Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

Van Beers called on me some little time before the date, and asked me if I could collect a number of both my own and Pellegrini's caricatures, including those of several of the expected guests, so that slides might be made from them to throw upon a sheet with the aid of a lantern; and, after some difficulty, I found the right people to do the work.

The supper from beginning to end was proved to be a gigantic surprise. As the midnight hour struck, the very representative gathering, very hungry and expectant, sat down at the long and charming decorated tables. Everywhere the eye rested on the most dazzling arrangements. Exquisite lights illuminated the room, charmingly assorted glass-flowers diffusing the electricity, which at that period was a decided novelty and only just becoming popular. Our sense of expectancy was titillated to the uttermost by the alternating lights thrown upon the scene from different angles, and the soup, which seemed somewhat tardy in making its appearance, was welcomed. For a moment all was in darkness, until suddenly a lurid glow arose in the weirdest manner from the table, which was discovered to be made entirely of glass covered with a very transparent table cloth. The bright light coming up from beneath gave the assembled guests a ghastly and weird appearance, accentuated no doubt by our increasing hunger. When the general illumination appeared once more and normalities were, so to speak, resumed, an excellent menu began to make things go. Between each course there was a fresh surprise in the form of a novelty entertainment—principally musical. From one corner of the room came an angelic voice singing a selection from an opera, which led to a discussion as to the identity of the singer who proved to be Melba. Then came Hollman, the 'cellist, followed by Florence St. John, who gave us a cheerful song from a comic opera. One bright particular star followed another until by degrees everything glowed. In the midst of the repast a monster pie was brought in and placed opposite Alma Tadema (who was in the chair). He cut it, and to our delighted astonishment countless little birds flew out in all directions alighting here there and everywhere, as though to complete the delightful scheme of decoration, whilst with one accord they seemed to burst into exquisite song. Toasts followed and suitable speeches, the artists joined the general company and were individually thanked for the pleasure they had given. It had been arranged that the caricatures should appear earlier in the evening, but owing to a mistake on the part of the operator they arrived as the last item of the evening's entertainment, and after such an excellent supper, in which the wines were truly worthy of the perfect quality of the fare, the assembly could hardly be expected to crane their necks very far back in search of the caricatures of familiar faces thrown by the lantern-slides upon the ceiling. And in any case, to my mind, the effect was spoiled by the exaggerated angle at which they were reflected.

After the coffee the party broke up about three o'clock. I had arranged to leave London by the five o'clock train for Lichfield, so had engaged a bedroom at the Euston Hotel in order to lose no time in changing. I went to bed and slept soundly for over an hour, was duly aroused, caught my train and arrived at Elmhurst, the residence of Mr. and Mrs. George Fox, in time for early breakfast.

The Lichfield festival was being held at the time of my visit, and there was a great gathering of the clergy and their wives. I attended a very fine service in the Cathedral, after which Mrs. Maclagan (the Bishop's wife) gave a big luncheon party to which I had been invited. My main object was to make a cartoon of the Bishop of Lichfield for Mrs. Maclagan, who was determined that a cartoon of her husband should appear in Vanity Fair. She did her utmost to persuade him to give me sittings, but he was very reluctant and not to be cajoled, so she gave me this opportunity to observe him, and placed me near him at the luncheon table. There were scarcely any laymen present, indeed I believe that Mr. Fox and I were the only men present not "of the cloth"; and nearly all the clergymen had come to the festival from a distance. My name got mixed up with that of a decidedly important parson who was announced as Mr. Leslie Ward—not altogether to his satisfaction I fear.

Mrs. Maclagan being a perfect hostess, had chosen me an admirable companion, a lady who started the conversation by asking me which plays I had seen in London. I gathered she had been intending to go on the stage, previous to her marriage, but she had become a Dean's wife and devoted her talents to charity performances and "drew in the shekels" for the Church. I had a very enjoyable lunch, a charming vis à vis, and an excellent subject in view.

I prolonged my visit to await the return of the Dean of Lichfield, Dr. Bickersteth, who was absent. As he did not return at the expected date I gave up the idea and hope of seeing him for the time being, but on my return journey, to my great delight, the Dean was on the platform and en route for some local station. I got into the same carriage, and was able to take a good look at him. He was a very good subject, and made an excellent caricature.

When I decided to give my attention to the Rev. R. J. Campbell I studied him closely at the City Temple. On my return I drew him in every sort of way but could not satisfy myself, for he had so many gestures and different attitudes, and when he works himself up and droops over the pulpit "fearless but intemperate" he looks rather like a gargoyle. Not long after I had succeeded in caricaturing him to my satisfaction, I met him at one of Sir Henry Lucy's delightful luncheon parties, where, after the ladies had left the dining-room, I sat next him, and in the course of conversation, gathered that he thought I had hit him rather hard.

"Well, Mr. Campbell, the caricature was done before I met you," I said, jestingly. "Had I known you I couldn't have done such a cruel thing." On parting he said, "If you ever caricature me again I shall expect you to be kind, so I needn't feel frightened of you in future."

When I sketched the Very Rev. Hermann Adler (the Chief Rabbi) I visited him at his house. While I was engrossed in my subject, his daughters came to see how the caricature was progressing.

"Oh, father!" they exclaimed, "it's just like you."