Forty Years of 'Spy'

"No, you don't," and taking advantage of my having no available hand to protect myself, pushed me off the omnibus.

I fell heavily on to the kerb, and in consequence hurt my arm considerably. At the same moment a tradesman who knew me rushed to my rescue and excitedly said:—

"I'll take your parcel … you can rely upon me … you know me, sir … lose no time … you catch 'em."

I got on my feet with some difficulty and attempted to pursue the omnibus, but the conductor was pulling his bell violently and urging the driver to hurry. Finding it impossible to overtake them, I hailed a passing hansom and persuaded a policeman, who, for a wonder, happened to be near, to accompany me. We drove quickly, catching up the omnibus at its stopping place—Chelsea Town Hall—where we got down. The policeman, taking the case in hand, produced the usual note book, and proceeded to take the man's name and number (which had been the "casus belli"). When asked to state the case, the conductor said in unguarded tones:—

"The man's drunk, and he's got my money!"

I presented my case to the magistrate at the Westminster Police Court then and there, and shortly afterwards the conductor was summoned to appear; but the solicitor who represented the Omnibus Company asked for time to call witnesses, so the case was postponed for a week.

When the second hearing came on, and I had as my counsel, Mr. H. C. Biron (now the police magistrate),—by the way one of my three witnesses was the late Sir Evans Gordon,—I was much amused by the witnesses appearing against me. There was the driver of an omnibus which had been immediately behind the one I was thrown from, who said he had a full view of the whole incident. Under cross-examination he gave his version of the affair.

"That man," pointing to me, "got off the 'bus by 'imself—nobody touched 'im … I saw 'im."

"What else did you see?" asked Mr. Curtis Bennett.

"Well … I saw 'im tumble down."

"How would you describe this gentleman—was he carrying anything, for instance?"

"No," replied the man, "but 'e 'ad 'arf a cigar."

"Funny that you should have observed half a cigar and not a large parcel!" remarked Mr. Bennett.

"Can you describe him further?"

"Well, 'e 'ad a coat on and 'e 'ad long 'air."

Mr. Bennett smiled. "The gentleman in question is in court now—you'd better look at him—I don't think we could accuse him of long hair—you may stand down."

As I returned home that evening I heard the newsboys shouting something almost unintelligible, and caught a momentary glimpse of a poster bearing the words "Victory for–" Having a distinct curiosity to see who the Derby winner might be, I bought a paper and saw the poster "Victory for 'Spy,'" "'Spy' and the Conductor," "Result," and so on, both of which amused me immensely, as I had not imagined for one moment that the case would be brought into such undue publicity.

For some time after the affair of the omnibus, I was a considerable sufferer from my arm, and was under a doctor, whose fees I could probably have demanded in compensation from the company. I did not wish, however, to pursue the matter further, since I had only brought the action in the interests of others besides myself. The appeal failed; and the conductor had to pay £5.

Although I have caricatured a very large number of men at the bar and on the bench, I have not a proportionate number of personal anecdotes to tell of my subjects, for as I have stated, they were chiefly the result of studies from memory. As a result of my observations during criminal cases I have witnessed, I drew Sir Henry Poland, Montague Williams, Serjeant Parry (who was a great friend of Dr. Doran's and my father's), and Sir Douglas Straight (who became an Indian Judge). I was present not only at the farewell dinner given in his honour on that occasion, but also at that given him on his retirement from the editorship of the Pall Mall Gazette. In those days his great intimacy with Montague Williams (whom he frequently opposed in Court) gave them the nickname of "the Twins." After his return from the East, Sir Douglas was made editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, a post he held until a few years ago. He was an able man and a good editor. His cartoon appeared previous to his becoming a judge.

Sir George Lewis never got over his, which was the outcome of a study during the Bravo trial; and even when he was nearly eighty he admitted as much to me.

A strikingly unconventional looking man was the late Lord Grimthorpe, who came under my observation in '89; he wore a swallow tail coat, and never carried a stick or an umbrella. He had somewhat the appearance of a verger, although his was a strong, determined face. He was great in church matters, and seemed never happier than when putting up the backs of the Bishops during a debate in the Lords.

Sir James Ingham I studied, like most of my legal subjects, from memory, but to make variety from the other magistrates, I caught him in the adjoining yard and produced him in the act of deliberating in a case of cruelty to a horse.

Sir Thomas Chambers, Recorder of London, was a favourite subject (among the early cartoons), and one of my funniest caricatures. He was a delightful kind of gentleman, but owing to a chronic affection of his eyes, always carried his handkerchief in his hand to wipe away a tear, looking all the while as though he had lost his best friend.

Sir Charles Hall, who followed Sir Thomas as Recorder of London, was a great social success, and a favourite in Royal circles. He was as popular at the Garrick Club as he was in country houses. I met him first at Glen Tanar while on a visit to Sir William Cunliffe Brooks, where I shot my first stag. He was an exceptionally fine rifle shot, and "brought down" many there.

Lord Halsbury, a late Lord Chancellor, was another subject for whom I have the greatest admiration, and he is one of the very remarkable men of the day. His eye is as bright and his brain as clear as it ever was.

Sir Alfred Cripps (now Lord Parmoor), was very amusing to study and to draw, and my sketches of him fill a book. I believe he is in himself quite as fascinating a person as his varying expressions in Court led me to find him.

Sir Herbert Cozens-Hardy, Master of the Rolls, is another characteristic subject. Three times I have done him in various capacities for Vanity Fair.

Lord Robert Cecil I caught as he walked up and down Whitehall in wig and gown, during the South African case upon which he was at the time engaged.

Some of the judges were very tolerant of an artist taking liberties with their idiosyncrasies. The late Sir Albert de Rutzen, the Bow Street magistrate, was an exception. He was most strict, and always had a keen eye for any one whom he suspected of sketching in Court.

During the Crippen trial, a lady who sat next to me, a personal friend of Sir Albert's, warned me to be very careful not to let him discover my object in coming to the court or to appear to be watching him for the purpose of caricaturing him. As I was very intent upon obtaining a nearer glimpse of him, I sent a letter of introduction to Sir Albert and asked him if he could give me a few minutes to take a note of his features. As he was very busy at that time he suggested I might return another day about lunch time, when he would give me the time I required. Perhaps he was rather forgetful, for when I arrived at his rooms at the hour appointed I was told Sir Albert could not possibly see me. But this disappointment did not deter me from carrying out my object, and in due time the cartoon appeared in Vanity Fair.

To go through the list, and to mention all the caricatures and drawings I have made, would take so long that I can only mention a few of the present-day barristers and legal celebrities, some of whom I number amongst my friends.

Charles Gill, the famous K.C., whom I have known for years, I drew in '91. He is Recorder of Chichester, and a brilliant barrister with a cheerful and wholesome countenance. He now lives the life of a country squire when he can find time to do so.

Sir Charles Mathews, whom I also number amongst my old friends, is one of the kindest-hearted men I know, in spite of the fact that he could, if it was necessary in Court, make the most cutting observations in the least unpleasant way. He was, by the way, the bosom friend of the late Lord Chief Justice, Lord Russell of Killowen, and is the Public Prosecutor.

When I made a drawing of Mr. Birrell, I was much amused by his telling me that Mrs. Birrell was particularly pleased with the portrait, because it would be a continual reminder to him to pin his tie down, which I had depicted in its usual place, somewhere above his collar.

I observed Mr. Plowden (who was not exactly an advocate of Woman Suffrage) at a dinner held by one of the Women's Societies, where I sat opposite to him, and was much amused to watch his face as a speaker alluded to magistrates in a manner that can hardly be termed polite. As Mr. Plowden was a man of humour, the reference evidently appealed to him, if one might judge from his expression.

Lord Alverstone I met in a similar way as the guest of the evening at the Punch Bowl Club, when I had the honour of being in the chair and the pleasure of hearing the Lord Chief Justice sing the Judge's Song from "Trial by Jury." It is noteworthy that he was a teetotaller and a great Churchman. He was always willing to preside or give his patronage to any occasion when he could aid athleticism in any shape or form, for he had been a great athlete and runner in his day.

The present Lord Chief Justice, Lord Reading, (Sir Rufus Isaacs) is one of the most delightful men I have ever met. He is, as everybody knows, a great worker, and I remember he told me that, after his strenuous sittings, he went away for three months' holiday every year, and during that time, nothing, not even the lawyer's brief, could induce him to remember that he was a K.C., or lure him away from his well-earned rest. He thoroughly believed that only by this method of holiday-making was he enabled to work as hard as he did at other times.

Mr. Marshall Hall (to whom I am related by marriage) is one of the most versatile of my legal subjects, for besides being a K.C. and a late member of Parliament, he has the advantage of being a fine shot, a good golfer, a clever mimic, and a wonderful judge of precious stones, of old silver and of objets d'art generally—of which he has a very exceptional collection. As a raconteur he is unsurpassed, and in consequence most amusing company.

My friend, Mr. H. C. Biron, the magistrate, who is also a lover of art and a delightful host, is still a bachelor, and lives in a gem of a house in Montpelier Square, where my drawing of him is placed on the walls. As the son of an eminent "beak," he was born into the very atmosphere of the law, and the Starchfield case was perhaps the most sensational that has as yet come before him.

Nor must I forget to mention the very popular K.C. member for Cambridge, Mr. P. P. Rawlinson.

CHAPTER X

THE CHURCH AND THE VARSITIES—PARSONS OF MANY CREEDS AND DENOMINATIONS

Dean Wellesley.—Dr. James Sewell.—Canon Ainger.—Lord Torrington.—Dr. Goodford.—Dr. Welldon.—Dr. Walker.—The Van Beers' Supper.—The Bishop of Lichfield.—Rev. R. J. Campbell.—Cardinal Vaughan.—Dr. Benson, Archbishop of Canterbury.—Dr. Armitage Robinson.—Varsity athletes.—Etherington-Smith.—John Loraine Baldwin.—Ranjitsinhji.—Mr. Muttlebury.—Mr. Rudy Lehmann.

Parsons of different creeds and denominations have been represented in Vanity Fair from time to time—Anglicans, Romans, Wesleyans, Congregationalists and others. My method with a clerical subject is to go to his church and watch him in the pulpit, but it is not always easy to catch a Bishop, because he has not, so to speak, a home of his own. I remember making an excursion to St. Botolph's to study the Bishop of Kensington, only to find he was not preaching there that day but at St. George's, Camden Hill. Back west I went and after the sermon I waited outside the vestry door. Presently the Bishop came out, bag in hand, and walked down the hill. I hastened on ahead with the intention of doubling back and securing a good near view, but he turned into the Tube Station. I followed and secured a seat opposite him, and made the mental notes which resulted in the cartoon which was published very shortly afterwards in Vanity Fair.

Now and again I have been put to considerable trouble in stalking my man. I remember particularly well the peculiar circumstances under which I studied Dean Wellesley of Windsor, who was rather an eccentric looking old gentleman. I was staying at Windsor, in the Winchester Tower, with some friends who were officially connected with the Castle, and I learned that my best chance of seeing the Dean would be in the early morning when he was in the habit of taking a constitutional around the Round Tower about 7.30 a.m. I welcomed the opportunity, rose early and went out. The Dean was already on the scene pacing to and fro in the snow, supporting himself by an umbrella in one hand and a walking-stick in the other. I did not follow him in an obtrusive manner, but after pacing round two or three times, I must have attracted his attention, for I feel sure he had never seen any other individual taking such an odd constitutional at that hour. But of course he could not suspect my object. As he walked, I looked at him carefully, and especially observed his hat which, I had been informed, would be turned down according to the direction of the wind. On this occasion, it was turned up in front, although I am sure that in walking round the Tower he must have been kept busy on such a cold and windy morning. In due time the caricature (which I always regard as one of my best) was published. Through the medium of my father, who was a very old friend of the Dean, I heard that he was very annoyed at the caricature.

Some time after, I was walking with my father in the High Street at Windsor when we met the Dean!

"Let me introduce my son," said my father. "He is the culprit and is responsible for your caricature in Vanity Fair."

"Oh indeed," said the Dean. "I'm very pleased to make his acquaintance—I shouldn't have been, had any one recognized the caricature as myself!"

An amusing sequel occurred a few days later when my mother met Mrs. Wellesley, who told her that, thanks to the cartoon, the Dean had at last discarded the awful hat she had been vainly trying to get rid of for a quarter of a century.

I had another early morning experience in pursuit of Dr. James Sewell (Warden of New College, Oxford). I followed him into the college chapel and sat near his stall, but I felt I had not sufficiently impressed his features upon my memory to make a perfectly satisfactory caricature, so I inquired into his customs in hope of finding him again. I discovered that he also was in the habit of taking an early morning walk, and at 8.30 the next day I awaited him at a suitable distance from his door. After getting tired of waiting what seemed a very long time, I knocked at his door and asked the servant if Dr. Sewell was in.