Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

"I told Mummie," she began, "I never wanted to come and sit for my picture," and, making a quick movement, carefully obliterated the whole of my work. My astonishment and chagrin were considerable, but, after severe corrections at home, the little girl returned to apologize and finish her sittings, and I completed the picture.

One time, when I was visiting Mr. and Mrs. Coope at Brentwood, they commissioned me to paint two of their daughters; the late Mrs. Edward Ponsonby and Miss Coope also partly completed a portrait of old Mr. Coope, but gave him up in despair, and he, upon seeing my bewilderment, sympathetically remarked, "The only artist who, had he lived now, could have painted me would have been Franz Hals." But that was before Sargent's day.

My hostess, Mrs. Coope, a very handsome and charming old lady, wrote to me some time after my return to ask me to come down and make a drawing of her little grandchildren, who were staying with her then. When I arrived, I was shown into the nursery and introduced to a little baby, who was entirely occupied with crawling on the floor. After pursuing my erratic model all over the room in hopes of catching her at a happy moment, and failing hopelessly in my quest, I gave up, and was informed by the fond grandparent—

"She'll never sit still ... your only chance is to crawl on the floor after her with your pencil and paper, and if you want to arrest her attention, the only thing is to buzz like a bee."

So I buzzed, found the ruse successful, and made the sketch, which was very well received.

I read of the death of Mrs. Georgina Weldon the other day, at the age of seventy-seven. I recalled the days when she sat to me for the drawing I made of her in Vanity Fair. Mrs. Weldon was a very handsome and extraordinary woman, her life being chiefly spent in fighting law cases in the Courts.

She was reputed to know more law (especially the law of libel) than many barristers who had long been engaged in practice, and she conducted her cases with great skill and eloquence, though not often with success, especially in later years, when she seemed to become almost a monomaniac upon legal matters.

Some eight years after marriage, Mrs. Weldon formed a design for teaching and training, especially in music, a number of friendless orphans. She started her scheme in 1870 at Tavistock House (once the residence of Charles Dickens), and with her husband's consent, began her philanthropic project with a number of the poorest and youngest children. Many leading musicians of the day became associated with her—Mr. Henry Leslie, M. Rivière, and M. Gounod among them.

Some of her friends and relatives could not understand why Mrs. Weldon gave up her time and money to a work which they viewed with disfavour, and their disapproval deepened when she developed an interest in spiritualism. "One night," says the Times, "she was waited upon by two strangers of professed benevolent disposition, who were afterwards proved to be medical men on a visit of inspection (the keepers of a private asylum); they tried to force a way into her house and carry her off as a lunatic under an order of detention. She baffled them and escaped."

Mrs. Weldon's first attempt to justify herself was by proceedings against Dr. Forbes Winslow, in whose private asylum it had been intended to place her. Baron Huddleston, however, who heard the case, non-suited her, ruling that the statute of 1845 was a defence, and declined to allow the case to go to the jury. From this finding the Divisional Court subsequently dissented. Mrs. Weldon gained the first-fruits of her long battle in July, 1884, when, after a ten days' trial, she gained a verdict for £1000 damages against Dr. Semple, who had signed the certificate of lunacy, and who was one of the two "benevolent strangers." Mrs. Weldon afterwards got a verdict against Dr. Forbes Winslow for £500 damages. A verdict for a like amount had been given in her favour in May in an action against the London Figaro.