand my feeling that the whole thing was non-natural, and that no lord who ever lived was half so great a fool as Lord Dundreary.
"On one occasion he was staying at Moulton Grange on the eve of the great fight between Tom Sayers and Heenan. A lady of great beauty, one of the party, was enlarging overnight on the brutality of all prize-fights, and expressed a hope that this fight might be prevented. On hearing of Sayers' conduct in the fight, the lady could not help expressing her admiration of his bravery, whereon Leech made a charming sketch of his fair friend crowning Sayers with a laurel-wreath, and entitled it 'Beauty crowning Valour.'
"I need not say how greatly the sketch is valued by its possessors.
"Leech used to like hearing his work criticised by friendly amateurs, and seemed to take in and, as it were, masticate their comments.
"I remember once, over our after-dinner cigar, telling him that I considered he failed in portraying the periphery of a wheel--that he made it over-fluffy--and failed also in drawing a stake and bound fence.
"The latter he admitted, and begged me to find him a model to study. This I did, and an excellent 'stake and bound' appeared in the _Punch_ of the following Wednesday.
"He stuck to his wheel, and doubtless he was right and I was wrong.
"The last letter I received from him was in reply to an invitation to come for a week's shooting. I knew that he had been ill, and hoped it might do him good. His answer was:
"'Shoot, my dear Nethercote; I couldn't walk round a turnip.'
"When that was written the end was not far off. The news reached me as I left home to hunt, and heavy indeed was my heart all that day, and for many a succeeding one, and still is when I think of him, the warmest-hearted, most generous, gracious, kindly, hospitable, endearing friend that man ever had.
"Such are some of the recollections of my dear friend, written off in a hurry. If they prove of any use to you, you are most welcome to them.
"H. O. NETHERCOTE.
"October 12, 1885."
MR. ASHBY STERRY.
The name which heads the few words below is one that is very familiar as the writer of many charming verses; and it is no wonder that Mr. Evans, on discovering the sonnet addressed to Miss Rosie Leech, should have mistaken the source of its inspiration, the more readily, as Miss Leech was christened Ada Rose.
In the belief that my readers will be glad to have the verses, and Mr.
Ashby Sterry's account of their production, I add them to Mr. Sterry's sympathetic appreciation of Leech.
"For as long as I can remember, I have had the most profound admiration for the genius of John Leech," says Mr. Sterry; "and he gave me as much delight in my childhood as he subsequently did when I became a man. I am grieved to say that I hardly knew him at all; it was many years after his death that I became connected with _Punch_. I should be most happy for you to quote the lines to Miss Rosie Leech; they, however, do not refer to John Leech's daughter. Several girls that I knew some years ago reminded me forcibly of the works of various artists. I sketched their portraits in sonnets, and added their Christian name to the surname of the master they represented."
Rosie was emphatically a "Leech girl" in all respects, and one that he would have gloried in drawing.
"MISS ROSIE LEECH.
"Down on the sands there strolls a merry maid, Aglow with ruddy health and gladsome glee; She breasts the breezes of the summer sea, And lets each zephyr trifle with each braid; Laughs gaily as her petticoats evade Her girlish grasp and wildly flutter free, As, bending to some boisterous decree, The neatest foot and ankle are displayed.
Her rounded youthful figure you may trace Half pouting, as rude Boreas unfurls A wealth of snowy frillery and lace, A glory of soft golden-rippled curls.
Comes blushing with a rare unconscious grace, The bonniest of England's bonny girls!"
MR. H. CHOLMONDELEY PENNELL AND LEECH.
"PUCK ON PEGASUS."
Mr. C. Pennell (_loquitur_): "My acquaintance began with his making some illustrations for my book 'Puck on Pegasus.' I found him liberal to generosity in all his professional dealings with me. Indeed, I have since ascertained that, seeing I was a debutant in literature, he only let me pay him about half his usual price--a generosity in which he was equalled by my friend Mr. John Tenniel. The charming drawings of these two inimitable artists on wood were, I have not the slightest doubt, the principal cause of the success of the verses to which they were so unequally mated.
"The Athenaeum, I recollect, whilst using the scalping-knife freely on the letterpress, observed that 'the illustrations were of Leech's loveliest.' Naturally, I have always felt towards Leech and Tenniel the gratitude which a young author owes to men who, already famous themselves, so frankly and generously first lent him a helping hand.
"I think Mr. Tenniel and Mr. Leech were at the time I speak of great friends, and I remember their once asking me to go down somewhere to hunt with them--an invitation which I have since regretted not being able to accept. Leech was an enthusiast about hunting, and hence his admirable and accurate delineations of horses and hunting scenes.
"He was a decidedly handsome man; tall, square, and well built, and in manners delightfully genial and frank. I was young when I knew him, and had not had much experience of the world; but I have often thought since that he was one of the most fascinating men it has ever been my good fortune to meet.
"Out of the artists whose pencils graced the pages of 'Puck on Pegasus,'
not only those I have mentioned, but also Sir John Millais and Sir Noel Paton, are, as everyone knows, striking instances of exceptional--well, what shall I call it, to spare their blushes?--say 'good looks.' Since I last met the 'Queen's Limner for Scotland,' his hair has become gray, but, notwithstanding, as I told Lady Paton a few weeks ago, her husband is still the handsomest man in North Britain.
"The only little special circumstance I can recall of Leech's 'individualism,' so to speak, is the fondness he had for sitting half on the table--one leg resting on the ground, and one dangling--the attitude in which he is represented in the photograph I have of him."
As the foregoing--found amongst Mr. Evans' Leech material--was evidently intended for publication, I make no scruple in presenting it to my readers. Without presuming to pose as a literary critic, I venture to differ from the author of "Puck on Pegasus" where he relegates his rhymes so far to the limbo of poetical failures as to claim for their chief merit that of having been the cause of some most admirable illustrations. Mr. Cholmondeley Pennell was unusually fortunate in all his illustrators; but surely such brilliantly clever youthful efforts as "Puck on Pegasus" displayed well deserved their good fortune. I confess I was disappointed in finding two drawings only which, from internal evidence, I can attribute to Leech; these, and, indeed, most of the others, strange to say, are unsigned.
Readers of Longfellow will, I think, agree with me that the "Song of In-the-Water" is an admirable imitation of the manner of the American poet's "Hiawatha," without the caricature, not to say vulgarity, which so often disfigures those attempts.
The "Song of In-the-Water" is short, and I am tempted to treat my readers to the whole of it.
I also note the delightful little initial letter W, pictorially rendered, evidently by Doyle:
"When the summer night descended Sleepy, on the white witch water, Came a lithe and lovely maiden, Gazing on the silent water-- Gazing on the gleaming river-- With her azure eyes and tender On the river glancing forward, Till the laughing wave sprang upward, Upward from his reedy hollow With the lily in his bosom, With his crown of water lilies-- Curling every dimpled ripple As he sprang into the starlight, As he clasped her charmed reflection Glowing to his crystal bosom, As he whispered, 'Fairest, fairest, Rest upon this crystal bosom!'
And she straightway did accordin';-- Down into the water stept she, Down into the wavering river, Like a red deer in the sunset-- Like a ripe leaf in the autumn: From her lips, as rose-buds snow-filled, Came a soft and dreamy murmur, Softer than the breath of summer, Softer than the murm'ring river, Than the cooing of Cushawa-- Sighs that melted as the snows melt, Silently and sweetly melted; Sounds that mingled with the crisping Foam upon the billow resting: Yet she spoke not, only murmured.
"From the forest shade primeval, Piggey-Wiggey looked out at her; He, the very Youthful Porker-- He, the Everlasting Grunter-- Gazed upon her there, and wondered!
With his nose out, Rokey Pokey-- And his tail up, Curley Wurley-- Wondered what on earth the joke was, Wondered what the girl was up to-- What the deuce her little game was, Why she didn't squeak and grunt more!
And she floated down the river Like a water-proof Ophelia; FOR HER CRINOLINE SUSTAINED HER."
We may look, and look in vain, through the long list of Leech's delightful creations for anything more lovely, more exquisitely dainty, than this floating damsel, with grace and charm in every line of her. I am sure my readers will join me in gratitude to Mr. Pennell for having given occasion for a picture that is "a joy for ever."
Leech's remaining drawing illustrates a poem entitled "Rejected Addresses," not in any way, I think, intended as a parody of any of the celebrated "Rejected Addresses" of Messrs. Smith--addresses, it will be remembered, that were written in the manner of various poets who flourished early in this century. Mr. Pennell deals with a certain Alderman, a Sir Toby, who was
"An Alderman of the very first degree, But neither wife nor son had he: He had a daughter fair-- And often said her father, 'Cis, You shall be dubbed "my Lady," Miss, When I am dubbed Lord Mayor.'"
"Sir Gobble Grist" was the aged swain of parental choice, but, as is not uncommon in such cases, the choice was not favoured by one of the parties concerned in it. The Alderman was, however, peremptory, for he says to the pretty Cis:
"'The day I don the gown and chain, In Hymen's modern Fetter Lane You wed Sir Gobble Grist; And whilst with pomp and pageant high I scrape, and strut, and star it by St. George's in the East, you'll try St. George's in the West.'