[CHAPTER XI.]
KENNY MEADOWS.
The reader has only to look at the early numbers of Punch to see how inferior were the drawings compared to Leech's work, or to that of the excellent artists now at work on Punch. Kenny Meadows was perhaps the best; indeed, he was a fellow of excellent fancy, quaintly humorous at times—seen, I think, at his best in his Shakespeare illustrations; which, in spite of some extravagance, are full of character, and, as in the "Midsummer Night's Dream," almost poetical in their realization of the scenes of that immortal play. But Kenny was a sad Bohemian, a jovial soul, loving company and the refreshments that attend it, in which he indulged in happy forgetfulness till "all but he departed."
In illustration of Kenny's habits, I introduce a little story told to me by himself. Long years ago Mr. Carter Hall edited a book of British ballads, and engaged a number of artists to illustrate them; Kenny Meadows amongst the rest. I also had the honour of supplying a contribution. When the drawings were finished, we were invited one evening to the Rosery—as Mr. Hall called his Brompton cottage—to submit our work for his criticism, and approval or condemnation, as the case might be. Our refreshment was coffee and biscuits, a repast very unsatisfactory to all of us, more or less—to Meadows especially. Kenny bore his disappointment very well till we left the Rosery—this we did at the earliest moment consistent with good manners—when he said, after criticising our entertainment in strong language:
"There is a house close by where we can get supper. What do you fellows say?"
We all said "that was the place for us."
Under Meadows' guidance, we found an inn and an excellent supper, and about midnight, when the fun was getting fast and furious, I left; Meadows remaining with two or three other choice spirits—how long I only knew when I met him a few days afterwards. The time of his return home may be guessed by what follows. Day was breaking as Meadows stealthily entered his bedroom, almost praying that Mrs. Meadows might be asleep; but that lady awoke, and, catching sight of her husband, said:
"You are very late, Meadows."