My firework takes the form of a bouquet of young ladies at some “ancestral home” in the country, who have just received a box of books from London—perhaps from Mudie. What a bevy of beauties!—two of them already absorbed in the last new novel, while another makes off with an armful of treasures.
When I say that this drawing—whether we regard it as a composition of figures and of light and shade, or as an example of Leech’s supreme power over grace of action and beauty—is worthy of admiration for itself, and of our gratitude to the Month for the opportunity of reproducing it, I fear no contradiction.
CHAPTER XII.
MR. ADAMS AND LEECH.
In the pursuit of material for this memoir, I have had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of one of Leech’s earliest and most constant friends, Mr. Charles F. Adams, of Barkway, Hertfordshire. This gentleman is the beau-idéal of a country squire—handsome, hale and hearty, though far past middle age.
The letters I am privileged to publish show the terms on which the friends lived, and prove beyond a doubt that many of the hunting scenes which sparkle so brilliantly and so frequently in the pages of “Life and Character” owe their origin to the opportunities afforded to the artist by his friend.
This long-continued intimacy commenced when the men were both young; and the very first development of Leech’s taste for horses began with his acquaintance with Mr. Adams. It is told of that gentleman that, being the possessor of two horses, and being at that early time employed in business in London during the day, the night served him and Leech for a wild career, Adams driving his horses tandem-fashion far into the country, rousing sleepy toll-keepers and terrifying belated wayfarers, while Leech’s watchful eye noted incidents for future illustration.
That Leech could sing, and sing well, I know, for I have often heard him troll forth in a deep voice his favourite song of “King Death”; but that he had ever performed in public I was unaware till enlightened by Mr. Adams, who told me that it was a favourite and not infrequent prank of these two spirits to disguise themselves in imitation of street-musicians, and, with the assistance of a young fellow named Milburn, as wild as themselves, descend upon the London streets, and by singing glees make “a lot of money.”