Leech was more fortunate than another artist of my acquaintance, for the officer listened to his explanation of the unusual way of entering his house, and, believing the statement, assisted him to "make himself at home." But my other friend, who had been "dining," finding something the matter with his latch-key—for do what he would he could not induce it to perform its usual office—mounted his area railings, and would very likely have fallen into the area if he had not been stopped by a policeman. The artist's attempts to explain his position were either incomprehensible by the officer, or they were not believed, for he was taken to the station and locked up for the night.
Leech gives us no hint by which we might guess in what condition of life the immortal Briggs made the fortune that enabled him to retire to his comfortable home in Bayswater; whatever his pursuit may have been, the taste for sport of every kind must have possessed the prosperous gentleman, to be indulged to the full—happily for us—when he had achieved independence.
Leech's powers are seen in their highest development in the Briggs drawings. Mr. Briggs is unfortunate in respect of horseflesh; the animals he selects are none of them free from vice, and in their various—and often successful—attempts to unseat their rider, they give the artist opportunities of showing his power of representing almost every action of which the horse is capable in the indulgence of that propensity. The enterprising sportsman chases the fox, coming in at the death, or soon after it—anyway, in time to give the huntsman half-a-sovereign for the brush, only he must "say nothing about it." He rides steeplechases, and though he is half drowned in a water-jump, and suffers other hindrances, he wins the race.
But it is in the shooting and fishing exploits that the sportsman and his illustrator shine most. Among so many triumphs of art and sportsmanship, it is difficult to say which of the many excellent examples is to be preferred; all are admirable, but I think the one I have chosen for illustration is my favourite. Mr. Briggs is deer-stalking, and though he occasionally suffers, even to prostration, from the heat of the weather, and the difficulties presented by hills, rocks, and heather, he really enjoys creeping and hiding with his gillies, until the royal hart, which the forester has seen through his glass, is well within rifle shot. He fires, misses; and behold the result!
"After aiming for a Quarter of an Hour, Mr. B. fires both his Barrels and misses!! Tableau: the Forester's Anguish."
In expression, drawing, character, and action, the figure of the forester is perfect; there is a tragic grandeur in the pose that would be appropriate in the gravest scene of misfortune. Poor Mr. Briggs plainly shows us that he not only suffers from the mortification of having missed so splendid an opportunity of distinguishing himself, but also from the misery his mishap has inflicted upon the forester. The skilful way in which this drawing is composed—the three figures separated from each other presenting a difficult problem to the artist—excites one's admiration. Without the connecting links afforded by the forms in the landscape, and the lines made by the dogs in the leash, held by the young gilly, the figures would be unpleasantly separated. As it is, with the masterly effect of light and shadow, this drawing is above all criticism.
My elderly readers may remember a certain Mr. Rarey, an American, I think, who "took the town" by his horse-taming feats. A horse named Cruiser, which was in the habit of indulging in every wickedness that could disgrace a horse, became docile under the Rarey treatment. The tamer's method was a profound secret; he allowed no one to witness the working of the charm by which a furious animal was changed into lamb-like meekness. In Cruiser's case, what was certain was, that a creature unapproachable without risk to limb and life, was transformed to such an extent that a child might—and did—ride him.
In a number of admirably humorous drawings, Leech pictures Mr. Briggs, who comes to grief in all his attempts to emulate Mr. Rarey. He evidently does not possess the secret, and though we laugh over his failures, we respect the courage which led to them. "Mr. Briggs tries his shooting pony" is an inimitable drawing. Mr. B. has no doubt been assured that the pony will take no more notice of a gun when fired from his back than "if you was to whistle a tune as you was riding of him." In perfect confidence in the truthfulness of the dealer's assurance, Mr. Briggs fires. The pony instantly flies, rather than gallops, away—without, however, unseating Mr. Briggs, who clings to the saddle, clutching his gun still smoking from the recent discharge.