John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2]. Frith William Powell
![John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2] - Frith William Powell](limg_read227485.jpg "John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2] - Frith William Powell")
for the production of drawings of the victor and the vanquished, entitled, Cobden’s “Bee’s Wing” and Richmond’s “Black Draught,” two of the most successful of the political cartoons.
“The Brook Green Volunteer” gave Leech the opportunity for many illustrations which, to my mind, are nearer approaching caricature than most of his work; nor have they, as a rule, the beauty or human interest that so many of his drawings show. I fear I must charge the volunteer himself with being in possession of an impossible face and a no less impossible figure; his action also is exaggerated. In compensation we have a delightful family group. The mother with that naked baby perambulating her person is beyond all praise. Women do strange things, but I deny the possibility of such a woman as Leech has drawn ever finding it in her heart to marry that volunteer. The little thing standing on tip-toe to dabble in baby’s basin for the benefit of her doll, the delighted lookers-on, not forgetting the warrior riding his umbrella into action, are invested with the charm that Leech, and Leech only, could give them.
The year 1846 gave birth to the first fruit from a field in which Leech found such a bountiful harvest. The racecourse gave opportunities for the exhibition of life and character of which the great artist took advantage in numberless delightful examples. Pen and pencil record adventures by road and rail. Whether the excursionist is going to the Derby or returning from it, whether he is high or low, a Duke or a costermonger, that unerring hand is ready to note his follies or his excesses, always with a kindly touch, or to point a moral if a graver opportunity presents itself.
A madman, they say, thinks all the world mad but himself; and it is not uncommon for a drunken man to imagine himself to be the only sober person in the company. That some feeling of this kind possesses the rider in the drawing opposite, as he addresses the stolid postboy, is evident enough; his drunken smile, his battered hat, and his dishevelled dress, are eloquent of his proceedings on the course; and if his return from the Derby is not signalized by a fall from his horse, he will be more fortunate than he deserves to be. In works of art the value of contrast is well known, and a better example than the face of the postboy offers to that of his questioner could not be imagined. He drunk, indeed! not a bit of it.
A pretty creature in the background must not be overlooked. She is a perfect specimen of Leech’s power of creating beauty by a few pencil-marks. Her beauty has evidently attracted notice, and caused complimentary remarks from passers-by, which are resented by the old lady in charge, who tells the speaker to “go on with his imperdence!”
Smith: “Hollo! Poster, ain’t you precious drunk, rather?”
Postboy: “Drunk! not a bit of it!”
I cannot resist presenting my readers with another Derby sketch. It is more than probable that if either of these young gentlemen had asked for leave of absence from his official duties for the purpose of going to the Derby, he would have met with stern denial. The attraction, however, is irresistible, and though the subterfuge by which it is achieved is not to be defended, who is there that is not glad that the wicked boy is penning that audacious letter, as it is the cause of our having a picture that is a joy for ever? As a work of art, whether as a composition of lines and light and shadow, in addition to perfect character and expression, this drawing takes rank amongst the best of Leech’s works. Note the admirable action of the youth who is putting on his coat – a momentary movement caught with consummate skill.
“Gentlemen,
“Owing to sudden and very severe indisposition, I regret to say that I shall not be able to attend the office to-day. I hope, however, to be able to resume my duties to-morrow.
Doctors differ, as everybody knows; and in no opinion do they differ more than in the way children should be treated. One of the faculty will tell you that a healthy child should be allowed to eat as much as he or she likes; another advises that as grown-up people are disposed to eat a great deal more than is good for them, a boy is pretty sure to do the same unless a wholesome check is imposed upon his unruly appetite. A great authority is reported to have said that as many people are killed by over-eating as by over-drinking; “in fact,” said he, “they dig their graves with their teeth.” If that be so, the young gentleman in “Something like a Holiday” is destined for an early tomb.
Comment on this wonderful youth is needless. We can only share the alarm and astonishment so admirably expressed in the pastrycook’s face. That this awful juvenile’s memory should serve him so perfectly when he has taken such pains to cloud it, as well as every other faculty, is also surprising.
Pastrycook: “What have you had, sir?”
Boy: “I’ve had two jellies; seven of those, and eleven of these; and six of those, and four bath-buns; a sausage-roll, ten almond-cakes, and a bottle of ginger-beer.”
Little Boy: “Oh lor, ma! I feel just exactly as if my jacket was buttoned.”
If “a fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind,” the boy in the following drawing would have delighted in the society of the gourmet at the pastrycook’s. Boiled beef and gooseberry-pie are good things enough in their way, but one may have too much of a good thing, with the inevitable result of the tightening of the jacket. This greedy-boy drawing appeared in 1846, and created a great sensation in the youth of that day, and many days since. Careful parents have been known to use this terrible example of over-eating as a warning to their offspring that a fit of apoplexy frequently followed the tightening of the jacket.
I think my married reader of the rougher sex will agree with me when I say that there are few more uncomfortable, not to say alarming, moments than those spent in the awful interview with the parents of his beloved, during which he has to prove beyond all doubt that he is in every respect an individual to whom the happiness of a “dear child” can be safely entrusted. What a bad quarter of an hour that is before the meeting, when he has grave doubts as to the sufficiency of his income! Will it, with other future possibilities, be considered sufficient to assure to “my daughter, sir, the comforts to which she has been accustomed”? This he will have to answer satisfactorily, together with a few score more questions more or less agonizing. Leech drew a scene of common application when he produced the picture that follows, which he calls “Rather Alarming” – “On Horror’s Head, Horrors accumulate.” Look at that terrible female and prospective mother-in-law! – think of satisfying such a woman that you are worthy of admission into her family! How sincerely one pities that poor little Corydon, and how heartily one wishes him success!
Lady: “You wished, sir, I believe, to see me respecting the state of my daughter’s affections with a view to a matrimonial alliance with that young lady. If you will walk into the library, my husband and I will discuss the matter with you.”
Young Corydon: “Oh, gracious!”
Leech treats – how admirably! – another greedy boy, or, rather, two greedy boys.
Jacky: “Hallo, Tommy! what ’ave you got there?”
Tommy: “Hoyster!”
Jacky: “Oh, give us a bit!”
A Calais oyster, no doubt – large enough for both; but Tommy will not share his happiness. Intensity of expression pervades him from his open mouth to his fingers’ ends. Jacky’s face and figure are no less expressive of eagerness to join in the banquet.
If ever man suffered from embarras de richesse, I am that individual in making a selection from the early drawings of Leech; where all, or nearly all, are so perfect, choice becomes difficult indeed. I cannot resist, however, the one that follows this remark. For perfection of character and richness of humour, it seems to me unsurpassable. The doctor’s attitude as he contemplates his victim – who seems to have brought with her the huge empty physic-bottles to prove that she has taken all her “stuff” – to say nothing of his startling individuality, is Nature itself; and that immortal pupil with the big knife, smiling in anticipation of the operation “to-morrow about eleven”! One can read on the face of the patient a dull realization of the doctor’s announcement