Forty years of 'Spy'

LESLIE WARD.

I come into the world.—The story of my ancestry.—My mother.—Wilkie Collins.—The Collins family.—Slough and Upton.—The funeral of the Duchess of Kent.—The marriage of the Princess Royal.—Her Majesty Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort.—Their visits to my parents' studios.—The Prince of Wales.—Sir William Ross, R.A.—Westminster Abbey.—My composition.—A visit to Astley's Theatre.—Wilkie Collins and Pigott.—The Panopticon.—The Thames frozen over.—The Comet.—General Sir John Hearsey.—Kent Villa.—My father.—Lady Waterford.—Marcus Stone and Vicat Cole.—The Crystal Palace.—Rev. J. M. Bellew.—Kyrle Bellew.—I go to school.—Wentworth Hope Johnstone.
In the course of our lives the monotonous repetition of daily routine and the similarity of the types we meet make our minds less and less susceptible to impressions, with the result that important events and interesting rencontres of last year—or even of last week—pass from our recollection far more readily than the trifling occurrences and casual acquaintanceships of early days. The deep indentations which everything makes upon the memory when the brain is young and receptive, when everything is novel and comes as a surprise, remain with most men and women throughout their lives. I am no exception to this rule; I remember, with extraordinary clearness of vision, innumerable incidents, trivial perhaps in themselves, but infinitely dear to me. They shine back across the years with a vivid outline, the clearer for a background of forgotten and perhaps important events now lost in shadow.
I was born at Harewood Square, London, on November 21st, 1851, and I was named after my godfather, C. R. Leslie, R.A., the father of George Leslie, R.A.
My father, E. M. Ward, R.A., the only professional artist of his family, and the nephew by marriage of Horace Smith (the joint author with James Smith of The Rejected Addresses ), fell in love with Miss Henrietta Ward (who, although of the same name, was no relation), and married her when she was just sixteen. My mother came of a long line of artists. Her father, George Raphael Ward, a mezzotint engraver and miniature painter, also married an artist who was an extremely clever miniature painter. John Jackson, R.A., the portrait painter in ordinary to William IV., was my mother's great-uncle, and George Morland became related to her by his marriage with pretty Anne Ward, whose life he wrecked by his drunken profligacy. His treatment of his wife, in fact, alienated from Morland men who were his friends, and amongst them my great-grandfather, James Ward (who, like my father, married a Miss Ward, an artist and a namesake). James Ward, R.A., was a most interesting character and an artist of great versatility. As landscape, animal, and portrait painter, engraver, lithographer, and modeller, his work shows extraordinary ability. In his early days poverty threatened to wreck his career, but although misfortune hindered his progress, he surmounted every obstacle with magnificent courage and tenacity of purpose. On the subject of theology, his artistic temperament was curiously intermingled with his faith, but when he wished to embody his mysticism and ideals in paint, he failed. On the other hand, we have some gigantic masterpieces in the Tate and National Galleries which I think will bear the test of time in their power and excellence. Power, to quote a contemporary account of James' life, was the keynote of his work, he loved to paint mighty bulls and fiery stallions, picturing their brutal strength as no one has done before or since. He ground his colours and manufactured his own paints, made experiments in pigments of all kinds, and Gordale Scar is a proof of the excellence of pure medium. The picture was painted for the late Lord Ribblesdale, and when it proved to be too large to hang on his walls, the canvas was rolled and stored in the cellars of the British Museum. At the rise and fall of the Thames, water flooded the picture; but after several years' oblivion it was discovered, rescued from damp and mildew, and after restoration was found to have lost none of its freshness and colour.