JSTRATED
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS.
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 INTERVIEWS. 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRY HOW 
 
 \All rights reserved.} 
 
 Zonton : 
 
 GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED, 
 
 8, 9, 10, AND ii, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, AND EXETER STREET, 
 
 STRAND, W.C.
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. MR. W. S. GILBERT ................................................ i 
 
 Illustrations by John Giilich, R. Jones, Miss Mabel D. Hardy, and from 
 Photographs by Messrs. Elliott &* Fry. 
 
 2. CARDINAL MANNING ................................................ 17 
 
 Illustrations by W. H. J. Boot, R.B.A., and from Photographs by Messrs. 
 Elliott & Fry. 
 
 3. SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A ............................ ?.g 
 
 Illustrations from Studies by Sir Frederick Leighton, and from Photographs 
 by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. 
 
 4. MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD .......................................... 46 
 
 Illustrations by W. Dewar and /". /ones, and from Photographs by Messrs. 
 Elliott & Fry. 
 
 5. MADAME ALBANI ................................................... 67 
 
 Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I., and from Photographs by Messrs. 
 Elliott dr 3 Fry. 
 
 6. MR. F. C. BURNAND ................................................ 8 1 
 
 Illustrations from Drawings by John Leech, John Tenniel, Fred Walker, and 
 from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott &* Fry and others. 
 
 7. MR. HENRY IRVING 98 
 
 Illustrations by John Giilich, and from Photographs by Miss Ellen Terry and 
 Messrs. Elliott &* Fry. 
 
 8. Miss ELLEN TERRY 116 
 
 Illustrations by W. F. Young, and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott &* 
 Fry and Messrs. Window &* Grove. 
 
 9. PROFESSOR BLACKIE 137 
 
 Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott &" Fry.
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 10. LORD WOLSELEY, G.C.B., G.C.M.G., ETC ................... 154 
 
 Illustrations from Drawings by W. B. Wollen, R.I., and from Photographs 
 by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. 
 
 11. MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA ................................. !8i 
 
 Illustrations from Drawings by Air. Sala and John Gillich, and from Pho- 
 tographs by Messrs. Elliott &* Fry and Le Lieure, Rome. 
 
 12. THE LATE SIR MORELL MACKENZIE, M.D ................ 198 
 
 Ilhtstrations by Paul Hardy, and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott &* Fry. 
 
 13. THE REV. J. E. C. WELLDON ................................. 213 
 
 Illustrations by John Giilich, and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. 
 
 14. MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A ................... . ...... ..... ; 233 
 
 Ilhistrations by H. Stacy Marks, R.A., and W. S. Stacey, and from a 
 Painting by P. H. Calderon, R.A., and from Photographs by Messrs. 
 Elliott 6 Fry. 
 
 15. THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON ................... .............. 248 
 
 Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. 
 
 ic WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. ........ ............... 267 
 
 Illustrations by Colonel Colville and the late Captain Swaeby, and from 
 Photographs by Messrs. Elliott 6 Fry. 
 
 17. MR. HARRY FURNISS ............................................. 290 
 
 Illustrations by Harry Fumiss, and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & 
 Fry.
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 I. 
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 
 
 from a Photo, by] 
 
 GRAEME'S DYKE. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 IS 
 
 R. GILBERT lives in a little land of his own. There 
 nothing wanting to complete his miniature kingdom at 
 Graeme's Dyke, Harrow Weald. With a hundred and 
 ten acres at his disposal, the most brilliant writer of 
 irresistible satire of the day has laid down a healthy two 
 miles of paths, which wend their way through banks of 
 moss and ferns, avenues of chestnut trees, and secluded valleys. You 
 turn out of one pathway only to enter a diminutive forest ; again, and 
 you are standing by the rushes and water weeds by the side of the 
 old Dyke, which has run its course for two thousand years and more, 
 spanned by rustic bridges ; and in one part, near the bathing-house, is 
 a statue of Charles II., which originally stood, years ago, in Soho 
 Square. You may wander along a walk of roses and sweetbrier, or
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 IN THE GROUNDS. 
 
 admire the view 
 from the obser- 
 vatory, where 
 the owner enjoys 
 his astronomical 
 watchings. From 
 another spot 
 Windsor Castle 
 is visible. Mr. 
 Gilbert is a man 
 of many minds. 
 The verse 01 
 
 comic opera does not prevent him from watching the interests of his 
 thoroughbred Jerseys for there is a perfect home farm on the 
 Gilbertian land. The hayricks look rich, the horses, the fowls, and 
 the pigs seem " at home," and the pigeons I am assured by Mr 
 Gilbert that he is using the utmost efforts to induce his feathered 
 friends to adopt, as their permanent address, the fine and lofty house 
 he has erected for them. The roofs of the vineries are heavy with 
 great bunches, the peaches and nectarines are fast assuming an 
 appearance calling for a hasty " bite " ; flowers flowers are every- 
 where, and the bee-hives green little wooden dwellings with the bees 
 crowding in and out are pointed out by their owner as looking very 
 much like small country theatres doing a " tremendous booking." 
 
 The house was built for Mr. Goodall, R.A., from designs by Mr. 
 Norman Shaw, R.A., and is from every aspect architecturally very 
 fine. Many portions of it are entirely covered with ivy the entrance 
 porch is surrounded by the clinging tendrils. Here I met Mr. Gilbert. 
 He is tall, stalwart, and handsome. He appears strong, and he is ; 
 he looks determined. He frankly admits that this characteristic has
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 
 
 From a Photo. 6yJ 
 
 THE FARM. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 led success to him and him to success. His hair is grey, but the 
 vigour of a young man is there. To hear him talk is to listen to 
 the merry stream of satire which runs through his verse and lyrics. 
 Imagine him declaring that he considers the butcher boy in the 
 gallery the king of the theatre the blue-smocked youth who, by 
 incessant whistling and repeated requests to " speak up," revels in 
 upsetting the managerial apple-cart. Then try and realize Mr. Gilbert 
 assuring one that what he writes is nothing mere nor less than " rump 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 AT THE PORCH. 
 
 [Elliott <C Fry.
 
 4 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 steak and onions! " a palatable concoction of satisfying and seasoning 
 ingredients which is good enough to please the man of refinement in 
 the stalls, and not too refined for the butcher boy in the gallery. 
 " H.M.S. Pinafore," "The Pirates," " The Mikado," and the lily-loving 
 Buntliorm and aesthetically-inclined young maidens in " Patience " 
 rump steak and onions ! He has not save at rehearsals seen one of 
 his own plays acted for seventeen years. Report says that, on " first 
 nights," he wanders about muffled up, with his hat over his eyes, along 
 the Thames Embankment, casting occasional glances in the direction 
 of the water, and mentally measuring the height of Waterloo Bridge. 
 Nothing of the kind. He goes to his club and smokes a cigar, and 
 looks in at the theatre about eleven to see if there is a " call "; and he 
 is seldom disappointed in the object of his visit. He is quite content 
 to look in at the theatre and see that everything is safe for the curtain 
 to rise, goes away, and returns at the finish. He is wise in believing 
 that the presence of the author at such a time upsets the players and 
 deteriorates the action. 
 
 We are in the entrance-hall. Over the mantelpiece is a fine 
 specimen of fourteenth century alabaster. By the window is a model 
 of a man-of-war, sixteen feet in length. It is perfect in every detail, 
 and a portion of it was specially constructed as a model of the set of 
 the scene in "H.M.S. Pinafore." Mr. Gilbert, who is an enthusiastic 
 yachtsman, had the remaining forepart built when it was no longer 
 
 MODEL OF "H.M.S. PINAFORE" IN THE ENTRANCE HALL. 
 PromaPhoto.br} 
 
 v.-anted for theatrical purposes. The parrot in the corner is considered 
 to be the finest talker in England. It can whistle a hornpipe and if 
 put to the test, could probably rattle off one of its master's patter songs. 
 "The other parrot, who is a novice," points out Mr Gilbert 
 " belongs to Dr. Playfair. He is reading up with my bird, who takes 
 pupils.'
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 
 
 " THE FINEST TALKER IN ENGLAND." 
 
 Passing up the oaken 
 staircase, the solidity of which 
 is relieved by many a grand 
 palm, a peep into the billiard- 
 room reveals on one side of 
 the wall photos of all the 
 characters which have from 
 time to time appeared in his 
 operas. Over a long oak 
 bookcase is a run of photos 
 unique of their kind, includ- 
 ing those of J. S. Clarke, 
 Mrs. Stirling, Buckstone, 
 Compton, Chippendale, Her- 
 mann Vezin, Henry J. Byron, 
 and Irving and Hare, taken 
 seventeen years ago. A little 
 statuette of Thackeray, by 
 Boehm, is near at hand, and 
 here is another of the drama- 
 tist's great friends, T. W. 
 Robertson, the writer of 
 " Caste," " School," "Society," 
 and other plays inseparable 
 from his name. 
 
 The drawing-room was 
 Mr. Goodall's studio. It is a 
 
 from a Photo, by) 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 (Elliott & Fry.
 
 6 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 magnificent apartment, rich in old china, great vases 200 years old, 
 antique cabinets, and treasured knick-knacks innumerable for the 
 present owner is a great lover of curios, and is an inveterate "hunter" 
 and exquisitely furnished. The fireplaces are crowded with ferns 
 and flowers. Near the corner, where Mr. Goodall was one time 
 wont to sit and paint sunsets, is a curious old musical clock, which 
 plays twelve airs. It is 150 years old. Mr. Gilbert sets the hands 
 going, and to a musical tick tick tick a regiment cf cavalry pass 
 over the bridge, boats row along the water, and ducks swim about. 
 Frank Roll's picture of the dramatist is here, and several 
 by Duncan, the famous water-colour painter, whose brush was 
 only responsible for a single example in oils, possessed by Mr. Gilbert ; 
 others by Boughton, Mr. and Mrs. Perugini, and Adrian Stokes. Here 
 is, also, an early example of Tenniel. It was bought unfinished. Mr. 
 Gilbert met the artist one day, and described it to him. He 
 remembered it, though drawn half a century previous. Tenniel took 
 it back, and finished his work only a few months ago. This little 
 satinwood cabinet came from Carlton House, and there is a curious 
 story regarding the manufacture of a fine Japanese cabinet of 200 
 years ago. In those days, whenever a child was born to a wealthy Jap 
 an order was given for a cabinet to be made. It took fifteen years to 
 manufacture, so fine was the workmanship, and it was presented to 
 the child on his fifteenth birthday. 
 
 Under a glass case are a pair of marble hands joined together, by 
 Boehm. They are those of Mrs. Crutchley, who danced in the Guards' 
 burlesque at Chelsea some time ago, modelled when she was eight years 
 old. Mr. Gilbert handles a fifteenth century carved ivory tankard. It is 
 
 >nn a Photo, by} THE DINING-ROOM. [Elliott & Fry.
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 7 
 
 iive inches in diameter, and carved out of a solid tusk. Unfortunately 
 it is broken. When Miss Julia Neilson was making her first appearance 
 in " Comedy and Tragedy," a tankard was wanted. It had been 
 overlooked at the theatre. Mr. Gilbert was present, rushed off in a 
 cab to Kensington, where he was then living, and got back in time. 
 Miss Neilson so entered into her part (and small blame to her) that, 
 quite forgetting the valuable goblet she had in her hand, she brought 
 it down with a bang on the table, with this result. 
 
 The dining-room contains some fine work in oak. A massive 
 Charles I. sideboard, dated 1631, was made for Sir Thomas Holt, a 
 Cavalier, who murdered his own cook in a fit of passion. He was 
 charged " that he tooke a cleever and hytt hys cooke with the same 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE LIBRARY. 
 
 [Elliott tfc Fry. 
 
 upon ye hedde, and so clave hys hedde that one syde thereof fell 
 uppone one of his shoulders and the other side on ye other shoulder." 
 It was, however, ingeniously argued that, although the indictment stated 
 that the halves of the cook's head had fallen on either shoulder, it was 
 not charged against him that the cook had been killed, and on this 
 technicality Sir Thomas escaped. There are some valuable oil 
 paintings here, too a fine example of C. Van Everdingen. The only 
 other work of his in England is in the mess-room of the Honourable 
 Artillery Company. There are also fine works by Giorgione, Van der 
 Kappelle, Tintoretto, Maes, and others. 
 
 The library where we sat together talking has one distinctive 
 curiosity. It opens out on to the lawn, and its white enamel bookcases 
 contain close upon four thousand volumes out of a compact stock 
 of some five thousand works scattered about the house. All
 
 8 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS, 
 
 round the apartment are drawings by A. Caracci, Watteau, Lancret, 
 Salvator Rosa, Rubens, Andrea del Sarto, and others, and on top of 
 the bookcases are arranged seventy heads, representing all sorts and 
 conditions of character typical of India. They are made of papier- 
 mache, and were brought home from India by Mr. Gilbert, whither he 
 had wandered in search of new pastures for plot and fresh ideas, so 
 that, should he ever write an Indian opera, the company engaged 
 would find an excellent guide to making up their faces from the figures. 
 On the table in the centre of the room amongst the flowers, are 
 portraits of some of the dramatist's proteges, so to speak. No 
 man is more far-seeing than he. He can single out talent, and, having 
 found it, he encourages the possessor. No one has been asked more 
 frequently, " Should I go on the stage ? " He calls for a sample of 
 the applicant's abilities, pronounces judgment, and those who have heard 
 his " Don't ! " were as wise in refraining from seeking for fame from 
 Thespis as those who welcomed his " Go ! " and have acted on his advice. 
 Among many who made their first appearances in his pieces are Mrs. 
 Bernard Beere, Mr. Wyatt, Miss Jessie Bond, Mr. Corney Grain, Mr. 
 Arthur Cecil, Miss Leonora Braham, Miss Brandram, Miss Julia Neil- 
 son, Miss Lily Hanbury, Miss Alma Murray, and Mr. George Grossmith. 
 
 " Grossmith," said Mr. Gilbert, " applied to Sir Arthur Sullivan first. 
 Sullivan was pleased, thought him the very man for the part of John 
 Wellington Wells in ' The Sorcerer,' and so did I. You see, when 
 making an engagement, the composer tests the applicant vocally, 
 whilst I try him histrionically. Previous to that Grossmith had done 
 nothing, save in the way of entertainments at young men's societies 
 and mechanics' institutes. He didn't want to offend them what 
 would I advise ? ' Go on the stage,' I said, ' and you'll make such a 
 success as to render yourself quite independent of them.' I think he has. 
 
 " Then in the ' Trial by Jury ' one of my early works, which I 
 consider one of my best, and in which the Judge was played by Sir 
 Arthur Sullivan's brother Fred, now dead the foreman of the jury 
 was played by a gentleman who only had a couple of lines to sing. 
 But whenever he opened his mouth the audience roared. The 
 estimable foreman of the twelve good men and true on that occasion 
 was Mr. W. S. Penley. Just a moment." 
 
 It is post time, and on the day of my visit he had just finished the 
 libretto of his new comic opera. He weighs the great blue envelope 
 in his hand, and, after the servant has left the room, flings himself into 
 his favourite chair, and suggestively remarks, " There goes something 
 that will either bring me in twenty thousand pounds or twenty 
 thousand pence ! " And a favourite chair with Mr. Gilbert is an 
 article of furniture not to be despised. It is of red leather, and he has 
 used the same size and pattern for a quarter of a century. He takes 
 it with him wherever he goes, for he never writes at a desk. When 
 working he sits here with a stool exactly the same height, and 
 stretching himself on these, he writes on a pad on his lap. 
 
 I asked him if he would write me a few original verses for 
 publication in this article. " Thank you, very much," said he, " but
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 
 
 from, a Photo, by] 
 
 AT WORK. 
 
 I Elliott & Fry. 
 
 I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me. When I have just finished 
 a piece I feel for a few days that I am absolutely incapable of further 
 effort. I always feel that I am quite 'written out.' At first this 
 impression used to distress me seriously however, I have learnt by 
 experience to regard it as a ' bogie,' which will yield to exorcism. 
 This, however, is quite at your service " ; and he crossed to a recess by 
 the window, and from a heap of papers took out a sheet. It was a 
 couple of delightful verses, left over from " The Gondoliers," written 
 in his best style, and seen by no one till this moment. Tessa was to 
 have sung them in the ear of the Grand Inquisitor, when he 
 commands the two kings of Barataria one of whom the fair Tessa 
 loves to leave their lovers and rule their kingdoms. The following 
 are the verses, the second being given in fac-simile : 
 Good sir, I wish to speak politely 
 
 Forgive me if my words are crude 
 I find it hard to put it rightly 
 
 Without appearing to be rude. 
 I mean to say, you're old and wrinkled 
 
 It's rather blunt, but it's the truth 
 With wintry snow your hair is sprinkled : 
 What can you know of Love and Youth ? 
 Indeed I wish to speak politely ; 
 
 But, pray forgive me, truth is truth : 
 You're old and pardon me unsightly, 
 What can you know of Love and Youth !
 
 10 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 ^s~* 
 
 "My life? Date of birth, November 18, 1836. Birthplace, 17, 
 Southampton Street, Strand, in the house of my grandfather, who 
 had known Johnson, Garrick, and Reynolds, and who was the last 
 man in London, I believe, who wore Hessian boots and a pig-tail. 
 I went to school at Ealing, presided over by Dr. Nicholas a peda- 
 gogue who appears more than once in Thackeray's pages as ' Dr. 
 Tickle-us of Great Ealing School. 1 I was always writing plays for 
 home performance, and at eighteen wrote a burlesque in eighteen 
 scenes. This was offered to every manager in London, and unani- 
 mously rejected. I couldn't understand why at the time I do now. 
 I was intended for the Royal Artillery, and read up during the 
 Crimean War. Of course, it came to an end just as I was prepared
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 
 
 to go up for examination. No more officers were required, and 
 further examinations were indefinitely postponed until I was over 
 age. I was offered a line commission, but declined ; but eventually, 
 in 1868, I was appointed Captain of the Royal Aberdeenshire High- 
 landers (Militia), a post I held for sixteen years. I was clerk in the 
 Privy Council for five miserable years, took my B.A. degree at the 
 London University, and was called to the Bar of the Inner Temple 
 in 1863. I was at the Bar four years, and am now very deservedly 
 raised to the Bench but only as a Justice of the Peace. 
 
 " I was not for- 
 tunate in my clients. 
 I well remember my 
 first brief, which was 
 purely honorary. I 
 am a tolerably good 
 French scholar, and 
 was employed to in- 
 terpret and translate 
 the conversations 
 and letters between 
 attorney, leading 
 counsel, and client 
 a Parisian. It was 
 at Westminster. 
 The Frenchman, 
 who was a short, 
 stout man, won his 
 case, and he looked 
 upon me as having 
 done it all. He met 
 me in the hall, and, 
 rushing up to me, 
 threw his arms 
 round my neck, and 
 kissed me on both 
 cheeks. That was 
 my first fee. 
 
 "On another 
 
 occasion I defended an old lady who was accused of picking pockets. 
 On the conclusion of my impassioned speech for the defence, she 
 took off a heavy boot and threw it at my head. That was my 
 By the way, I subsequently introduced the incident into 
 My Maiden Brief,' which appeared in The Cornhill 
 
 MY FIRST FEE. 
 
 second fee. 
 an article, 
 Magazine. 
 
 " I joined the Northern Circuit, and attended assizes and sessions 
 at Liverpool and Manchester. I received perhaps a dozen guinea 
 briefs, but nothing substantial. The circumstances attending my initial 
 brief on circuit I am not likely to forget. I was to make my maiden 
 speech in the prosecution of an old Irishwoman for stealing a coat.
 
 12 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 1 MY MAIDEN SPEECH." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft and the members of the Prince of Wales's 
 company, then on tour, were present on the Bench, and, I am sorry 
 to say, at my invitation. No sooner had I got up than the old 
 dame, who seemed to realize that I was against her, began shouting, 
 ' Ah, ye divil, sit down ! Don't listen to him, yer honner ! He's 
 known in all the slums of Liverpool ! Sit down, ye spalpeen ! He's 
 as drunk as a lord, yer honner begging your lordship's pardon!' 
 Whenever I attempted to resume my speech, I was flooded by the 
 torrent of the old lady's eloquence, and I had at last to throw myself 
 on the protection of the Recorder, who was too convulsed with 
 laughter to interfere. Mrs. Bancroft says in her memoirs that I never 
 got that maiden speech off, but in that she is mistaken. The old 
 lady had three months. 
 
 " My first lines appeared in Fun Henry J. Byron was the editor 
 then. He asked me to send him a column of stuff with a half-page 
 block every week. Well, I did not think it possible to get fresh ideas 
 week by week ; but I accepted it, and continued writing and illus- 
 trating for six years, though at the end of every seven days I always 
 felt written out for life, just as I do now. My first play was 
 ' Dulcamara,' produced at the St. James's Theatre by Miss Herbert. 
 Tom Robertson and I were great chums, and he, being unable to 
 write her the Christmas piece, was good enough to say he knew the 
 very man for it and recommended me. I wrote it in ten days, 
 rehearsed it a week ; it ran five months, and has been twice revived. 
 No arrangement was made about the price to be paid, and after it had 
 been produced Mr. Emden, Miss Herbert's acting manager, asked me 
 how much I expected to receive for the piece. I reckoned it out as 
 ten days' work at three guineas a day, and replied ' Thirty guineas.' 
 
 "'Oh !' said Emden, ' we don't deal in guineas say pounds.'
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 13 
 
 " I was quite satisfied with the price, took his cheque and gave a 
 receipt. Then Emden quietly turned to me and said : 
 
 " ' Take my advice as an old stager. Never sell as good a piece as 
 this for jo again! 
 
 " I took his advice ; I never have. 
 
 " Then I commenced to write for the Royalty and Old Queen's 
 Theatres. ' La Vivandiere ' was one of these ; and at various times 
 ' An Old Score/ ' Ages Ago,' ' Randall's Thumb,' and ' Creatures of 
 Impulse ' appeared. These were followed by ' The Palace of Truth ' 
 and ' The Wicked World.' ' Pygmalion and Galatea,' which took me 
 six months to write, was produced in 1871. ' Sweethearts ' came out 
 in 1874, and 'Broken Hearts' two years later. I consider the two 
 best plays I ever wrote were ' Broken Hearts ' and a version of the 
 Faust legend called ' Gretchen.' I took immense pains over my 
 ' Gretchen,' but it only ran a fortnight. I wrote it to please myself, 
 and not the public. It seems to be the fate of a good piece to run a 
 couple of weeks, and a bad one a couple of years at least, it is so 
 with me. Here is an instance of it : 
 
 " ' The Vagabond ' was produced at the Olympic, with Henry 
 Neville and Miss Marion Terry in the cast. I was behind during the 
 first act, and everything went swimmingly author, actors, and audience 
 delighted. I remained during half of the second act, when Charles 
 Reade put his hand on my shoulder, and exclaimed, ' Gilbert, its 
 success is certain.' ' Ah, but,' said I, ' there's the third act to come ! ' 
 ' The third act ? ' said Reade, who had been present at my rehearsals. 
 ' The third act's worthy of Congreve ! ' That was enough for me. Off 
 I went to my club, and returned to the theatre at eleven ; as I passed 
 through the stage-door, I heard one of the carpenters say to the hall- 
 keeper, as he passed, ' Bloomin' failure, Bill.' He was quite right. 
 The whole of the third act had been performed in dumb show ! That 
 was fourteen years ago ; and yet, strange to say, only the other day I 
 received a letter from young Mr. Wallack in New York, saying he had 
 found the manuscript of a play called ' The Vagabond,' and, feeling 
 sure that it would be extraordinarily successful, if produced, wanted to 
 know what was my price for the piece. He knew nothing of its 
 melancholy history. 
 
 " My operatic work has been singularly successful owing largely, 
 of course, to the invaluable co-operation of Sir Arthur Sullivan. When 
 Sullivan and I first determined to work together, the burlesque stage 
 was in a very unclean state. We made up our minds to do all in our 
 power to wipe out the grosser element, never to let an offending word 
 escape our characters, and never allow a man to appear as a woman, 
 or vice versa. 
 
 " My first meeting with Sullivan was rather amusing. I had 
 written a piece with Fred Clay, called ' Ages Ago,' and was rehearsing 
 it at the Old Gallery of Illustration. At the same time I was busy 
 on my ' Palace of Truth,' in which there is a character, one Zoram, 
 who is a musical impostor. Now, I am as unmusical as any man in 
 England. I am quite incapable of whistling an air in tune, although I
 
 14 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 have a singularly good ear for rhythm. I was bound to make Zoram 
 express his musical ideas in technical language, so I took up my 
 ' Encyclopaedia Britannica,' and, turning to the word ' Harmony,' 
 selected a suitable sentence and turned it into sounding blank verse. 
 Curious to know whether this would pass muster with a musician, I 
 said to Sullivan (who happened to be present at rehearsal, and to 
 whom I had just been introduced), ' I am very pleased to meet you, 
 Mr. Sullivan, because you will be able to settle a question which has 
 just arisen between Mr. Clay and myself. My contention is that 
 when a musician, who is master of many instruments, has a 
 musical theme to express, he can express it as perfectly upon the 
 
 a 
 
 From, a i'noto. by] 
 
 MODEL STAGE OF MR. GILBERT S NiiVV 1'LAY. I. 
 
 {Elliott <t Fn/. 
 
 simple tetrachord of Mercury (in which there are, as we all know, no 
 diatonic intervals whatever) as upon the more elaborate disdiapason 
 (with the familiar four tetrachords and the redundant note) which, I 
 need not remind you, embraces in its simple consonance all the single, 
 double, and inverted chords.' 
 
 " He reflected for a moment, and asked me to oblige him by 
 repeating my question. I did so, and he replied that it was a very 
 nice point, and he would like to think it over before giving a definite 
 reply. That took place about twenty years ago, and I believe he is 
 still engaged in hammering it out." 
 
 Not the least interesting part of my day with Mr. Gilbert was in
 
 MR. W. S. GILBERT. 
 
 From a Photo 
 
 having his methods of working explained. Mr. Gilbert's tact and 
 unequalled skill as a stage manager are well known, but he explained 
 to me a decidedly novel secret which undoubtedly greatly assists him 
 in his perfect arrangement of mise-en-scene. He has an exact model 
 of the stage made to half-inch scale, showing every entrance and 
 exit, exactly as the scene will appear at the theatre. Those shown in 
 the illustrations represent the two sets which were seen at the Lyric 
 Theatre in one of his recent operas. Little blocks of wood are 
 made representing men and women the men are three inches high, 
 and the women two and a half inches. These blocks are painted in 
 various colours to show the different voices. The green and white 
 striped blocks may be " tenors " ; the black and yellow " sopranos " ; 
 the red and green " contraltos " ; and so on. With this before him, and 
 a sheet of paper, Mr. Gilbert works out every single position of his 
 
 " CHARACTERS."
 
 iS ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 characters, giving them their proper places on the model stage, and he 
 is thus enabled to go down to rehearsal prepared to indicate to every 
 principal and chorister his proper place in the scene under consideration. 
 
 His subjects are often the outcome of pure accident. " The 
 Mikado " was suggested by a huge Japanese executioner's sword 
 which hung in his library the identical sword which Mr. Grossmith 
 used to carry on the stage as Ko-Ko, " The Yeoman of the Guard " 
 was suggested by the beefeater who serves as an advertisement of the 
 Tower Furnishing Company at Uxbridge Railway Station. 
 
 A rather curious and certainly unique fact in dramatic authorship, 
 and one that is without precedent in the annals of the stage, is that Mr. 
 Gilbert's name has appeared in the London play-bills without a single 
 break for nearly twenty-four years. On July I, 1891, the spell was 
 broken by the termination of his connection with the Savoy.
 
 II. 
 
 THE LATE CARDINAL MANNING. 
 
 From a Photo. b<j] 
 
 CARDINAL MANNING IN HIS LIBRARY. 
 
 [Elliott Fry. 
 
 HEN the officers of the three regiments of Guards con- 
 ceived the idea, some twenty-five years ago, to build an 
 institute for their privates and non-commissioned officers, 
 they little thought that the great square building at the 
 corner of Carlisle Place, near Victoria Station, would one 
 day be converted into the residence of the Archbishop of 
 Westminster. It was destined to be so, however, and was purchased in
 
 i8 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 ENTRANCE-HAIL. 
 
 March, 1873, for this purpose. It is hard to realize, as the door closes 
 behind me, and with it shuts out the slightest noise of passing traffic, 
 that His Eminence, Cardinal Manning, sleeps in a small corner of a 
 great gallery, where a stage once stood, and where red-coats once 
 danced to the strains of merry music ; that the great reception-room 
 was a few years ago fitted up with carpenters' benches, and Guardsmen 
 so inclined could try their skill with plane and chisel. Not a vestige 
 of their presence remains. Nothing could be quieter or more simple. 
 There is an air of solemnity about the place this home of Cardinal 
 Manning. 
 
 I have just seen the Cardinal. The day is cold, and he wears 
 over his black cassock, edged with the traditional red, a long overcoat. 
 Around his neck is the gold chain and cross of the See, and on his 
 finger a massive ring, set with a glorious sapphire, given to him by the 
 late Pope. His still bright eyes, in a face typical of intense kindness, 
 begin to twinkle merrily when I tell him I want to take his memory 
 back to sixty or seventy years ago his boyhood days. He is fond 
 of children. He tells me that he has letters from them in the United 
 States, Australia, Canada, and how on every birthday he was born 
 on July 15, 1808 bunches and bunches of flowers come, till the chapel 
 and house are full of flowers. " But, go and see the house. In half 
 an hour we will sit down and talk together." 
 
 There is the house dining-room, the windows of which look on to 
 the street, interesting from the fact that it contains authentic portraits 
 of the Vicars Apostolic from the time of James I., since the breach 
 with Rome. On a pedestal near the window is a bust of Father 
 Mathew, the great temperance advocate ; and on the mantelpiece, on 
 either side of the clock, are two small busts of Pius IX. and the
 
 CARDINAL MANNING. 
 
 present Pope. The Cardinal takes all his meals alone, and is next- 
 door to a vegetarian. The domestic chapel is in close proximity to 
 the dining-room. Through a little ante-apartment, where the vest- 
 ments are kept, and past a small confessional exquisitely carved in 
 oak, the door of the chapel is opened, and the rays of light stream 
 through the windows on to a simple altar. Here, in a glass case, is 
 the mitre of white silk, to which the gold trimming still clings, worn 
 by St. Thomas a Becket, whilst in residence at Sens. At another 
 corner is a relic of St. Edmund. There are seats on the green baize 
 benches for a dozen worshippers ; the gilt chair once used by the 
 Cardinal is in the centre, w T ith a black knee cushion richly worked 
 with flowers. The relics, one of the most precious collections in the 
 kingdom, are preserved in a case at the far end. They are a sight of 
 rare beauty wonderfully carved specimens of Gothic work in ivory, 
 elaborate gold, silver, and silver-gilt work. Amongst the most 
 precious of them all, contained in a piece of crystal, is a fragment of 
 the column against which our Lord was scourged ; and set in a silver 
 and enamelled shrine are three small pieces of dark wood, resembling 
 ebony, round which are engraved the words : " Behold the wood of the 
 cross on which our Saviour was hung." 
 
 Ascending the stone steps leading from the entrance-hall, I pass 
 into an ante-room, where stands a life-size bust of the Cardinal's 
 father, William Manning, a London merchant, a Governor of the Bank 
 of England, and sometime member of Parliament for Evesham, and 
 afterwards for Penrhyn. A very 
 heavy statue of the Virgin Mary 
 finds a place here. It was made 
 from cannon taken at Sebasto- 
 pol. The great reception-room, 
 too, with its massive, heavy gilt 
 chairs, its richly carved cabinets, 
 whereon are set out numerous 
 treasures, is a fine apartment. 
 On the tables are huge volumes 
 containing the countless testi- 
 monials presented from time to 
 time. The latest of these tributes 
 is on the wall near the door : 
 that presented by the Jews on 
 October 30, 1890, and bearing 
 such names as Lord Rothschild, 
 Joseph Sebag Montefiore, Sir 
 Julian Goldsmid, Reuben and 
 Albert Sassoon, and Sir Henry 
 Isaacs. The Cardinal's biretta, 
 given to him by the Pope, is 
 under a glass case, as it is 
 always the practice of Cardinals 
 to keep the one so given when 
 
 THE CARDINAL S FATHER.
 
 20 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 THE CHAPEL. 
 
 raised to this exalted position and never wear it. Amongst the 
 works of art including one of Savonarola is a magnificent paint- 
 ing by Louis Haghe representing " High Mass in St. Peter's, Rome, 
 on Christmas Day." The picture is peculiarly interesting, for the 
 artist died before he had time to light the wicks of the candles on the 
 altar. 
 
 The library is large, and the numerous book-shelves of black 
 wood are well stocked with volumes. A portrait of the Duke of 
 Norfolk, and an original oil painting of the late Cardinal Newman, 
 rest against the wall. Many portraits of Cardinal Manning are 
 scattered about, and there is a bust of himself and his predecessor, 
 Cardinal Wiseman, side by side over the fireplace. 
 
 The Cardinal's bedroom is at the top of the building. Here in a 
 corner of the Guards' ball-room, some seven or eight small apart- 
 ments have been made little square abodes, homely and simple to 
 a degree. These rcoms very much resemble, save that they are 
 somewhat larger, the monks' cells in the Convent Church of San Marco 
 at Florence. The Cardinal has always slept in a camp bed. It is 
 covered with a red eider-down quilt. Just a wardrobe, an arm-chair, a 
 washstand, and on the dressing-table at the open window little nick- 
 nacks of toilet are laid out with distinctive neatness. A door opens 
 from the sleeping apartment to the Cardinal's private oratory. Its 
 almost quaint situation has secured for it the name of " The Noah's
 
 CARDINAL MANNING. 21 
 
 Ark." An altar, almost unadorned, has been set up here very plain 
 and unpretentious. Look where you will, it is all suggestive of the 
 quiet and gentle disposition of a great man, and the illustration shows 
 the sanctuary as it is when the Cardinal passes from his bedroom in 
 the morning. Exactly opposite " The Noah's Ark " is another small 
 oratory, a trifle more decorative perhaps, but still remarkably simple. 
 This is used by the bishops when visiting His Eminence. Just then 
 the butler tells me that the stipulated half-hour is past. This old 
 family servant may be regarded with interest, for when he first ushered 
 me into the presence of the Cardinal, His Eminence remarked that he 
 had served him for over a quarter of a century. His coachman had 
 been with him quite as long, for of all things he disliked it was changing 
 servants. 
 
 Passing through the now ancient ball-room, round the walls of 
 which are a plentiful supply of pails filled to the brim in case of fire, 
 and descending the stone steps once more, a door leading from the 
 library opens into the Cardinal's work-room. What a litter ! It is 
 full of baskets ; papers and pamphlets are scattered all over the place. 
 Letters bearing the postmark of every quarter of the globe lie in a 
 heap, waiting to be opened. The Cardinal, who sits in a great blue 
 arm-chair, and rests back upon a red velvet pillow, expresses sympathy 
 in my astonishment. There are no fewer than eleven tables about, 
 and he happily remarks, " You cannot count the chairs, for every one
 
 22 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 of them is a 
 bookshelf." 
 Then in a voice 
 of wonderful 
 firmness, and re- 
 markably clear, 
 he invites me to 
 sit close to him. 
 " Yes, every 
 
 day brings a multitude of letters 
 I open them all myself. Many 
 reply to, and the remainder 
 two secretaries busy all day 
 then they are by no means finished 
 I have a long, long day myself. 
 I get up, and ofttimes do nol 
 until past eleven working 
 
 the 
 
 time. 
 
 My dinner is early, at 1.30, and tea comes 
 round at 7 o'clock. Newspapers ? I 
 manage to get through 
 some of the principal 
 ones every day. Of 
 course, I only 'skim'them 
 over, but I make a point 
 of reading the foreign 
 news." He merrily and 
 with great humility re- 
 marked in reference to 
 the many books he had 
 written, that he " had 
 spoilt as much paper as 
 most people." 
 
 "Will you tell me 
 something about your 
 boyhood ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, if you want 
 me to talk nonsense, I 
 will say that it is a long 
 way back to remember, 
 for I am eighty-three, 
 but I spent my child- 
 hood at Totteridge. As 
 a boy at Coombe Bank, 
 
 Christopher Wordsworth, late Bishop of Lincoln, and Charles Words- 
 worth, Bishop of St. Andrews, were my playfellows. I frankly admit 
 I was very mischievous. The two Wordsworths and I conceived the 
 wicked intention of robbing the vinery. The door was always kept 
 locked, and there was nothing for it but to enter through the roof. 
 There was a dinner party that day, and there were no grapes. This
 
 CARDINAL MANNING. 
 
 is probably the only case on record where three future Bishops were 
 guilty of larceny. Were we punished ? No, we were discreet. We 
 gave ourselves up, and were forgiven. 
 
 " I was always fond of riding, shooting, boating and cricketing. 
 I well remember that with the first shot from my gun I killed a hare. 
 That shot was nearly the means of preventing me from ever becoming 
 eighty-three. My father's gamekeeper was with me at the time, and 
 he was a very tall, heavy fellow, with a tremendous hand. When he 
 saw the hare fall, he brought that same huge hand down on my back 
 with all his might, and a hearty ' Well done, Master Henry ! ' His 
 enthusiasm nearly knocked me out of the world. My shooting incli- 
 nations, however, once nearly ruined the family coach in those days, 
 you know, we used to have great, cumbersome, uncomfortable vehicles. 
 I had a battery of cannon, and my first target was the coach-house 
 door. One of these formidable weapons carried a fairly weighty 
 bullet. Well, I hit 
 the door the bullet 
 went clean through, 
 and nearly smashed 
 the panel of the coach. 
 
 " I went to Har- 
 row when I was four- 
 teen, and remained 
 there four years. I 
 fear I can tell you but 
 little about my cricket- 
 ing days. I wish I 
 could say that 'our 
 side ' won ; but, alas ! 
 in the three matches I 
 played in against 
 Eton and Winchester 
 at Lord's, we were 
 beaten every time. I 
 certainly scored some 
 runs, but their total is 
 forgotten. Then, as a 
 boy, I was very fond 
 of wood carving, and 
 the principal articles 
 of home manufacture 
 were boats. I made 
 many of them, and as 
 a lad they used to con- 
 stitute my birthday 
 presents to my youth- 
 ful companions. After 
 I had reached man- 
 hood I found my stock , WAS VERY FOND OF CARVING BOATS .
 
 24 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 of small river craft unexhausted, so I would give them away to my 
 friends as small mementos of my boating days." 
 
 Just thsn the Cardinal had to reply to a letter brought in. He 
 never uses a writing-table, but pens his missives on a pad resting en 
 his knee, a practice he has followed for the last fifteen years. He has 
 even written them with the note-paper placed in the palm of his hand. 
 A few notes of his wonderful career are jotted down. From Harrow 
 he went to Oxford. 
 
 The Cardinal became a Catholic in 1851, previous to which he 
 had been Rector of Lavington and Graffham, in Sussex, since 1833, 
 
 From a Photo, 
 
 THE RECEPTION-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott A Fry. 
 
 and Archdeacon of Chichester in 1840. On the death of Cardinal 
 Wiseman in February, 1865, he was made Archbishop, and ten years 
 later was raised to the dignity of Cardinal. He became a teetotaler in 
 the autumn of 1868, and has been a firm adherent to teetotal 
 principles ever since. 
 
 But the photographer is waiting. As the Cardinal sat down for 
 a special picture for these pages he exclaimed, wittily, " Well, you 
 look like assassins, waiting to ' take ' me." He tells a photographic 
 story, too, whilst the operator is changing one of the plates, as to how 
 a member of his clergy was preaching in the open air in the East- 
 end, and an itinerant photographer elbowed his way through the 
 crowd and prepared to " catch " the cleric. The audience, however,
 
 CARDINAL MANNING. 
 
 2 5 
 
 were so much interested in the discourse, that one of them shouted 
 out, " Now, then, get out with that shooting gallery ! " 
 
 My visit to the Cardinal, however, was not only for the purpose 
 of gathering some delightful reminiscences, but to ask his opinion on 
 one of the burning questions of the hour. The great affection he 
 has always had for the welfare of children, and the thoughtful kind- 
 ness he has ever directed towards parents, suggested " Free 
 Education," and His Eminence said : 
 
 " In the sense understood in America in their system of common 
 schools, free for all classes and conditions, or in the sense understood 
 in France, where the State pays for all degrees of education, I am as 
 much opposed to free schools as possible. Lord Salisbury has spoken 
 
 THE GREAT GALLERY. 
 
 of assisted education, and I can attach to these words a sound mean- 
 ing. Free schools display only a destructive part of State education." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' national ' system ? " 
 
 " I mean a system in which the nation educates itself. The 
 education of children is a natural duty, or responsibility, of the 
 people itself, in all its homes and in all its localities ; and until 
 parental duty has been fulfilled to the utmost, by the intelligence and 
 energy of individuals, I believe the intervention of the State to be 
 premature and mischievous, because it obstructs the fulfilment of 
 parental and natural duty." 
 
 " Do you believe that a national system of education can ever 
 exist without the assistance of the State ? " 
 
 " No, unless it be in a very low and imperfect manner ; but I believe 
 that the whole greatness of the Empire, and all our world-wide
 
 26 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 THE CARDINAL'S PRIVATE ORATORY. 
 
 commerce, and all our national character itself, is the creation not of 
 the State, but of the -intelligence, energy, and free will of individuals. 
 This was the original principle from which it sprung. The State has 
 come in to assist when the first foundations have been laid, and gives 
 permanence and extension to the work of individual energy. It is 
 said that ' trade follows the flag,' but there was no flag when trade 
 first entered upon the foreign lands which have become our colonies. 
 Individual energy goes first, and the State follows after. I apply this 
 to what is termed the voluntary system of education in England. 
 Individuals began educating themselves and others, before the State 
 granted a halfpenny to their education, and I believe it ought always 
 to maintain itself in the same subordinate position. I am not 
 unconscious that people say, 'Where the voluntary system contributes 
 hundreds of thousands the State contributes millions,' but the State 
 can never contribute that which is of more value than all the millions 
 in the Treasury I mean the parental responsibility, the zeal, fidelity, 
 patience and self-sacrifice of the body of teachers, and the docility and 
 good conduct of children responding to those who treat them with 
 love and care. This in the last twenty years has doubled the extent 
 and the efficiency of the voluntary system, in spite of all poverty, 
 which greatly burdens it, so that at this moment the poorest of the 
 voluntary schools are running neck and neck with the Board schools, 
 which are the richest in the land. I would refer in proof of this to 
 Mr. Chamberlain's speech at Birmingham last April, and to Mr. 
 Stanley's excellent and generous pamphlet upon the state of the 
 schools at Preston."
 
 CARDINAL MANNING. 27 
 
 " Do you not approve of what the Government has done since 
 the year '35 or '36?" 
 
 " Very heartily ; only I think that the Government down to 
 1870, when it authorized School Boards to put their hands in the 
 pockets of the people, has behaved in an unequal way, and I hope 
 that assisted education will show that the Government has risen to a 
 full sense of its responsibility." 
 
 " Do you mean that the contributions of the parents or of the 
 Department are sufficient for the voluntary system ? " 
 
 " By no means ; I believe that the responsibility of parents in 
 every home creates a responsibility of localities in every ccmmunity 
 or parish in the land. It is an absolute duty of local administraticn 
 that the heads of such administration should take care that every child 
 within their limits is duly educated. I believe, however, that the 
 contribution of parents and the local rates, with assistance frcm the 
 Treasury, will suffice for a voluntary system of national education." 
 
 " Then, where are free schools ? " 
 
 " I believe that every parent who is able to pay fcr the education 
 of his children is bound to do so, but that others, the State included, 
 are bound to pay for those who are unable to pay for themselves. In 
 this sense, as a subordinate detail, I heartily accept free schools, but 
 not the name." 
 
 " Does not contribution from local rates involve local manage- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Without doubt, so far as to see that the local rates are honestly 
 applied, but it is a universally established and admitted principle that 
 neither grants from the Treasury nor rates from the locality can be 
 applied to the teaching of religion. They are exclusively given for 
 the secular education and efficient management of schools, outside 
 the matter of religion, and therefore for that reason, and upon that 
 broad principle, neither the inspectors of Government nor local 
 managers, unless they be of the religion of the schools, have any 
 right to make or meddle with any management except within the 
 limits of the Government inspection. 
 
 " I have had long experience of the yearly inspection of the 
 Home Office, the Education Department, of the Boards of Guardians of 
 the Metropolitan District, and I can bear witness that their visits and 
 comments have been fair, just, and useful, and of great service to us 
 and to our schools." 
 
 " Have you any objection to the School Board system ? " 
 
 " Many, too many to enumerate now, but four in chief : 
 
 " First : They make us pay an education rate to maintain their 
 schools, which we cannot conscientiously use, leaving us, at the same 
 time, to maintain our own. 
 
 " Secondly: From the want of definition as to what are elementary 
 or primary schools, the School Boards have in the last few years 
 extended the curriculum of education up to the standard of Harrow 
 and Eton, and have charged it upon the education rate paid by the 
 poor. This was never intended by the Legislature in the year 1870.
 
 28 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 " Thirdly : There is no practical limit to the amount of rate that 
 may bs charged, and, in my belief, no audit of its expenditure 
 suffi :ient to control its unlimited outlay. 
 
 " Lastly, I have no confidence in undenominational religion, 
 which means a ' shape that shape hath none.' " 
 
 " What, then do you wish that they were extinguished ? " 
 
 " It is too late for me to wish them anything better than a definite 
 faith ; but I desire to see a new and higher legislation, under which 
 the voluntary system and the Board schools shall find their 
 place, and their action be controlled by a juster and more efficient 
 administration." 
 
 (Eliiutt & Fry.
 
 III. 
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTOX, P.R.A. 
 
 From a Fhoto. by] 
 
 OT a sound reaches me here, save the singing of 
 the birds," said Sir Frederick Leighton, as \ve stood 
 for a moment in the garden of his beautiful house in 
 the Holland Park Road, Kensington. It seemed to be 
 a little world of its own. There was nothing whatever 
 to disturb one's thoughts on this day of sunshine, when 
 the flowers about the lawn were looking their brightest and best,
 
 30 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 the great trees and tiny trailing ivy greener to-day than ever before. 
 We knew the children were playing in the street, a few yards 
 away, but their merry shouts and happy laughter could not be heard. 
 The surroundings of the home of the President of the Royal 
 Academy almost suggested the secret of the peaceful effect 
 which seems to come over one when looking at many of his 
 pictures. 
 
 We crossed the lawn, walked down a long leafy passage covered 
 with ivy, and once again entered the house. I do not think there is 
 another home in the land so beautiful as Sir Frederick's. It is the 
 home of an artist, who must needs have everything about the place to 
 harmonize as the colours he lays upon his canvases. 
 
 Sir Frederick is justly proud of his house. He does not care 
 even to look back upon his own life, a life which has been one of 
 remarkable brilliancy, a life which he has lived with a purpose ; he is 
 to-day at the head of his profession, a profession for which he was 
 destined on his first birthday. Not only has his genius been 
 conveyed through the channel of his brush and palette, but as a 
 scholar and a thinker he impresses to the highest degree those whose 
 good fortune it is to enjoy his friendship or acquaintance. Neither 
 will he criticise the efforts of his brother artists save in terms of 
 praise ; neither will he speak of the life which he personifies Art a 
 subject too great, he says, to be faithfully treated in the space in 
 which I was to chronicle the events of the day which I passed with 
 him. He turns from his life, his brother artists, and art itself to his 
 home. He loves his home. His house was not designed in a day or 
 built in a year. It has been the work of years ; bit by bit it has 
 become more beautiful ; its owner has watched it grow up almost as a 
 father does his boy. 
 
 The house itself stands in a spot surrounded by many eminent 
 painters : Luke Fildes, R.A., Val Prinsep, A.R.A., G. A. Watts, R.A. ; 
 whilst near at hand, in one of the studios adjoining, the younger 
 Richmond, the eminent portrait painter, is working. Outside, the 
 house, which is of red brick, is striking in its simplicity ; it was built 
 for Sir Frederick by Mr. Aitchison twenty-six years ago, and here the 
 President of the Royal Academy has lived and worked ever since. 
 Possibly the unimpressive aspect of the exterior was designed with a 
 view of surprising the visitor when he once entered the place. The 
 interior positively surpasses description. I had the great privilege of 
 being taken from room to room by Sir Frederick Leighton ; object 
 after object was taken up and talked about, and it would be quite 
 impossible to refer separately to all the artistic treasures of which he 
 is the possessor, the beauties of which were most enthusiastically 
 dilated upon. 
 
 Entering from the street, you find yourself in a small hall. 
 Though of the most artistic design, this, too, I fancy, is yet another 
 blind for what lies beyond. In this hall stands a bronze statuette of 
 Icarus, by Mr. Gilbert, A.R.A., executed for Sir Frederick. A few 
 steps more through a solid-looking black ebony door picked out with
 
 SJJt FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 31 
 
 gold (all the doors of the house are similar), and we enter the Arabian 
 Court. Sir Frederick's Arabian Court is simply a creation ; one can 
 only stand and listen to the splashing of the fountain falling beneath 
 the golden dome at the far end of the court, and conjure up recol- 
 lections of the fairest of scenes and grandest of palaces described in 
 the "Arabian Nights." 
 
 We are in Kensington ; but as one stands there it would not 
 come as the least surprise if the court were suddenly crowded with 
 the most beautiful of Eastern women reclining on the softest 
 of silken cushions in the niches in the corners ; if the wildest and 
 most fascinating dancers of the "Arabian Nights " were to come 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 ARABIAN COURT ENTRANCE. 
 
 \Elliott & Fry. 
 
 tripping in, and to the sound of the sweetest of strains glide across 
 the smooth plaques ; if Aladdin himself were to enter bearing on his 
 back his burden of precious stones. It is the very spot to which you 
 would come to find all this. Sir Frederick pointed out to me the 
 Damascus, Persian, and Rhodian ware which is liberally scattered 
 about. The delicate woodwork is from Cairo, the exquisite mosaics 
 are by Walter Crane ; the blue tiles are among the first De Morgan 
 ever did, and the capitals of the columns are carved with various 
 birds by the late Sir Edgar Boehm. The only thing which has 
 not been brought from some Eastern country is some very quaint 
 candelabra exhibited in Old London at one of the South Kensington 
 Exhibitions.
 
 3 2 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Walking down to the far end of this bewildering spot I stand 
 beneath the great gilt doms, and the sun which is shining causes it to 
 sparkle with a thousand gems. On looking up, the dome seems to 
 lose itself far away, so delicate and ingenious is the construction and 
 
 From a Photo, 
 
 THE ARABIAN COURT. 
 
 \HlltOtt d' fr.i. 
 
 the colouring of it. It is a place in which to sit down and dream, 
 for there is not a sound except the gentle splashing of the spray 
 from the fountain. The fountain itself is hewn out of one solid 
 block of black marble. It comes to one's memory that this 
 spot has been more than once the scene of many amusing 
 incidents. Sir Frederick's friends, in going through the court, 
 frequently, when gazing at the beautiful ceiling, unconsciously walk 
 into the water." 
 
 The study is to the left of the entrance-hall. Here on the 
 walls hang some exquisite heads by Legros, drawings by Alfred 
 Stevens, and a number of etchings ; choice specimens of mediaeval 
 ware fill odd corners; and here, too, almost hidden away from view, 
 is an engraving of Old Burlington House, showing very different 
 surroundings to those of 1892 the fields are away in the distance, 
 waggons drawn by half-a-dozen horses are passing, and coaches 
 heavily laden are driving past. 
 
 The dining and drawing rooms are on the opposite side of 
 the court. Both of them look out on the garden, and adjoin each 
 other. The walls of the former are of dark Indian red. The
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 
 
 33 
 
 Rhodian and Damascus plates, which are set out in single file 
 from the ceiling to the floor, are very numerous. A fine work by 
 Schiavone hangs over the great oaken fireplace, and on either side 
 of the hearth are a pair of quaint Arabian chairs ingeniously fitted 
 with looking-glasses on their backs and arms. 
 
 The drawing-room is a very delightful apartment. The colour 
 of the walls is of a delicate nut brown, while the ceiling is pure- 
 white. There is a recess which opens out on to the garden, and set 
 in the ceiling of this is a magnificent study by Delacroix for a 
 ceiling in the Palais Royal. More plates are upon the walls, and 
 curios and priceless nick-nacks of all descriptions and from all 
 countries are upon the tables. The pictures arc all oil colours. Sir 
 Frederick is pardonably proud of possessing four panels by Corot, 
 
 which he regards as the finest this artist ever painted. They hang 
 in pairs, two on each side of the recess, and their subjects are 
 "Morning," "Noon," "Evening," and "Night" " Wetle y^ ks "^ r 
 the title given to the first picture painted by George Mason aftei 
 he settled in England. There is yet another Corot, a David _ Cox 
 and a couple of Constables. One of the Constables is the original 
 palette-knife sketch for the " Hay-wain." The canvas-for which 
 this was the first sketch was sent to Paris, gaming a gold medal, and 
 at the same time causing an immense sensation in the French capital. 
 
 4
 
 34 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 Landscape painting at that period was not understood; heavy 
 historical subjects were in fashion, and it was considered a daring 
 thing for an artist to paint Nature in its simplicity, as seen in the green 
 meadows and fields. Sir Frederick expressed the opinion that the 
 simple little canvas of the " Hay-wain " revolutionized the French 
 school of painting. 
 
 Passing again into the hall, one notices a stuffed peacock which 
 figured in one of the great artist's pictures. The beautiful colouring 
 
 From a P.'ioto. by] 
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 [Elliott A Fry. 
 
 of the feathers of this bird led Sir Frederick to give it a prominent 
 place in the most noticeable part of his house. 
 
 On the stairs leading to the studio many rare works of art are 
 met with. Here hangs a copy of Michael Angelo's " Creation of 
 Adam," while near it is an unfinished canvas by Sir Joshua Reynolds ; 
 though unfinished, it is, in reality, a very valuable possession, as it is 
 a silent witness to the fact that Sir Joshua never outlined his figures 
 with a pencil, but used the brush from the beginning. The picture 
 represents Lord Rockingham with Burke, his secretary, and the face 
 of the latter is barely suggested. 
 
 At the top of the staircase is a delightful little ante-chamber. 
 Walking to the end of this you may look through a screen made of 
 wood brought from Cairo, and see the fountain playing down below. 
 This spot also affords a closer view of the exquisite workmanship 
 which has been put into the dome. There are many fine works here, 
 notably the original sketch for the " Needless Alarm," which Sir 
 Frederick gave to Sir John Millais, who, in return, presented him with
 
 FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 
 
 35 
 
 that charming work, " Shelling Peas." Paolo Paruta, the Venetian 
 historian, painted by Tintoretto, is also here, besides a head of 
 Bassano and another example of Schiavone. 
 
 Now Sir Frederick leads the way into the great studio his 
 workshop. It is one of the biggest studios in London. It would take 
 a dozen pages to chronicle everything that it contains. The walls are 
 covered with tiny sketches done by the artist whilst travelling ; scenes 
 of Rome, the Nile, Rhodes, Jerusalem, Athens, Seville, Algiers, and 
 other picturesque spots inviting to the artist all find their place, and 
 
 From a Photo, uy] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 amongst the beautiful studies of the Continent are mingled the 
 daintiest of views of the scenery of our own country : the valleys of 
 Devonshire, the glorious green slopes of Ireland, the mountains of 
 Scotland and of Wales. 
 
 On the south side of the studio, running along the top, is a 
 portion of the famous Elgin frieze. Immediately opposite the 
 entrance is the studio window, which is of large proportions 
 and affords a magnificent light for painting. Set out in the 
 recess of the window are objects every single one of which is 
 worth noting. Here are studies for the " Daphnephoria " the boy 
 carrying the tripod, the man beating time to the music of the 
 procession, and many other figures introduced into that most 
 remarkable work ; a sketch for the " Sluggard," and a tiny model 
 in plaster of the trio of beautiful maidens which form the subject 
 of one of his pictures for the Academy of 1892, "The Garden of 
 the Hesperides."
 
 36 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 I asked Sir Frederick to tell me something about his studies for 
 his pictures. I learnt that they were numberless. He is constantly 
 making little play-sketches hundreds of them in the course of a 
 year ; many of them may never be used, yet every one may come in 
 
 From a Photo. by\ 
 
 THE DRAWING-KOOM. 
 
 (Elliott .t Fry. 
 
 useful at some time. He carefully preserves all these studies he 
 still has stored away the little book in which he used to draw as a 
 boy when he was nine years of age. He is continually finding little 
 sketches he made years ago coming in for pictures to-day. Sir 
 Frederick took from a portfolio some of these studies. They were 
 done on pieces of brown paper ; one of these was for a Sibyl ; two 
 others were the first studies for two of the maidens in the " Garden of 
 the Hesperides," and yet two more which were prominent figures in 
 his famous work, " Andromache." Some of them are reproduced in 
 these pages. 
 
 There are quite a number of easels about with works upon them 
 which are still in progress. 
 
 " Here is a very beautiful drawing by Gainsborough," said Sir 
 Frederick, taking down from the wall one of the familiar Gainsborough 
 women, with the equally familiar Gainsborough hat and feathers, 
 which any modern woman would envy. "It was a study for a 
 picture he painted for George III. called 'The Mall.' Gainsborough 
 was walking along the Mall one day when he saw and was attracted 
 by the lady in the picture. She perceived that the artist was attempt- 
 ing to draw her portrait, and very carefully walked to and fro in order
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 
 
 37 
 
 to give him every facility for making a likeness. Sir Thomas Lawrence 
 used to come and look at this study when he was painting Miss 
 Farren for Lord Derby." 
 
 We were now looking at a very old engraving of the Exhibition 
 of the Royal Academy in 1777 ; it bears the autograph of the Prince 
 of Wales, who presented it to Sir Frederick. Sir Frederick merrily 
 points out an inscription on it in Greek, which he translates, " Let no 
 one enter who is not a lover of the Muse." " Rather curious, that 
 inscription," he says ; " for if you look at the picture you will see two 
 dogs coming in at the door ! The engraving represents Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, as President of the Royal Academy, showing the Prince of 
 Wales and the Royal Family through the great room of the Exhibition. 
 I may tell you that it is customary for the President to take any 
 members of the Royal Family round when they signify their intention 
 of visiting Burlington House. His Royal Highness saw this picture 
 in Paris, and immediately said, pointing to the figure of Sir Joshua, 
 ' Why, that is Leighton showing me round the Royal Academy.' So 
 he graciously gave me the engraving." 
 
 Passing from the great studio through a small corridor furnished 
 with ebony book-shelves and large pieces of canvas, and drawing the 
 
 Prom a Photo, by} 
 
 \Elliatt <t Fry. 
 
 great plush curtains on one side, we enter the winter studio. Here the 
 great artist paints when the light of the larger room is not sufficiently 
 strong. A magnificent Persian carpet hangs on the wall. Here, too, 
 is the picture, already referred to, of a girl shelling peas, the inscription
 
 38 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 on which reads, " To Sir Frederick Leighton from John Edward 
 Millais, March 7, 1889." A great cross of wood near at hand tells that 
 Sir Frederick will shortly be engaged on a work suggestive of the 
 Crucifixion. 
 
 In a corner of the room, set out on a black ebony table, are great 
 jars from far-off lands crowded with brushes. Many artistic " props " 
 lie in this little studio. Here I found a tiny wreath of everlasting 
 flowers, a golden lyre, tamboureens, and many other things. The 
 golden lyre is the one seen in the " Garden of the Hesperides " ; the 
 tamboureen and wreath of flowers figure in another of the Academy 
 pictures, whilst here is a pretty little stuffed antelope, which formed 
 a part of another work in 1892*3 Royal Academy Exhibition. 
 
 UNDER THE STUDIO WINDOW. 
 
 [Ellictt & Fry. 
 
 Together we returned to the great studio, and, sitting down, Sir 
 Frederick recalled many interesting reminiscences in his career. 
 
 The appearance of the President of the Royal Academy is 
 familiar to all. In spite of his sixty odd years, he is still one of the 
 handsomest of men. His hair is quite silver, and his features are as 
 perfect and as distinctive as those in his own pictures. He speaks 
 very softly, with combined gentleness and deliberation. His heart 
 is evidently in every subject upon which he converses. When we 
 remember the numerous duties attached to the office of the President- 
 ship of the Royal Academy, he may almost be regarded as one of 
 the hardest worked men in London. He is in his studio by half-past 
 eight every morning, and previous to that hour he has hzl his first
 
 FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 
 
 39 
 
 breakfast, glanced through the Times, opened his letters, and read 
 for three-quarters of an hour besides. He works on his Academy 
 pictures up to the very last moment, and when painting wears a pair 
 of large spectacles with divided glasses, the upper part of the glasses 
 being used for seeing his model at a distance, and the lower for 
 painting. These he has worn for the last ten years, although there 
 is practically nothing the matter with his eyes. He is a most 
 accomplished linguist, and at his Sunday " At Homes," where there 
 are sometimes representatives of many nationalities and tongues at 
 his house, he will converse with them all one after the other in their 
 own language. His kindness of heart is proverbial ; he never fails to 
 encourage ; and he is refined geniality itself. As an instance of his 
 
 from a Photo, by] 
 
 THE CORRIDOR. 
 
 f Elliott A Fry. 
 
 kindly spirit for everybody, a capital story is told : On the occasion 
 of a Royal Academy Exhibition the President was walking down the 
 stairs of his house in full dress, on which two medals were displayed, 
 to his carriage, when, wishing to enter a small room in the vicinity, 
 he found that the door was locked. It seems that his housekeeper, 
 who had only been with him a few days, had hid herself in the little 
 room with a view to catching sight of Sir Frederick departing for the 
 Royal Academy. On opening the door she nearly fell into his arms. 
 Sir Frederick happily realized the situation, and in the most genial 
 manner possible turned himself round and round, and laughingly 
 asked his housekeeper what she thought of him. 
 
 Sir Frederick Leighton's birth took place at Scarborough on 
 December 3, 1830. There seems to be some little doubt as to which
 
 40 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 was the house in which this very interesting event took place. One 
 thing is certain, that it was situated in Brunswick Terrace. A large 
 private hotel and boarding-house has been erected on the old site. It 
 seems that the old building was not entirely demolished, but the 
 present one was built over it, the walls of several of the rooms being 
 
 flioto by] 
 
 utilized as they stood. The lady who owns the hotel has stated that 
 when her late husband purchased the place, they were given to 
 understand that Sir Frederick was born in No. I room. The next- 
 door neighbour, however, claimed for his house the honour of being 
 connected with Sir Frederick. They determined to decide the 
 dispute some years ago by an appeal to the great artist himself, and
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 41 
 
 wrote to him accordingly. He was, however, unable to definitely 
 locate the place of his birth, and so both houses still claim the 
 distinction. 
 
 At a very early age the future President of the Royal Academy 
 evinced a strong talent for painting. It is a curious fact that whilst 
 both his father and grandfather were doctors, and many other 
 members of his family were talented in music, with the one exception 
 of his mother's brother none of his relations showed any aptitude for 
 drawing. His parents never for a moment doubted his qualifications 
 for an artist, even at this early age ; they simply declined to trust 
 their own judgment in allowing their boy to follow art as a profession. 
 Still, little Leighton never lost an opportunity of using his pencil. 
 Every facility was given to him to follow out his inclinations, and his 
 father, being a medical man, naturally saw that his son was well 
 instructed in anatomy. At ten years of age his family went to 
 Rome, and Sir Frederick began taking lessons from Signor Meli, but 
 it was not until he was fourteen, when in Florence, that his future 
 career was decided upon. His father said to him : 
 
 " Now, Fred, give me a number of your designs, and I will take 
 them to Mr. Powers," referring to Hiram Powers, the celebrated 
 American sculptor. "If he says that you will be a distinguished 
 artist, all well and good. If not, you must give up the idea." 
 
 His father took some sketches, including a great battle-scene 
 suggested by one of Macaulay's poems. 
 
 " And what is the verdict, Mr. Powers ? " asked Mr. Leighton. 
 " Shall I make him an artist ? " 
 
 The reply was : " You can't help yourself, sir ; Nature has done 
 it for you." 
 
 " Will he be an eminent artist ? " then asked Mr. Leighton. 
 
 The answer was : " Sir, your son can be as eminent as he pleases." 
 
 This settled the whole question, and the youthful artist from that 
 day was allowed free course in the matter. 
 
 DRAWING FOR THE PICTURE OF " ANDROMACHE.
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 " I have a slight 
 recollection of my 
 first drawing-mas- 
 ter," said Sir Fred- 
 erick. " While at 
 Rome I remember 
 saying to my father, 
 ' I want to learn 
 drawing.' 'All right,' 
 was the reply, 'go 
 and get a master.' 
 I made inquiries, 
 obtained the ad- 
 dress of a man, 
 went to him and 
 engaged him. I 
 remember he was 
 very much amused 
 when he found that 
 I knew how to write 
 down his name and 
 address ; but he 
 gave me most care- 
 ful attention, and 
 outline drawings to 
 copy. He was very 
 firm ; if he did not 
 like my copy he 
 used to put three 
 strokes across it, 
 and make me do it 
 again." 
 
 Young Leigh- 
 ton then studied in 
 
 the Academy at Berlin, next at Frankfort-on-Main, and afterwards 
 went to Brussels, where he painted his first important picture, repre- 
 senting Cimabue finding Giotto drawing in the fields. So years 
 passed on in studying in Paris, copying pictures in the Louvre, and 
 returning again to Frankfort. The first picture which told English- 
 men of the genius of Sir Frederick was " Cimabue's Procession," 
 exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1855. 
 
 " I shall never forget packing that picture up to send to England," 
 said Sir Frederick : " I was in Rome at the time. I found some of 
 the colours on the canvas were quite wet, but I risked it ; and, 
 taking some varnish with a brush, I went for my picture. It was still 
 so wet that the paint came off by touching it with a handkerchief. 
 However, it arrived in England as sound as a rock, and the Queen 
 bought it immediately it was exhibited." 
 
 It was in Rome that Thackeray, whilst Leighton's name was barely 
 
 FOR ANDROMACHE.
 
 SIR 2<REDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 
 
 43 
 
 known in England, wrote to Millais and told him that he had met a 
 " versatile young dog who will run you hard for the Presidentship one 
 day." With the advent of " Cimabue's Procession " his fame was 
 established and his genius at once recognised. He did not, however, 
 come to England for four years after his first great success. From the 
 time he settled in this country up to the present day every picture 
 that he has painted has called for diligent study from the public. He 
 was elected an Associate of the Royal Academy in 1864, and an 
 Academician in 1869. He became President in succession to Sir 
 Francis Grant on November 13, 1878. In that year the French 
 Exhibition was held, and he was made President of the British section 
 there, and received the Legion of Honour. 
 
 " The first statue I did," said Sir Frederick, " was that of an 
 athlete wrestling with a python. The little sketch for this I merely 
 did casually. It took but 
 a short time to model, and 
 there was no question of 
 exhibiting it. But one or 
 two friends saw the model, 
 amongst them Legros, who 
 remarked, ' Why not carry 
 it out on a larger scale?' 
 I laughed, thinking I should 
 not be able to manage it, 
 but finally succeeded. It 
 occupied a couple of years 
 in completing, working on 
 it occasionally. It was 
 eventually bought under 
 the Chin trey bequest, sent 
 to Paris, and got a first- 
 class gold medal and 
 diploma. I also did the 
 ' Sluggard ' and ' Needless 
 Alarm.' " 
 
 Seeing that Sir Fred- 
 erick always declines to 
 express himself on any 
 great artistic subject in 
 the haphazard way in 
 which we were chatting 
 together, I contented my- 
 self with asking him one 
 or two questions on the 
 very simple topics of can- 
 vases, colours, models, and 
 methods of working. 
 
 " I never give my whole 
 attention to one picture at STUDY FOR A FIGURE , "ANDROMACHE."
 
 44 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 the same time," said Sir Frederick ; " I invariably have six or seven 
 canvases going, and I find it gives me all the rest I need to go from one 
 to the other, working a little bit here and a little bit there. By this 
 means the eye is constantly refreshed ; I get through a good deal of 
 work by this system. I have no special models, and there is no model 
 who sits to me alone. Models are constantly ringing at my side door, 
 anxious to become engaged, just as they do at the doors of other 
 studios. The faces I paint are never the faces of my models ; what 
 the artist puts on the canvas is the impression which the model 
 
 produces upon him what he feels inwardly, and not what he sees 
 before him. Yes, I am very devoted to drapery, and invariably use a 
 certain kind of muslin for dresses. In a picture the colour of a 
 garment is an invention on the part of the artist, and not a copy of 
 the colour of any fabric. It is quite a mistake to imagine that we 
 take a garment out of a cupboard and paint it ; it is simply used for 
 getting the form and folds ; the colour is conceived. I consider that 
 the colours used to-day, if properly prepared, ought to be far better 
 and much more durable than those of the past. In the days of Sir
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 
 
 45 
 
 Joshua Reynolds and Wilkie, during the reign of asphaltum, a colour 
 used very largely then but now quite out of use, the pictures suffered 
 very much. Although I have been painting in oils exactly fifty years, 
 I have only had one single accident happen with a pigment.' 
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON, P.R.A. 
 
 From a Photo, by Elliott & Fry. 
 
 Sir Frederick Leighton seldom paints portraits. He considers it 
 " fetters one down, as you are simply bound to satisfy your subject." 
 He cannot work under restraint, neither can he use his brush whilst 
 being watched ; he could not touch a canvas with his most intimate 
 friend by his side looking on. He likes to work with a large palette, 
 and by preference with one of lemon-coloured wood.
 
 IV. 
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 From a Photo. by] 
 
 DITCHINGHAM HOUSE. 
 
 \EllifM Fry. 
 
 ITCHINGHAM is a distinctly cosy Norfolk village, small 
 and picturesque. Ditchingham House is a typical Nor- 
 folk home. It stands in the midst of a perfect shelter 
 provided by the surrounding elms and beeches, for the 
 winds which come across from the glorious valley of the 
 Waveney, and over the Bath Hills, or the Earl's Vineyard, 
 as it was once called one of the prettiest hillsides in this part of 
 Norfolk are keen and cutting, and blow cold o' nights. Here Mr. 
 Rider Haggard barrister, justice of the peace, farmer and novelist 
 lives. 
 
 It is no easy matter to realize that he who wanders about a 
 compact little farm of a hundred and fifty acres, and inquires of the 
 bailiff as he critically looks into a pig pen " Which of these pigs are 
 you going to kill ?" or singles out a grand turkey with a view to its 
 successful appearance on the Christmas dinner table, is the brilliant
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 47 
 
 writer of such fascinating works as " King Solomon's Mines," " Jess," 
 " Colonel Quaritch," " Cleopatra," " Eric Brighteyes," and the creator 
 of that immortal woman, "She." There is positively little about Mr. 
 Haggard whom, perhaps, one might describe as a country gentleman 
 
 From a Photo. by] 
 
 ENTRANCE-HALL. 
 
 [Elliott it Fry. 
 
 by profession and a novelist by accident suggestive of the literary 
 man. Literature ! We talked of gardening and flowers over the 
 dinner table ; learnt how he had brought many of the ferns in his fern- 
 house three thousand miles carrying them on mules overland and in 
 canoes down the rivers from tropical Mexico. Some of these ferns 
 are curious, by the way. There is one the leaves of which are five or 
 six feet long, and a curious spotted species which grows on the ledges 
 of rocks, in shape resembling a diminutive cart-wheel. He is 
 passionately fond of gardening. Literature at the dinner table ! It is 
 interesting to hear him relate the most paying agricultural feat he 
 ever accomplished, when, while on a visit to some property in South 
 Africa, together with the assistance of his partner and a couple of 
 Zulu Kaffirs and a mowing machine, he cut and sold hay to the value 
 of nearly 300 in little more than a fortnight. Dinner over, we go 
 into the drawing-room and play " Proverbs," and munch great Ribston 
 pippins picked from the tree only an hour ago. 
 
 In appearance Mr. Haggard looks just his age thirty-five. He 
 is tall, somewhat slim, and wears a fair moustache. His kindness 
 makes one happy, his modesty is impressive to a degree. He tells
 
 4 8 
 
 IL L USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 you nothing but what is worth remembering ; his life has been one 
 long chapter of adventure, and every nook and corner of the house, 
 wherever you turn, has some reminder of a career which has been in 
 many ways remarkable. I spent part of the evening in going from 
 room to room and noting these. The entrance-hall and staircases 
 are crowded with interesting and suggestive mementos. On the 
 walls are Arabian shields and swords, lengthy spears, and ugly 
 though highly decorative knives, many from various battlefields, 
 ancient Egyptian bows and throwing-sticks ; and here is an ancient 
 cedar rod believed to be similar to the one which Moses cast before 
 Pharaoh. On a ledge is a fine row of ostrich eggs, and just by the 
 entrance to an ante-room are two quaint chairs with footstools com- 
 bined, made of ebony, without nails, and inlaid with ivory. These 
 came from the East Coast of Africa. A lamp is supported on a 
 wooden pedestal. It is made of the Royal red wood of Zululand. 
 Only kings and princes were allowed to possess it; for a commoner to 
 carry it meant death. So precious was it deemed that it was cut up 
 in small pieces and bestowed upon distinguished warriors a sort of 
 Zulu Victoria Cross. 
 
 The landings are lined with many portraits of Norfolk worthies ; 
 the walls are decorated with African horns. This huge bull's head 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 ENTRANCE-HALL. 
 
 [EllMt & Fry. 
 
 belonged to an animal shot by Mr. Fred Jackson,, the explorer. Here 
 stands a quaint old cabinet. It is exquisitely carved, and was the 
 property of Lady Smith, who inherited it in her youth, and died at
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 49 
 
 the age of a. hundred 
 and four. It is .said to 
 contain forty secret 
 drawers, a score of 
 which yet remain to be 
 discovered. The bil- 
 liard-room is excep- 
 tionally interesting. An 
 oil - painting of Mrs. 
 Haggard, by Kerr, 
 hangs here, and on one 
 side of the room are the 
 original drawings by 
 Greiffenhagen for an 
 edition of the novelist's 
 "World's Desire." 
 Grciffenhagen's work 
 is marvellously real. 
 His " She " pictures, which hang 
 downstairs, are exceptionally strik- 
 ing black-and-whites. In a niche 
 of the billiard-room somewhat 
 hidden from view is a desk of 
 Charles Dickens. It was bought 
 at the Gad's Hill sale. 
 
 Close by is a little cabinet. 
 The glass door is opened, and 
 from a tiny silver Icelandic 
 Communion cup a number of 
 rings are put into my open hand. 
 One of the most striking of these 
 is a gold band, thousands of 
 years old, with hieroglyphics en- 
 graved upon it signifying " Haggard " (as an Egyptian might have 
 written it) " the Scribe makes an offering to the God of Dawn." 
 Another gold ring is from the mummy of Queen Taia, the feminine 
 Henry VIII. of Egypt, and one of the most fascinating and beau- 
 tiful women that ever lived. Its inscription reads, " Ank Bes, 
 Bes Ank" (" the living Bes, Bes the living"). It has been mended. 
 Mr. Haggard wore it for a year, but unfortunately he broke it whilst 
 getting out of a cab. Queen Taia must have worn it all her life, for 
 it shows signs of constant use. Then Mr. Haggard takes from his 
 finger a signet ring he always wears. It was found at Deir-el-Bahari 
 Its red stone is believed to chronicle the portrait of Rameses the Great, 
 the Pharaoh of the Oppression, within whose coffin it was discovered. 
 Here is a Gnostic ring in mediaeval lead setting, and yet another 
 a golden circlet which will always be associated with his career. 
 It is the scarab that figures in " She." It is a heavy ring, and bears 
 the words, " Suten se Ra " (" Royal Son of the Sun "). 
 
 5 
 
 ON THE STAIRS. 
 
 From a. Pinto, by Elliott < Pry.
 
 5 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 A grand piece of oak carving, dated 1664, surrounds the fireplace 
 in the dining-room. Here is an admirable portrait of the novelist by 
 John Pettie, R.A. On either side of the window are paintings of two 
 of the Hamiltons ancestors of Mrs. Haggard who were loyal to 
 their King, Charles II. A story is told of the faithful Cavalier who 
 hangs in the dining-room. No stauncher Royalist breathed, and he 
 rode from London to Norwich in great glee with the news of the 
 Restoration. Unfortunately, he got into a meeting of Roundheads, 
 but so full of joy was he that he shouted the news to them as loudly 
 as he could. They nearly killed him for his kindness. A Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds hangs here the portrait of a lady and her child. She was 
 the wife of an officer who was called away to the French wars. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE BILLIARD-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliutt it Fry. 
 
 During his absence a little one was born, and the doting mother and 
 loving wife, expecting him to return soon, had this picture painted for 
 him. But he never came back again. The lady could not afford to 
 pay for it, and the canvas remained in Sir Joshua's studio for some 
 time until finally bought at his auction by Dr. Hamilton, of Lynn. 
 
 The drawing-room is a delightfully cosy apartment, with its 
 white enamslled chimney-piece and its inviting cushioned corners. 
 Nick-nacks in china fill the recesses ; more curios from distant 
 climes, amongst which .is a little glass photo of a small child in a plaid 
 frock an early portrait of Rider Haggard. Mexican combs, exqui- 
 site embroidery and fans, are picturesquely scattered about, and freshly- 
 plucked flowers fill the vases. Near the window looking out on a
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 stretch of lawn 
 strewn with the 
 fallen leaves from 
 the trees on an 
 easel, is a picture 
 of Mr. Hazard's 
 mother, a photo- 
 graph of Barrington 
 Foote, and a charm- 
 ing oil - colour by 
 Leon Little, " Dawn 
 on the Thames." 
 
 The study is a 
 perfect treasure- 
 house of curios. An 
 important resident 
 of the working-room 
 is Jack, a tame rat, 
 who is liberally 
 supplied with nuts, 
 which he readily 
 cracks. Just by the 
 fireplace is the gun 
 cupboard, designed 
 by its owner. The 
 drawer contains a 
 thousand cartridges. 
 A number of fishing- 
 rods also find a con- 
 venient corner in it. 
 It is impossible to 
 chronicle every curio 
 
 the Greek vases and ancient pottery, strings of beads from the necks 
 of mummies, and Zulu battle-axes and assegais. A marvellous piece 
 of embroidery lies on the table ; it is of Mexican workmanship, some 
 
 ISlliott & Fry. 
 
 QUEEN TAIA S RING. 
 
 PHARAOH S RING. 
 IMPRESSIONS OF RINGS IN SEALING-WAX. 
 
 SCARAB IN "SHE.' 
 
 two hundred years old, evidently from a priest's cope. Here is a 
 bronze jar from the tomb of an Etruscan monarch. Over the door 
 is a Mexican idol in green jade ; it once had eyes and teeth of
 
 5 2 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 emeralds alas ! now extracted. It weighs thirty pounds, and its 
 possessor, who declares it to be the best that ever came out of 
 Mexico, owns to having smuggled it to England wrapped up in a 
 dress. The tobacco-jar is a huge one ; the pipes a good score of 
 them are neatly arranged in a rack. 
 
 " These little things were picked up on the battlefield of Isandl- 
 wana," said Mr. Haggard, taking a small bowl from the mantel-board. 
 One by one we examined them a sixpence dated 1859, a pair of eye- 
 glasses (probably once belonging to an officer), a pair of nail scissors, 
 a farrier's hook, a pen. Every one of them seemed to speak ! 
 
 \E\l\, -II, k Fry. 
 
 " Look at this ! " cried Mr. Haggard, almost excitedly. " I never 
 noticed that till this moment." 
 
 It was an English revolver-cartridge that had missed fire! Some 
 poor fellow had pinned his faith to it. The little piece of lead I now 
 held in my hand probably meant a life lost. 
 
 The shelves are well stocked with volumes ; one of them is 
 devoted to holding the bulky covers which contain the original MSS. 
 of his works. Every one is marked with the time it took to write. A 
 small shelf near the window is peculiarly interesting. The scores of 
 paper volumes it supports are all pirated editions of his works issued 
 in America. No author has suffered more than he in this respect. 
 He has even had books published under his name in the States of 
 which he never wrote a line. In the case of " Allan Quartermain," 
 some enterprising Americans got hold of a set of uncorrected proof- 
 sheets and published them.
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 53 
 
 And so we passed the evening going through the house, and, 
 when the morrow came, walked through the meadows and newly- 
 planted orchards round the farm. Now Mr. Haggard appears in an 
 easy knickerbocker suit, and carries a long Zulu stick surmounted 
 with a huge knob, which has helped him over rough paths for many 
 years. The Mexican ferns are flourishing, the chrysanthemum houses 
 loaded with blossoms. " Poacher," a fine young dog, which follows in 
 every step of its master, bounds up. Poacher has a family history. 
 Its mother was a famous lurcher a poacher's dog and was known 
 all over the West of Norfolk. It was set at Mr. Haggard's keeper 
 one night by its master, and there was shooting. The dog was 
 captured, and its owner was charged with attempted murder. The 
 silent prisoner was condemned to be shot after the trial. Mr. Haggard 
 begged for the poor creature, won her, and her offspring has 
 instinctively turned out a faithful animal. 
 
 The fowls are running over tiny hillocks, and the turkeys are 
 making their presence known by their own peculiar cackle. One of 
 the labouring hands here is known to his familiars as " Young Sam." 
 We met "Old Sam," his father who was Mrs. Haggard's grand- 
 mother's coachman just now in the lane. " Old Sam " cannot be 
 many years off a centenarian ; " Young Sam " is nearing seventy. 
 
 From a PItoto. by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 [Ellwit & Fry. 
 
 Your Norfolk folk are long-lived. A beautiful little Alderney calf of 
 ten weeks wins admiration, and then we walk through the meadows, 
 and the good points in some grand red-polls the famous Norfolk 
 breed of cattle are discussed. It is as trim a farm as any for miles
 
 54 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS 
 
 round ; the result 
 of two years' labour 
 has worked won 
 ders with the land 
 since Mr. Haggard 
 took it " in hand." 
 We cut some roses 
 still in bloom 
 wave a good-bye 
 to Angela and 
 Dorothy, his two 
 little daughters 
 who are just off for 
 a ride and enter 
 the house delight- 
 fully fresh and 
 ready for work 
 after our morning's 
 walk. 
 
 We lit our 
 pipes in the study. 
 Mr. Haggard 
 \vas born on June 
 22,1856. Hecomcs 
 of a Scandinavian 
 family, and for 
 some generations 
 his ancestors have 
 been Norfolk 
 squires. His father 
 is William M. Rider 
 Haggard,J.P.,D.L., 
 of Bradenham 
 Hall, Norfolk, 
 where the novelist 
 was born. His 
 mother had literary 
 
 powers, and published some volumes of poems and songs. Mr. Haggard 
 good-humouredly assures me that he was not an interesting infant. 
 He passed his early years at Bradenham, then went abroad, and re- 
 turned to England, when he entered the Grammar School at Ipswich. 
 He was destined for the Foreign Office, but in 1875 was appointed 
 secretary to Sir Henry Bulwer, G.C.M.G., at Natal, and two years later 
 fulfilled a similar position to Sir Theophilus Shcpstone, K.C.M.G., then 
 on a special mission to the Transvaal. He was there during the whole 
 crisis surrounding the annexation of the Transvaal, and then a young 
 man only just out of his teens hoisted the English flag in the Queen's 
 name. A little photo of the party, as they appeared on this memorable 
 morning, hangs in his room with that of the Union Jack. 
 
 From a Photo, ly, 
 
 THE CONSERVATORY 
 
 [Elliott tk try
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 55 
 
 From a Photo. 
 
 MR. HAGGARD S RED-POLLS. 
 
 (Eiliutt <k I'm. 
 
 "The real reason," said Mr. Haggard, " why the Transvaal was 
 annexed was to prevent its inhabitants being wiped out of the world 
 by Cetewayo. The Transvaal forces had been defeated, and Cetewayo 
 
 had massed his regi- 
 ments to attack it. 
 Sir Theophilus 
 Shepstone knew 
 that, unless the ter- 
 ritory became 
 Queen's land, Cete- 
 wayo would take it. 
 I never saw Cete- 
 wayo." 
 
 Then the story 
 of his life begins in 
 real earnest. When 
 he was twenty he 
 was appointed Mas- 
 terof the High Court 
 there, the first in 
 the Transvaal, and 
 probably the young- 
 est ever known. As 
 such he was guar- 
 dian of all the or- 
 phans. 
 
 "The Boers 
 were very litigious 
 over the question of 
 land, and would 
 spend four times 
 the value of a plot 
 over a lawsuit. They 
 
 MRS. RIDER HAGGARD AND DAUGHTERS. 
 Fram a Photo, l-y Elliott it b'rij.
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 were much in the hands of the lawyers. The scale of legal charges 
 was simply wicked. A solicitor would open a bill of costs with a 
 retaining fee of fifty guineas. When I was appointed Master of the 
 Court I made a dead stand against this. The first bill presented to 
 me was for ,600. I knocked off a discount of 400. There was a 
 tremendous agitation against me, but my superiors upheld me, and in 
 the long run I triumphed. I used to go on circuit over hundreds of 
 miles in an ox waggon. 
 
 " Yes, we often had murder trials. One of the most singular that 
 I remember, because of the strange behaviour of the prisoner, was this : 
 One night I was standing on the veranda of Government House. I 
 heard a shot. Inquiries were made, and it transpired that a private in 
 a regiment quartered in Pretoria had opened the canvas of his 
 sergeant-major's tent who was just then writing home to England 
 and shot him. The man then went away with the intention of 
 killing his adjutant and colonel. He was arrested, brought up for 
 trial, and a plea of insanity was put in. The trial ran into the night, 
 and the large and crowded court was lit with six candles only, which 
 gave it a peculiarly solemn appearance. The jury adjudged the 
 prisoner ' Guilty.' I rose up and asked the man, in the formal words, 
 and with my most dignified manner, if he had anything to say why 
 sentence of death should not be passed upon him. His reply, uttered
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 57 
 
 in a most jaunty voice, was, ' Nothing at all, thank you, sir.' There 
 was a question about his sanity. At any rate, whilst his dead 
 comrade was being given a soldier's funeral, and the band was playing 
 ' The Dead March in Saul ' past the gaol, the fellow was whistling 
 merry English songs ! In the end, his sentence was commuted to 
 penal servitude for life. He escaped, and, so far as I know, was never 
 recaptured. 
 
 " The Zulus are amongst the most courageous people in the 
 world they have no fear of death. There was a chief living in the 
 Transvaal territory. He was a magnificent fellow in strength and 
 stature. A magistrate of his district went to collect certain taxes. 
 The chief refused to pay, and called on his tribesmen, who killed the 
 magistrate and seven men. The chief was caught, his kinsmen were 
 condemned to imprisonment, he to death. The morning of the 
 execution arrived, and I went to the gaol and saw his hands tied 
 behind his back. Through an interpreter he was asked whether he 
 had anything to say. He cried out loudly : 
 
 " ' Why all this trouble why this fuss? I do not fear death. If 
 I am to be killed, kill me ! ' 
 
 " With these words he broke away, walked deliberately across the 
 yard and on to the gallows. He examined the noose of twisted 
 buffalo hide, and took his stand unflinchingly over the trap. The 
 executioner was intoxicated, the High Sheriff was overcome with the 
 scene and had to retire I myself was obliged to push and exhort 
 the executioner in order that he might perform the fearful task, and, 
 at last, the brave Zulu fell. The whole thing lasted some minutes, 
 but during this time the man never winced, nor showed the slightest 
 emotion. 
 
 " I held office as Master of the High Court for two years, when 
 I resigned. The Zulu War broke out in 1879. I was in South Africa 
 then. I knew of the disaster at Isandlwana twenty hours before the 
 express reached Pretoria. An old Hottentot woman told me. Her 
 words were, ' The red-coats lay like leaves upon a plain.' How the 
 news travelled over the plains in the time I cannot tell, for I was 200 
 miles from the scene of action. When there are hills they shout news 
 from top to top, but there were none here. On receipt of this news 
 a volunteer corps was raised to go to Zululand a company of 
 mounted gentlemen known as ' The Pretoria Horse ' who, though 
 eventually much cut up, did excellent service in the Boer W T ar. I 
 was elected lieutenant and adjutant of this corps. 
 
 "Just previous to this I was nearly killed. I was on a mission for 
 the Government to visit a chief in a distant mountainous district. I little 
 dreamed that there was a plot to murder us. My love for moonlight 
 scenery saved us. We had the option of two roads. I suggested the 
 less frequently used one, where we could get a better view of the 
 mountains in the moonlight ; we took it. On the other path a party 
 of natives were lying in ambush for us. In this way I believe that 
 we escaped death and perhaps torture. 
 
 " The Pretoria Horse were ready to proceed to Zululand, but we
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE W$. 
 
 LJ. 1 
 
 DYNAMITE ! 
 
 were prevented by the sudden rising of the Boers. We were to have 
 accompanied Colonel Weatherley's Horse. They were subsequently 
 destroyed, with the exception of six men. Colonel Weatherley had 
 two sons out there the elder was my clerk in the High Court, and 
 the other, little Rupert, who was very weakly, was a great favourite 
 of his father. The poor little fellow accompanied his father every- 
 where, and in the fight of Slobane was assegaied by the Zulus. The 
 Colonel is believed to have died fighting over his poor boy's bod)'. 
 The other son who is still in the Army was coming into camp when 
 he caught sight of a pretty pony passing his way. The saddle was 
 empty. He caught it, and not knowing whose it was, rode into camp 
 on its back. It had carried his little brother out that day. 
 
 " Englishmen were precious just then. I was sent out in 
 command of a handful of men to watch the Boer camp. We had 
 spies there. They would report to me every evening, and I sent 
 despatches to Pretoria about twenty-one miles away as we had 
 relays of horses all along the road, and could reach the town in an 
 hour. The headquarters of the Boer camp were near an inn, where I 
 was stationed with my men. One day, having got wind of the reason 
 of our presence, the Boers came down on us in force, took possession 
 of the inn, and threatened to kill us. I had a very smart sergeant 
 there, whom I sent into the room where they were gathered, to keep a 
 watch upon their movements. Needless to say, he knew Dutch. The 
 Boers have a great horror of dynamite, and when things began to 
 look serious my sergeant saw one of them light his pipe and fling the 
 still-burning match on to the floor. Hurriedly, but with the utmost
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 59 
 
 caution, he picked it up, blew it out, and threw it away with a 
 fervently-expressed ' Thank Heaven ! ' 
 
 " This attracted the attention of the Boers. ' Why had he done 
 that what did he mean ? ' 
 
 " ' Don't you know ? ' the sergeant asked. 
 
 " ' Know what ? ' said the Boers. 
 
 " ' Why, the British Government store all their dynamite under 
 this place. If I hadn't put out that match we should all have been 
 blown into ten thousand atoms ! ' 
 
 " ' Almighty ! ' said the Boers, and five minutes afterwards the 
 place was clear. 
 
 " About this time there was an extraordinary panic in Pretoria. 
 A Boer rode in to say that Cetewayo's ' impis ' were within twenty 
 miles of Pretoria, and would attack that night. My captain was sent 
 out to ascertain the truth of this, and I was left in command of the 
 corps. Only that morning horses had been served out to us. Orders 
 came to saddle up and be ready. I marched the men into the yard 
 where the horses were, and when we got there every man wanted the 
 best horse. It was difficult to settle their claims, but I hit upon the 
 idea of a scramble. I ordered the men to rush in together and each 
 make for one. In ten minutes all were suited ; but the trouble did 
 not end here. 
 
 " : Mount ! ' I cried. 
 
 " The men did so but only for an instant. The next moment 
 the troop burst like a bombshell, nearly every horse bolted, and many 
 men were thrown off. One poor fellow's foot caught in a stirrup and 
 he was nearly kicked to death. I do not believe that any of those 
 horses had ever been saddled before ! The panic grew. In the 
 midst of all a thunderstorm raged the rain fell in sheets. Women 
 and children were weeping, the men were burying their money. 
 It transpired afterwards that the whole idea of an attack by Cete- 
 wayo was the invention of a mad Kaffir. 
 
 " I returned to England at the end of 1879, and married in 
 the following year. I went back, however, to Africa with my wife, 
 in order to look after some property I have in the Newcastle district 
 of Natal. On our arrival I heard of the Boer rebellion. Whilst in 
 Maritzburg my wife and I dined with Sir George Colley, the Governor 
 of Natal a party altogether of some twelve or fourteen people. It 
 was a night or two before Sir George started up country to attack 
 the Boers. Within a month the majority of those present had been 
 killed, and I believe that at this moment Lady Colley, Mrs. Haggard, 
 and myself are the sole survivors of that dinner party. 
 
 " I heard the action at Lang's Neck being fought. We went 
 up country, believing that Sir George Colley would not attack the 
 Boers with the men at his disposal. It was a terrible rough journey 
 we were nearly carried aw r ay by flooded streams, and the roads 
 were cut into a slough by the guns. I arrived with my wife at my 
 house, on the borders of Newcastle, and the following afternoon 
 went out duck shooting. 1 heard the sound of distant heavy firing.
 
 6o 
 
 ILL USTRA TED IXTER VIE W$. 
 
 I listened intently. At that moment the disastrous action at Lang's 
 Neck was being fought Then came a period of great and terrible 
 trouble battles fought and battles lost Reinforcements poured in. 
 One Sunday afternoon, while I was sitting after luncheon on the 
 veranda of my house, I thought that I heard the sound of guns. 
 My wife and servants in the house believed it to be distant thunder. 
 I saddled my horse, rode into Newcastle, a mile and a half away, 
 and on the road called in at the telegraph office. The messages 
 were just then passing through to England of the fearful defeat at 
 Majuba. I rode on into the camp as fast as I could, but they had 
 no news there, for troops were marching out towards Majuba as 
 though nothing had happened. But the people at the telegraph 
 office were right ! 
 
 " The Boers came down and cut our communications. They 
 burnt the next place to us, and for some weeks we lived in a 
 state of anxiety, anticipating an attack at any moment. Zulu scouts 
 were out every night ; we slept with loaded rifles by our sides and six 
 horses always saddled in the stables. Sometimes we sat up all night. 
 Ultimately we were driven into laager by the Boers. Then came the 
 news of the surrender of the English Government to the Boers, just 
 when thousands of troops were advancing towards our relief. It was 
 received with entire incredulity. I, for one, refused to believe it 
 When the truth became known, the most extraordinary scenes 
 
 1 THAT S FALSE ! '' I SAID.
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 61 
 
 occurred at Newcastle. It was crowded with thousands of refugees, 
 natives, loyal Boers, and English people driven in from the Transvaal. 
 The town went mad. Three or four thousand people were huddled 
 together in the market square drunk, crying, cursing and every 
 group ruined. The members of the English Government were burnt 
 in effigy, and words were said which I clo not care to repeat. 
 
 " 1 believe the English only hit three men at Majuba one was 
 killed, the Boers say, one badly wounded, and one man had his cheek 
 grazed. This latter man thus described the action to me some weeks 
 afterwards. ' At first,' he said, ' we were terribly afraid, but as we 
 went up the mountain and we found that the English did not hit us, 
 we gained heart and pushed on. They ran away. I sat on the rocks 
 and shot them as they ran like bucks. They nearly killed me look 
 here,' pointing to his scarred cheek, ' but I paid them out for it. It 
 was alter lekkcr (very nice). They tumbled over one another. We 
 killed thousands of them.' 
 
 " ' That's false !' I said ; 'you haven't killed a thousand men during 
 the whole war.' 
 
 " His reply was, ' Ah! well. You lie and I lie, but I say we killed 
 thousands of them. But I bear no malice. In future, if an English- 
 man touches his hat to me I shall acknowledge it ! ' 
 
 MR. HAGGARD'S HOUSE, IN WHICH THE BOER CONVENTION WAS SIGNED. 
 
 "It was at my house that the convention with the Boers was 
 signed. I myself was so overcome with the disgrace of the situation, 
 that I abandoned South Africa and returned to England. I felt I 
 could no longer live there as an Englishman in those days Natal 
 was no longer a country for Englishmen to live in. I arrived in the 
 old country after being nearly shipwrecked. By-the-bye, I have been 
 actually shipwrecked. It was whilst returning from Iceland. 
 
 " I determined then to go to the Bar, and I studied here at
 
 62 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Ditchingham. Whilst studying I began to write books. My first 
 was an historical work, ' Cetewayo and His White Neighbours.' I lost 
 50 over it. Then I tried novel writing. My first story was ' Dawn.' 
 It went the round of several publishers, but nobody would have it, so 
 I re- wrote it and made it end up happily the ending of the original 
 was somewhat sad. I worked so hard at that book that my sight 
 gave way, and I had to finish it in a darkened room. It was accepted 
 and paid fairly well. I made 10 out of it as a start, but afterwards 
 more. Then came ' The Witch's Head.' By that time, though this 
 novel was something of a success, I thought I had had enough that 
 the game was not worth the candle. I was called to the Bar, and 
 practised for about a year. I had read a good deal in the papers 
 about boys' books, and I determined to write one. I did it in my 
 spare evenings, chiefly for amusement. The title of it was ' King 
 Solomon's Mines.' It was a big success, and remains so, though I 
 never had a very high opinion of it myself." 
 
 I have just had put into my hand the bone with which the old 
 Don in the famous romance used to write. There is ink on it still. 
 Here, too, is the veritable chart itself the original map of those 
 wonderful mines. Shall I help to destroy its delightful romance if I 
 tell how this curious piece of linen of three hundred years ago really 
 came into existence ? A sister-in-law of Mr. Haggard's ingeniously 
 executed the whole thing, and those fearfully and wonderfully made 
 characters were penned by her own hand with coloured pigments ! Mr. 
 Haggard tells a merry story of a little adventure he had one day with 
 this map 
 
 He was taking it to be bound with the MS., and travelled on 
 the Underground Railway. The frontispiece of " King Solomon's 
 Mines" is an exact reproduction of the original map. An old lady 
 got into the same compartment as the novelist, and opening a copy of 
 this very work, at once became deeply interested in the frontispiece. 
 She turned it this way and that way all ways, but was more puzzled 
 than ever. It was impossible for Mr. Haggard to resist the tempta- 
 tion. He took the real thing out of his pocket, put it on his knee, 
 and began studying it too. It caught the innocent old lady's eye. 
 She looked from book to author, from copy to original, and was per- 
 fectly bewildered. Mr. Haggard got out at the next station, and when 
 the train left the platform there was the old lady staring at him out of 
 the window with indescribable amazement still written on her face. 
 
 In connection with " King Solomon's Mines " he once received a 
 letter from a girls' school in America, thanking him most gratefully for 
 writing a book "without a woman in it"! He also received a round 
 robin from the members of some great firm of electricians in Austria, 
 acquainting him with the pleasure that same work had given 
 them. It bore seven signatures, each writer of which was of a 
 different nationality. 
 
 Then the manuscript volume of " She " is taken down from one 
 of the shelves. It was written in six weeks, and a fortnight out of 
 that time was occupied largely in doing a friend's work reporting
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD.
 
 64 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 cases in the Divorce Court for The Times. To write a novel in little 
 more than four weeks is a truly remarkable undertaking, the brilliant 
 result making it a still greater accomplishment. Mr. Haggard sat 
 down to write it with a very slight idea of the plot, only with the great 
 creative character in his mind that of an immortal woman a type. 
 A story which a lady once wrote and told him the story of a woman 
 and a cave helped him in writing " She." The original sherd of 
 " She " is over the mantelpiece. 
 
 Soon afterwards he left the Bar, finding that his reputation as an 
 author was detrimental to his practice there. The success of " King 
 Solomon's Mines " and " She," the rush now for his earlier works 
 comparatively little read was sufficient inducement for him to go on. 
 As one work succeeded the other, his reputation was strengthened, 
 his genius as a writer of romance impressed every book lover, his 
 descriptive powers were considered as marvellously real as they were 
 in many cases brilliantly imaginative. He is a great traveller. He 
 spends months in a country where the scene of his work is to be laid. 
 His notes of the scenes, the people, and their manners are purely 
 mental. The hardest travelling in search of " scenes " he ever had 
 in his life was in Mexico. He characterizes the roads in the wilder 
 parts as indescribable, the food worse; whilst, in the hot country, sleep 
 
 From a Ih tj. by\ 
 
 THE STUDY.
 
 MR. H. RIDER HAGGARD. 65 
 
 was most difficult to obtain, owing to the constant torment of venomous 
 insects. 
 
 Before he wrote "Eric Brighteyes" he went to Iceland. He 
 made his way to Bergthorsknoll, the residence of Xjal, the hero in 
 " The Story of Burnt Njal " who was burnt to death in the house 
 there. The irrepressible novelist, with that love of search which he 
 possesses, commenced digging in the floor of the old hall, and there 
 lound traces of the burning after eight hundred years. He retains 
 fragments of some of the charred beams in a small Egyptian jar in 
 the study. 
 
 He says that he has been often charged with plagiarism, and gave 
 me a most amusing instance of such charges, which are so easy to 
 bring, and so recklessly made. 
 
 " I once wrote a skit called ' Mr. Meeson's Will,' " he said. " It 
 was a little hit at the Court of Probate, where I practised. The 
 heroine of the skit is supposed to have a will tattooed upon her 
 shoulders. Now, it appears that there was a French novel which I 
 had never seen, read, heard, or dreamed of in which there is a fair 
 damsel who has a will tattooed on another part of her body. I was at 
 once charged with appropriating this idea. Nothing of the kind. The 
 real origin of my tattoo was a trick played upon an eminent Q.C. by 
 his pupils, who sent in a set of papers to him for his consideration, in 
 which the will propounded was supposed to be executed upon the 
 human skin of somebody who was cast away on a desert island. The 
 case interested our friend the Q.C. immensely, and he was so taken in 
 as to give the matter a great deal of time, and actually gave a written 
 opinion as to the validity of the document. This is a fair sample of 
 the accuracy of these charges." Also he has been attacked because 
 some of his tales are full of fights. " But," he says, " did reading of 
 fighting, or even of the oppressions and cruelties of tyrants, ever harm 
 any human creature ? and are there, on the other hand, no virtues to be 
 learned from stories of warriors faithful to the last, and of the heroic 
 deaths of men ? Is a boy, for instance, the worse for being taught 
 that his hands were given him to defend his head ; or, if need be, his 
 cause and his country ? I believe that there is more evil to be learned 
 from what may be read in a week's issue of the daily papers than from 
 all the books which deal with fighting and kindred adventures that 
 are published in a generation. And while I hold this opinion I shall 
 go on writing about such things, though sometimes I like to under- 
 take an orthodox novel by way of a change. A man is not necessarily 
 of a sanguinary mind because he tells stories of how people killed each 
 other in past ages, or in the land of fable." 
 
 Mr. Haggard claims to create every character in his novels, and he 
 considers six months a fair time to complete an important work. He 
 takes no share in the arrangements for the publication of his books, 
 which are managed by Mr. Watt, the literary agent, and never reads a 
 review of them, unless it chances to appear in some paper which he 
 takes in, because he says that, if the notice be favourable, it is apt to 
 give an author too good an idea of himself ; and, if the reverse, to 
 
 6
 
 66 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 worry and discourage him, and to disgust him with his work. More- 
 over, he is of opinion that the writer of a book knows a great deal 
 more of its strong and weak points than any reviewer, however 
 impartial, which all reviewers are not ; and that Time is likely to be a 
 better judge than either author or critics, all of whose individual 
 opinions are, therefore, somewhat superfluous. He usually writes some 
 three or four thousand words a day, sitting down at a great oaken 
 writing table, with a liberal supply of foolscap paper, about half-past 
 four, working on till dinner-time, and again resuming the thread of 
 his story at night for an hour or two. In the morning the farm and 
 his correspondence claim him. His favourite work, and the one he 
 considers his best, is " Eric Brighteyes." " She " comes next. Amongst 
 his own characters his love leans towards " Beatrice." 
 
 A MEXICAN IDOL.
 
 MADAME ALBANI. 
 
 N one of the prettiest corners of Kensington is a quiet 
 spot known as The Boltons. No happier or more 
 suggestive name could have been found for it than that 
 bestowed by the famous singer's little boy, He calls it 
 " Our Village," and you have only to look out from the 
 windows of any of the surrounding houses, and there, in 
 the midst of a wealth of green and trees, is the church ; whilst there is 
 nothing to disturb the stillness save the singing of the birds, which are 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 MADAME ALBANI. 
 
 piping here, there, and everywhere. In a large corner house, with 
 great balconies which seem to suggest a trysting-place for Romeo and 
 Juliet, resides Mrs, Ernest Gve, familiarly known the wide world over
 
 68 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 as Madame Albani. It is an attractive spot to the passer-by, and a 
 delighted open-air audience may often be found there in the morning, 
 when the sounds of the artiste's voice are to be heard, practising the 
 opera for the night, in the drawing-room. 
 
 I could not have called at a more opportune time. It was the 
 afternoon following her last appearance at Covent Garden this season, 
 and the place was a veritable garden of flowers floral rewards bestowed 
 upon the singer the previous night for her dramatic rendering of 
 Desdemona in " Otello." Wherever the eye looked there were flowers 
 roses were springing out of every nook and corner, huge posies and 
 heavy baskets ; whilst leaning negligently against the wall of the 
 drawing-room was a great A composed of white sweet-peas, and the 
 tiny vases scattered about were brimming over with the blossoms. 
 Some of them had to be conveyed home in a cab. for the carriage 
 was already full. 
 
 Madame Albani's talents have won for her a precious collection 
 of souvenirs, and the house is a store for them. After passing through 
 the entrance-hall, where a moment before her clever dog " Chat " has 
 kindly obliged by sitting for his picture, we come, on the immediate 
 
 right, to Mr. Gye's study. 
 On his table are set out 
 homely photos of himself, 
 his wife, and their only 
 child, Ernest ; and over 
 the fireplace is a magnifi- 
 cent stag's head, a reminis- 
 cence of Scotland. In a 
 niche in the hall by the 
 window is a life-size statue 
 of their son, by Prince 
 Victor of Hohenlohe. The 
 little fellow is in sailor's 
 costume, and playing with 
 a toy railway engine, his 
 one great amusement 
 when three or four years 
 of age, when he could 
 boast of a collection of 
 engines and tenders which 
 would make any child in 
 the land pardonably en- 
 vious. It is in the drawing- 
 room where one realizes to 
 what extent Madame 
 Albani's talents have been 
 acknowledged, so far as 
 the bestowal of kindly 
 &tf ts conve y s appreciation, 
 
 From a Photo, by, THE ENTRANCE-HALL. [Elliott & Pry. The apartment IS richly
 
 MADAME ALBANL 
 
 69 
 
 draped, and its walls are 
 an agreeable symphony of 
 amber and cream. The 
 elaborately-worked cushions 
 and foot-stools, the chairs, 
 almost in miniature and 
 exquisitely draped, the 
 tables positively loaded with 
 gifts, are innumerable. One 
 table is set out with silver 
 trinkets silver ships, fishes, 
 horses, scent - bottles, and 
 even snuff-boxes. At the 
 far end of the room is a 
 cabinet filled with valuable 
 pieces of china, and close 
 by is a bust of Madame 
 Albani by the same Royal 
 sculptor who executed that 
 of her son. Here, too, is 
 a harp, for the singer is a 
 brilliant harpist, and her 
 fingers often run over the 
 strings. The piano is a 
 useful-looking one, and it 
 need be, for its keys are 
 
 severely and incessantly worked. An interesting photo, stands here on 
 a crimson plush easel. It is that of the Princess Frederica of Hanover, 
 who, being desirous of being photographed as Elsa in " Lohengrin," 
 borrowed the real costume in the shape of the identical cloak and 
 veil worn by Madame Albani when singing in the character. An 
 interesting gift, too, is that of a fine vase presented to her by the 
 Empress Augusta of Germany. It shows the palace and the 
 window where the old Emperor was wont to stand and salute the 
 guard. In a glass case, by the window, is a silver wreath a 
 reminiscence of the terrible inundations in Belgium presented by the 
 Mayor of Brussels when the artiste sang in aid of a fund for the 
 sufferers. 
 
 But what strikes one most of all are the almost countless photos 
 of nearly every member of the Royal Family. Madame Albani may 
 justly claim to be the favourite singer of the Queen. When the 
 vocalist visited Berlin a few years ago the Queen sent a telegram to 
 the Crown Princess, speaking in the highest terms of the great singer; 
 and this telegram is here preserved. Once every year Her Majesty 
 visits her favourite at Old Mar Lodge, and takes tea there, and many 
 are the " private appearances " at Balmoral, when the Queen often 
 listens to the delightful voice in many an old song and ballad of 
 which she is so fond. It was when Her Majesty was paying her 
 customary visit to the old hunting-lodge of the Duke of Fife that she 
 
 MASTER ERNEST GYE.
 
 70 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 brought with her the Jubilee portrait of herself which hangs near the 
 drawing-room mantel-board, framed in gold and surmounted with 
 a crown. Look along the mantel-board every photo, bears the 
 autograph of the giver. The Prince and Princess of Wales are in 
 
 ivory frames, and near to them are the Duke and Duchess of Fife 
 and the Duke and Duchess of Westminster. Here, again, is the 
 Queen with one of the Duke of Connaught's children, the old 
 Emperor of Germany, and Princess Beatrice. 
 
 The dining-room is an apartment remarkable for its fine oak 
 furniture a beautifully carved sideboard and quaint, clerical-looking 
 high-back chairs. The table which for the moment is florally 
 decorated with sweet-peas which have evidently strayed from the 
 great A is lighted by a trio of electric lights beneath an immense 
 crimson shade. The room contains many fine oil paintings ; and 
 against a chair, presumably waiting to fill a place on the wall, is an 
 engraving of the Jubilee picture of the scene in Westminster Abbey, 
 showing Madame Albani standing next to Miss Ellen Terry. A fine 
 water-colour shows a glen, with the smoke of Old Mar Lodge rising. 
 This is the resting-place of Madame Albani for two months every 
 year, It is a quaint old Scotch house, possessing a grand garden, 
 where the singer frankly admits she spends her time in gathering 
 flowers and eating raspberries. Here, too, her abilities as an amateur 
 gardener and angler have full play. Every morning, after breakfast,
 
 MADAME ALBANI. 7 i 
 
 the beds have her close attention for one allotted hour, and then, with 
 rod and line, she will sit on the banks of the Dee, and many a good 
 trout and weighty salmon have responded to her silent invitation to 
 take " a bite." 
 
 A little conservatory, sweet with fuchsias and gay with ferns and 
 palms, where Miss Lajeunesse Madame Albani's sister is just now 
 engaged in watering them, leads from the dining-room to the garden, 
 with its beds and banks of ferns, marguerites, blue-bells, and scarlet 
 geraniums. Beneath a leafy arch the singer, in our illustration, is 
 seen standing. 
 
 Just then the clock in the dining-room chimes five a suggestive 
 warning that in the prettiest corner of the drawing-room a little table 
 is laid out for tea ; for it was during such an essentially Kensingtonian 
 ceremony as " five o'clock tea " that I learnt from Madame Albani's 
 lips the story of her life. It is no easy matter to describe the famous 
 singer. She is a handsome woman, of unbounded vivacity, and 
 speaks with a charming French accent. She accompanies her story 
 with constant gesture, and is always smiling. She will look at you 
 and speak most seriously, but her eyes are ever twinkling with merri- 
 ment. She is a delightful woman, who has won her present position 
 to-day by sheer hard work. 
 
 " What am I to tell you ? What am I to tell you ? " she exclaims, 
 pouring out a cup of tea. " Shall I go back to many, many years 
 
 From a Photo. by\ THE DRAWING-ROOM. [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 ago, when as a tiny mite of two and a half I used to watch my 
 father's fingers on the violin, as I stood by his side and tried to sing 
 each note ? Well, I will. That was at Chambly, near Montreal, 
 where I was born on November I, 1851, in a little house that was so
 
 72 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 small, that when they wanted to make some alterations in the neigh- 
 bourhood, they lifted it up and moved it away bodily. But it is not 
 destroyed. Another spot was found for it. My father was a professor 
 of music and organist, and at that early age I commenced to study. 
 I have heard him say that I sang before I talked. When I was four 
 my mother also looked after my musical training, and a year later I 
 was practising five and six hours every day. I often used to practise 
 then two hours every morning before breakfast, and get through a 
 hundred and fifty pages of music a day. When I was seven my 
 mother died, and I can yet remember how one morning my father 
 suddenly came into the room, and stood at the door with a surprised 
 
 a Photo, by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 [JRMott <* Vy. 
 
 look, as he listened to me singing my favourite little bits out of such 
 operas as ' Lucrezia Borgia,' ' Martha,' and ' Norma.' 
 
 " One day my father and I were at a large store where I used to 
 practise on the piano, and a Scotchman, who was giving concerts in 
 Montreal, came in. I was eight years old at the time, and he persuaded 
 my father to let me sing at a concert. I did, and I had to give three 
 concerts, and every night the stage used to be strewn with flowers. 
 Flowers ! Why, do you know I once had a great floral trophy given 
 to me that took three men to bring it on to the stage ! It was all 
 composed of roses, and was a gift from the ladies of Philadelphia. 
 
 " When I was nine I entered the convent of The Sacred Heart, at 
 Sault-au-Recollet. I was organist there, and remained there several 
 years, and after leaving we went to live at Albany. Ah ! does that 
 name strike you ? Yes, you are quite correct. After studying in 
 Paris, under Duprez, and afterwards with Lamperti, at Milan, I made
 
 MADAME ALBANI. 
 
 73 
 
 my dtbut there in 1870, as Amina, in " Sonnambula," under the name 
 of Albani, out of remembrance of the city, the people of which helped 
 me so much, and where I think my future career was decided upon, 
 You see, I just changed the last letter to i, and that gave me my 
 operatic name. I well remember that first appearance. I had no 
 friends in the house that night, but I was not nearly so nervous as 
 I felt when I sang in ' Otello ' for the first time, many years 
 afterwards. When one is eighteen one has no fear. At the first 
 rehearsal I trembled a 
 little bit, for, you see, I 
 was French-Canadian, 
 and not Italian, but at 
 the finish of my first 
 song my brother and 
 sister artistes took me 
 up and almost carried 
 me to my room. 
 
 "It was there 
 at Messina that I very 
 nearly made the ac- 
 quaintance of a mad- 
 man ; at any rate, I 
 am sorry to say that I 
 was the means of send- 
 ing him back to the 
 lunatic asylum again. 
 In Italy presents to 
 artistes are very nu- 
 merous, and people 
 pay one all sorts of 
 attentions. It was the 
 morning after the 
 opera, and I was just 
 dressed. My maid 
 came to me and said 
 there was a gentleman 
 who wanted to see 
 
 On mOSt 
 
 FrvmaPhoto.by] THE CONSERVATORY STEPS, [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 important business. I 
 
 dispatched my maid to say that I was very busy, when, a few 
 minutes afterwards, she returned with a huge parcel wrapped up in a 
 beautiful lace shawl. I opened it, and there, to my surprise, were all kinds 
 of jewellery chains, lockets, diamond earrings, bracelets, brooches, 
 and trinkets innumerable. I returned them at once, and it transpired 
 that only the previous day the sender had been discharged from the 
 asylum at Naples as quite cured. The same night he had come to 
 the opera, and, I suppose, liked my singing. Where did the jewels 
 come from ? They belonged to his wife ; he had stripped her jewel 
 cases of everything, Poor fellow ! He was sent back to Naples again.
 
 74 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 " It was in Italy, too, that the opera-house came very near to 
 being burnt down, and this little incident will just show you how 
 calm the generally considered impetuous Italian can be in case of 
 emergency. It was towards 
 the end of the second act, 
 when suddenly I saw one of 
 the ballet dancers rush out of 
 her room with her thin dress 
 ablaze. The room where the 
 dancers 
 dressed was 
 on fire. We 
 had to pass 
 it to get out 
 into the 
 
 WATCHED HIS 
 
 street near 
 the stage 
 door. They 
 covered me 
 up in great 
 shawls and 
 carried me 
 out to a caf6 
 opposite. 
 The fire was 
 put out in 
 twenty min- 
 utes. I re- 
 turned to the theatre, we finished the opera, and everybody enjoyed 
 it just as though nothing had happened. 
 
 " I made ray debut in London at Covent Garden on April 2, 1872, 
 in my favourite Amina, and I don't mind confessing that I attribute a 
 great deal of my success that night to the sudden appearance of a 
 big black cat. I am very superstitious. I always occupy the same 
 room at the theatre it is one of the largest in the house. Just as I 
 was all ready, and preparing to go on to the stage, the door was 
 slowly and silently pushed open, and one of the biggest black cats 
 imaginable peeped in and looked up at me. Oh ! how delighted I 
 was ! Yes, I don't wonder at your smiling, but a black cat has 
 always been a lucky thing for me, and I would welcome one at any 
 time " ; and the gifted artiste laughs heartily as she tells me that she 
 does not keep one specially in the house to insure good fortune 
 entering at the front door. But r she has " Chat," her pet terrier a 
 fine young fellow, who lies on the rug at the foot of the piano, and 
 listens to every note whilst his mistress is practising. " Chat " is 
 clever, too, and would be a distinct acquisition to any performing troupe. 
 
 For a moment Madame Albani rearranges some of the flowers 
 in the room, and, as she handles a particularly fine bouquet of 
 crimson roses, a smile comes over her face.
 
 MADAME ALBANL 
 
 75 
 
 " It was just like that," she quietly remarks, with the smile still 
 there, and weighing the bunch of flowers somewhat mischievously 
 and meditatively in her hands. And then the recollection which had 
 made her smile leaked out. The stage of Covent Garden Theatre 
 was the scene. Amid intense excitement, amongst the flowers 
 thrown over the footlights was a bouquet containing a bracelet. But, 
 unfortunately for poor Madame Albani, the aim was not straight, the 
 roses were not as soft as they are generally supposed to be, and the 
 floral missile, instead of landing gracefully before her feet, struck her 
 on the head. The artiste laughed most heartily as she remembered 
 this little incident. 
 
 " Since I commenced my career I have sung in some strange 
 places. One of my most remarkable experiences was in Russia, at 
 the Royal marriage. In Russia the singers are all considered as 
 servants. Well, it was most strange. We were all put in a sort of 
 balcony which looked down upon the banqueting scene below, and 
 
 THE MADMAN'S GIFT. 
 
 as each of our turns came to sing, we went to a little opening and 
 sang through it. What amused me was this : that all the time we 
 were trying to sing our best, and produce our notes most effectively,
 
 7 6 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE \VS. 
 
 the clatter of knives and forks still went on, and to make all com- 
 plete, the singer might be in a most impressive passage and right in 
 the midst of it, when, quite regardless of the uncomplaining singers, 
 there would be a flourish of trumpets, and somebody would get up 
 and propose a toast. I was more fortunate than Madame Patti, for 
 she was interrupted in the middle of her solo. 
 
 "Yes, I have often had requests to sing beside a death-bed or 
 a person very ill. I sang to the old Bishop of Albany when he 
 was suffering. The first festival I ever sang in was at Norwich, and 
 when I returned to that place after six years, I had a letter from an 
 old gentleman who heard me there, and who was now bedridden. 
 He wanted to hear 
 ' The Last Rose of 
 Summer,' and I shall 
 never forget standing 
 there by his side and 
 
 OLT> MAR LODGE. 
 
 singing that 
 beautiful song. 
 And many a 
 time have I had 
 
 to convert the balcony of the hotel where I was staying into a 
 temporary platform, and appear at midnight, long after the opera 
 was over, and sing ' Home, sweet Home,' or some such .popular 
 ballad to the people waiting outside. That was the case at Dublin 
 some few years ago, when the students there took the horses out 
 of my carriage, and I was told that if I did not sing they would 
 break the windows of the hotel. I stood on the balcony, wrapped 
 up in great shawls, for it was a bitterly cold night, and it was 
 no easy matter to sing ' The Last Rose of Summer ' under those 
 circumstances. 
 
 " I have sung, too, in the quiet little church at Braemar, in the 
 choir, and it was there that I received what I have always considered 
 one of my greatest compliments. The speaker was one of the
 
 MADAME ALBANI. 
 
 77 
 
 mountain folk, and had never even been to Edinburgh. When the 
 service was over a friend of mine heard him say, ' I never thought 
 anybody could have such control over one's voice.' That was all, but 
 that is the whole secret of a singer's success perfect control." 
 
 Then it was that I learned something about Madame Albani's 
 method of studying. Like all great singers, she has one hard and 
 fast rule which binds her household. When rehearsing nobody 
 is ever allowed to disturb her. Her soul is in her work, just as 
 earnestly in the drawing-room as on the stage. She is a remarkably 
 quick study, a thing she attributes to her arduous though enjoyable 
 
 training in her early child- 
 hood. Madame Albani 
 studied and took the part of 
 
 Elsa in a fortnight, and she DRAW , N G-ROOM, OLD MAR LODGE. 
 
 has been equally rapid in 
 
 gaining her knowledge of such lengthy studies as Margherita, 
 Ophelia, Mignon, Elisabetta, Lucia, and other operatic characters 
 which will always be associated with her name. When she is about 
 to take up a new character, she will first of all sit down quietly in 
 the wicker chair in the conservatory, or in some quiet and undis- 
 turbable corner about the house, and taking the score in her lap, run 
 through the music. Then she devotes herself to the words. Having 
 learnt these, she now sits down to the piano, and commences work in 
 real earnest. Having learnt both words and music, the services of 
 an accompanist are called in, and, as she plays, Madame Albani will 
 take up her position in the room, and imagining the other characters 
 about her, rehearse piece by piece. The morning preceding the
 
 78 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 MADAME ALBANI AS " MARGHERITA " (Faust). 
 From a Photograph by Heath & Buttingham, Plymouth. 
 
 opera she will go through every note to be sung in the evening. 
 After all this individual work it is possible that she may get three 
 piano rehearsals at the theatre, two fully orchestral, and one for 
 action and situations. 
 
 She likes " Otello " best of any opera. She learnt the music 
 of it in a fortnight. 
 
 " But," once more resumes the artiste, " there is much more to 
 think about besides words and music. I read my Shakespeare well,
 
 MADAME ALBANL 
 
 79 
 
 and the operatic singer must realize the character to be ' sung,' 
 just as much as the actor must realize the part he is to play. 
 I design all my own dresses, and get most of my ideas from 
 the South Kensington Museum. Sometimes I see a figure in a 
 picture that strikes me, and I may borrow a sleeve from that, 
 and a design for a bodice from another. These costumes when 
 made up cost from 70 to 80 guineas, and some much more. 
 I have dresses for twenty operas, and many operas require three 
 or four distinct changes of costume. The expense of these does 
 not include jewels ? Oh ! dear, no ; the jewellery I wear on them 
 would make them worth many, many hundreds of pounds. Will 
 I show you my jewels ? Just wait a moment." 
 
 She leaves the 
 room, and quickly 
 returns with a big 
 bundle of letters 
 and a great bag. 
 
 " These letters 
 are all applications 
 for my autograph. 
 I get them from all 
 parts of the world 
 India, Australia, 
 New Zealand. 
 When I have col- 
 lected a couple of 
 hundred of them, I 
 just clear them all 
 off at once, de- 
 voting a morning 
 to the task." Then 
 opening the bag, a 
 score of cases are 
 brought out, the 
 lids of which when 
 raised present to 
 the view gifts from 
 every Royal person- 
 age in Europe. One 
 by one Madame 
 Albani takes them 
 out. Here is a cross 
 of sparkling gems 
 presented to her by 
 the late Emperor of 
 Russia, and a dia- 
 mond star and a 
 butterfly of jewels 
 
 K <-Vi K MADAME ALBANI AS ELSA " (Lohengrin). 
 
 given Dy tne SUb- From a Photograph bySarony, New York.
 
 8o ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 scribers to the opera at St. Petersburg and Moscow. In Russia, 
 on the benefit night of a favourite artiste, the subscribers collect 
 as much money as they can, and spend it in providing presents. 
 The body of the butterfly which I have in my hand is one great 
 emerald, and the wings are of rubies and diamonds. This is a gold 
 medal from the old German Emperor, who appointed Madame Albani 
 Court Singer the last year he was alive. It was struck to commemo- 
 rate his 8oth year in the army and the poth year of his age, and 
 was a reward to the artiste for having studied German in order to 
 sing in ' Lohengrin ' in the language of the Fatherland. 
 
 Many are the presents from the Queen a gold cross set with 
 emeralds and diamonds, and a glance at Madame Albani's wrist 
 shows two magnificent bracelets which she always wears. They 
 are both of gold ; one is set with emeralds and diamonds, a gift 
 from Her Majesty, and the other is of rubies and diamonds, from 
 the Princess of Wales. 
 
 Again the clock is heard chiming, and the watchful " Chat " 
 follows me to the top of the steps which lead into "Our Village." 
 Again the sounds of the piano are heard ; a voice which has reached 
 many a heart is singing. As I hurry away I am inclined to envy 
 those who often have to pass by the house I have just left. 
 
 Prom a]
 
 VI. 
 
 MR. F. C. BURNAND, 
 
 HIS is not the first time that a resident of The Boltons. 
 Kensington, has " spoken " in these pages. On the last 
 occasion of a visit to what Madame Albani's little boy 
 happily refers to as " Our Village," it was to take tea and 
 notes with the famous singer. About a dozen doors from 
 Madame Albani's the figures 27 are painted on the portals 
 of a large white house. No. 27 stands for the London residence of 
 Mr. F. C. Burnand Ramsgate, by-the-bye, is his country abode. A 
 veritable volume of correspondence passed between Mr. Burnand and 
 myself before we met a budget of humour which prepared me for the 
 
 chat which was 
 to follow. It 
 was all through 
 the influenza. 
 It claimed both 
 interviewer and 
 interviewed for 
 its own, fortu- 
 nately only for 
 
 a limited period. But even influenza cannot overcome humorous 
 instincts. Mr. Burnand cracked jokes and forwarded them under 
 cover to me, even whilst he lay in bed he couldn't help it until at 
 last he wound up the series of fun a la influenza by hoping that 1 
 
 7 
 
 i a Photo, by] 
 
 THE ENTRANCE-HALL 
 
 [Elliott & Fry.
 
 82 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 was, like Charles II. when he came back to the throne once again, 
 " thoroughly restored ! " Then he made the final appointment. 
 He wrote " ' How ' that's your affair ; ' When ' Thursday next, 
 12 o'clock; 'Where' 27, The Bol tons." 
 
 Thursday, 12 noon. Scene 27, The Boltons. I am discovered. 
 Enter Mr. Burnand, followed by the household pet a remarkably fine 
 creature with a noteworthy tale ; but I am requested to take no 
 notice of the cat's tail, as it is the history of its owner that is, of 
 course, Mr. Burnand I am there to learn. Mr. Burnand wears a 
 lounge jacket and the familiar tie loosely hanging from the neck. He 
 is of medium height, and strongly built. His hair is grey, and carefully 
 parted down the middle. His face is ruddy and his expression happy, 
 with an irresistible twinkle about the eyes. He is a merry man 
 and cheerful companion and as a teller of anecdote is probably 
 unequalled, for he acts every one of his stories. Cigars and wax 
 vestas and a journalistic bailiff commences to take his customary 
 inventory of the contents of the house. 
 
 The entrance-hall contains Chinese vases filled with palms. Over 
 the fireplace is a very early oil painting of Mr. Burnand, with note- 
 book and pencil in hand, by the late J. Prescott Knight, once secretary 
 of the Royal Academy. Some of the pictures are particularly good. 
 Just by the door is a pen-and-ink sketch on a sheet of writing paper 
 by Sir John Gilbert, dated May, 1877. It is a Cavalier, "treated 
 in a cavalier manner." Another clever drawing by the same artist, 
 done a year later, represents an inn of the mediaeval era, with the 
 landlord rushing out with the bill, at his heels a dog " of the Middle 
 Ages " barking, and a knight galloping away on horseback, with his 
 fingers extended, and very rudely placed in close proximity to his 
 nose. It is called " Tick." Sir John Gilbert writes underneath, " The 
 artist, anxious to serve and please his employer, has given to the 
 subject suggested the grandest and most thoughtful care. In truth, 
 it is one which calls for the deepest consideration, principally because 
 of the novelty of the subject : never before has a gallant knight been 
 so depicted. Let it not be seen. Hide it ; destroy it the designer 
 is ashamed of it." The explanation of it all is written on the picture 
 by its present owner : " Sent to me by Sir John Gilbert, R.A., in 
 consequence of my Punch notice about his ' Ready ' picture in Royal 
 Academy, 1878, wherein I suggested that his next subject should be 
 Tick. F. C. B." Just then a wire-haired fox-terrier, the property of 
 one of Mr. Burnand's sons, rushes up as a reminder to note a couple 
 of canine etchings by Harding Cox. 
 
 Nearer in the direction of the conservatory is a black and white 
 of Miss Dorothy Dene, by Sir Frederick Leighton, a delightful little 
 group of Dutch children by G. H. Boughton, and hard by a couple 
 of pictures, reproduced in these pages. They are reminiscences of 
 Mr. Burnand's famous burlesque of Douglas Jerrold's nautical drama, 
 " Black-Eyed Susan," which had a run of over four hundred consecu- 
 tive nights at the Royalty Theatre. The first is by Fred Walker, 
 and shows Fred Dewar as Captain Cross free, and Miss Patty Oliver
 
 MR, F, C. BURN AND. 
 
 as the dark-eyed Susan (see next page). Their signatures are 
 appended. In this burlesque a low-comedy actor, who was a 
 marvellously clever dancer also, named Danvers, played Dame Hatley, 
 His feet moved at such a rate that when John Tenniel went to see it 
 
 From a Sketch by] 
 
 DANVEKS THE DANCER. 
 
 [Jo.'m T.-nni/'L 
 
 he chronicled the effect of the dancer's feet, as seen in the above 
 drawing, writing below it 
 
 Deer. 15, 1875. 
 
 Dear F. C. B., 
 
 The sketch you see 
 Of Dame Hatley 
 In your comedie 
 Burlesq u e 
 Was sketch'd by me 
 From memorie. 
 Haste, 
 Yours, 
 J. T. 
 
 The drawing room is a quiet, pretty apartment, lighted by a huge 
 chandelier suspended in the centre. The walls are of cream and 
 amber. The mirrors are many, some in white enamelled frames, 
 others in crimson plush. The windows are draped with lace and
 
 8 4 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS, 
 
 SKETCH BY FRED WALKER. 
 
 rose - coloured curtains. The portraits are not numerous these 
 pictorial reminders of friends are for the most part at Ramsgate 
 but one notes an excellent likeness of the Pope, an early cabinet 
 
 Prom a, Photo, by] 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott <t. Fry.
 
 MR. F. C, BURNAND. 85 
 
 of the owner of the house, and another of Mr. Toole as Paw 
 Claudian. On a table is a great album containing reproductions of 
 some of the works of art in the collection of Theophilus Burnand, 
 Esq., uncle of Mr. F. C. There are some grand examples by 
 Goodall, Cooper, Cooke, Horsley, Sant, etc., including Robcrts's great 
 work of the " Interior of Milan Cathedral." 
 
 The dining-room looks on the garden, where the trees arc just 
 shooting out their first welcome to the return of spring. The walls of 
 this room are of a calm pale blue. Silver cups and tankards are set 
 out on the oaken sideboard, flowers the tiny narcissus and yellow 
 lily fill the vases on the mantelpiece, and the " latest out " in books 
 are lying about. Over one of the bookcases are a trio of sketches by 
 Linley Sambourne, the centre of which shows Mr. Burnand smoking 
 
 From o Pkoto. by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott <t Fry. 
 
 a cigar with Bismarck, a little drawing of peculiar interest. Mr. 
 Burnand went to Aix-la-Chapelle, and this was sent to him by Mr. 
 Sambourne in remembrance thereof. As a matter of fact, the two B's 
 never met, but for all that the picture is a very " happy thought." An 
 etching by Professor Hubert Herkomer of Mr. J. S. Forbes, the chair- 
 man of the L. C. and D. Railway, hangs on the walls, and considerable 
 space is taken up by the same accomplished artist's striking life-size 
 picture of Mr. F. C. Burnand. Just beneath this is a crayon drawing 
 of Mr. Burnand's mother at the age of fifteen, which we here reproduce. 
 Upstairs in Mr. Burnand's dressing-room is a delightful painting of 
 the same lady by A. E. Chalon, R.A., done in 1834. I could not help 
 looking upon this room and the adjoining bedroom with some con-
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 Sketch 6tfl 
 
 THE TWO BS. 
 
 [Liriley Sambourne. 
 
 From a] 
 
 MR. BVRNAXDS MOTHER. 
 
 [Pa 'nting. 
 
 siderable curiosity. Mr. 
 Burnand has only been 
 an occupant of the house 
 for a few months. This 
 room was once occupied 
 by Miss Elliott, who 
 afterwards became Mrs. 
 Osborne. 
 
 The study is to the 
 left of the entrance-hall, 
 and is made bright by a 
 small glass conservatory 
 in the window. The 
 writing table is a large 
 one. The letter-clips are 
 suggestive. One takes the 
 shape of a huge silver 
 " B," the other is a silver 
 anchor twined round with 
 golden ropes. On this 
 table a double row of books 
 are set out the back row 
 comprising a dozen or more 
 standard dictionaries.
 
 MR. K C. BURN AND. 
 
 From a Photo. 
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 The chair occupied by Mr. Burnand when writing is of black ebony 
 when reading, a distinctly comfortable-looking brown leather easy- 
 chair. The wooden stage which stands close by is five-and-twenty 
 years old. It is 
 an exact model 
 of the stage of 
 the old Royalty, 
 with only one 
 trap -door, which 
 was used for every- 
 thing, from the 
 unexpected ap- 
 pearance of a 
 sprite to the 
 sudden disappear- 
 ance of a banquet. 
 To-day Mr. Bur- 
 nand works out 
 all his situations 
 on it when play- 
 
 From 0, Photo, by] MR. BURNAND'S MODEL STAGE. 
 
 [Elliott it Fry. 
 
 writing. 
 
 figures for his characters, just as Mr. W. S. Gilbert does, and, in the 
 old "New Royalty" days, Patty Oliver would often have these wooden 
 characters dressed up in diminutive silks and satins. I counted a 
 dozen pipes on the mantel-board from a small meerschaum to a 
 weighty cherrywood. All round the apartment are bookshelves, with 
 convenient cupboards below.
 
 88 
 
 ILL LSTRA TED INTER VIE \VS. 
 
 ' Ah ! that snuff-box," exclaimed Mr, Burnand, as I took up an old 
 gold Empire box, on the lid of which was a bouquet of diamonds 
 " It was a legacy, It belonged to an old friend on whom I was 
 constantly playing practical jokes when stopping at his house. He 
 had a habit of always keeping the box by the side of him at the 
 head of the table, to which his hand used to wander in search of it 
 
 continually. On the occasion 
 of a dinner party I hid the 
 box. Dinner proceeded. My 
 host's fingers wandered to the 
 customary place he was in a 
 great fidget the box not there, 
 of course. He appealed to us, 
 but we knew nothing about it. 
 He left the room in search of 
 it it was nowhere to be found. 
 Just as I was leaving I drew 
 him on one side and said 
 quietly, ' My dear old chap, 
 just a little testimonial I want 
 to present to you ! ' and put 
 the snuff-box in his hand, 
 
 " ' Ah ! ' he chuckled, ' you 
 seem very fond of that snuff- 
 box/ He must have gone to 
 his room that very night and 
 made an addition to his will, 
 for many years passed before 
 he died, and he left me the 
 snuff-box." 
 
 A set of boxing-gloves 
 and single-sticks are pictur- 
 esquely arranged on one of the 
 book-cases. Mr. Burnand is as 
 fond to-day of a fencing bout 
 or a little " play " with the 
 gloves as he was when at 
 Eton, where he was taught to 
 become useful in this direction 
 by a Corporal Munday. 
 
 Mr. Burnand began life as 
 a baby just seven months 
 before Her Gracious Majesty 
 
 ascended the throne. The latter event was in June, 1837, and 
 the former in November, 1836. Mr. Burnand claims to be a 
 " cockney " he was born somewhere within the sound of Bow 
 Bells, and was christened Francis Cowley, He was sent to 
 school when barely seven years old, and at his third school, at Paul's 
 Cray, Kent, he shared a bedroom with a schoolfellow who had a 
 
 MR, BURNAND AS POPPLE.
 
 MR, R C. BURNAND, 
 
 89 
 
 marvellous memory, and when lights went out they would lie awake 
 together whilst the youth would whisper to little Francis plot after 
 plot of Scott's novels. Francis used to dramatize them and act them 
 His first real dramatic effort, however, was at Eton. 
 
 " I went to Eton," said Mr. Burnand, " soon after I was thirteen. I 
 did my fagging very well. Pegging ! an excellent thing. It cannot 
 fail to give a boy a vast amount 
 of respect for his superiors. I 
 well remember the pain I felt 
 when I had to expend five 
 shillings in the purchase of my 
 own birch. I wish I had kept 
 that birch it would have been 
 an excellent reminder. I lived in 
 the Rev. Gifford Cooksley's house. 
 He was a very funny fellow. He 
 was wonderfully kind-hearted 
 so kind-hearted, indeed, that if 
 he had a fellow birched he would 
 not see him for a couple of days 
 afterwards. Cooksley was very 
 fond of theatricals. He often 
 took a party of us some seven 
 or eight to the old Windsor 
 theatre. He paid all expenses 
 seats in the dress circle, and a 
 supper afterwards. After the per- 
 formance we would go on the 
 stage and chat with the actors. 
 If there were any children playing 
 he always had sixpence for them. 
 Well, I wrote a play called ' Guy 
 Fawkes Day,' and it was pro- 
 duced in Gifford Cooksley's own 
 room. This same piece was also 
 played for one night only at the 
 Worthing Theatre soon after- 
 wards. The manager was to have 
 a benefit, and he called on a rela- 
 tive of mine asking for his patron- 
 age. The condition of granting 
 it was that ' Guy Fawkes Day ' 
 should be produced. It was. 
 
 " I went to Trinity College, Cambridge, when I was seventeen, 
 and remained there until twenty, when I took my B.A. degree." 
 
 I shall probably be correct in saying that though studies were 
 not forgotten acting was ever remembered. It was there that he 
 started the famous Amateur Dramatic Company, of which he is still 
 a member, and only recently the Honourable James Lowther set a 
 
 MR. BURNAND AS " RUMTIFOOZLE.'
 
 9 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 movement on foot for the painting of the founder's portrait, a com- 
 mission having been given to Mr. C. M. Newton, the artist. At 
 Cambridge Mr Burnand wrote some of the brightest and merriest 
 farces ever conceived. They had the true ring of humour about them. 
 He hands me a little volume. It contains some of the many pieces he 
 wrote whilst at Cambridge. " Villikins and his Dinah " was the first, 
 
 in which the author played 
 Gruffin ; another was " In for a 
 Holyday," in which Mr. Burnand 
 played Mr. Gustavus Popple, a 
 young gentleman retained be- 
 tween ten and three by Govern- 
 ment ; " Romance under Diffi- 
 culties,'' in which the author 
 appeared as Timothy Diggles ; 
 and " Alonzo the Brave, or Faust 
 and the Fayre Imogene," in 
 which Mr. Burnand acted a 
 prominent part. Through this 
 little volume are scattered criti- 
 cisms in ink and pencil. Here 
 are some suggestive remarks 
 made on the fly-leaf respecting 
 " St. George and the Dragon ! 
 An historical -comical -but-still- 
 slightly-mythical burlesque " : 
 " Wednesday, the 2Oth Feb- 
 ruary, 1855. 
 
 " First night of the bur- 
 lesque. Alf Thompson obliged 
 to throw up the King, on account 
 of being ordered off instanter to 
 the Crimea on the iQth. (3 p.m.) 
 Thornhill took the part The 
 first act, with the exception of 
 St. Georges speech, song 
 Tuftee's song and the last 
 chorus, hung fire ; Kelly utterly 
 forgetting his part, and the 
 prompter being among the 
 
 chorus he (Kelly) was a ' gone 
 coon.' Act II. Zara took, but 
 the duets between Zara and 
 
 Dragon went flatly. ' Oh diddle do' encored dubiously. The Bones dance 
 encored dubiously. Fanny Frail, great success. Scene 2nd, very fair. 
 'Cheap Chesterfield.' Scene 1st, Act III. poor, and Mr. F. C. Burnand 
 
 slightly forgot his tag which ." It is chronicled that the second night 
 
 of the burlesque was better. " Mr. Kelly got on very well, and havitig 
 discovered the jokes in' the daytime they were taken in the evening.'' 
 
 MR. BURNAND AS MF.PHIRTOPHELES.
 
 MR. F. C. BURN AND. 9 r 
 
 Mr. Burnand told with great gusto of his interview with the Vice- 
 Chancellor for permission for the first performance. 
 
 " The worthy Vice-Chancellor was in a hurry, as he had to attend 
 a " meeting of the Heads." Was it a Greek play? Good gracious, 
 no; it was " Box and Cox." After the query as to the Greek drama, 
 young Burnand was afraid to tell him the title, and therefore merely 
 said, " We are thinking of playing a little piece by Mr. Maddison 
 Morton." 
 
 " Fellow of Trinity ? " asked the Vice-Chancel lor. 
 He was not. 
 
 " Um ! And you propose acting a play written by Mr. Morton, 
 who is not a Fellow of Trinity ? What is the name ? " 
 " Box and Co.v," replied the undergracl. 
 
 Fortunately time prevented the Vice-Chancellor from asking if 
 Box and Cox were Fellows of Trinity, and he went forth and laid the 
 matter before " the Heads." The permission was denied. But Mr. 
 Burnand and his fellow Thespians were not to be put down by the 
 Heads. They got a couple of rooms at " The Hoop Hotel," and 
 after having ladders placed handy for escape in case the college 
 authorities got wind of the occurrence, a start was made. From that 
 day the club has remained one of the most successful of all amateur 
 societies. Here is the first programme : 
 
 A.U.C. 
 
 This evening will be presented 
 A FAST TRAIN ! HIGH PRESSURE ! ! EXPRESS ! ! ! 
 
 Colonel Jack Delaware Mr. G. Seymour 
 
 Griffin Mr. Tom Pierce. 
 
 Biffin Mr. A. Herbert. 
 
 To be followed by 
 
 DID YOU EVER SEND YOUR WIFE TO CAMRERWELL ? 
 
 Chesterfield Honcvbun Mr. Tom Pierce. 
 
 Crank ' Mr. W. Smith. 
 
 Mrs. Houston Mr. C. Digby. 
 
 Mrs. Crank Mr. T. King. 
 
 Mrs. Jewell Mr. R. Johnson. 
 
 To conclude with the Burlesque Tragic Opera, 
 BOM BASTES FURIOSO. 
 
 Artaxominons (King of Utopia) Mr. Tom Pierce. 
 
 Fusbos Mr. T. King. 
 
 General Bombastes Mr. James Beale. 
 
 Distaffina Mr. C. Digby. 
 
 Army, Courtiers, &c. 
 
 Acting Manager Tom Pierce, Esq. 
 
 Stage Manager N. Yates, Esq. 
 
 Prompter J. Shepherd, Esq 
 Scenery and Appointments by S. J. E. Jones, Esq. 
 
 Many of these names were noms de theatre. Mr. A. Herbert was 
 General Fitz-Gerald, whilst Mr. Tom Pierce was Mr. F. C. Burnand. 
 It was under the name of " Tom Pierce " that he wrote many suc- 
 cessful plays. The portraits reproduced in these pages show Mr. 
 Burnand in many of the characters which he played at Cambridge
 
 9 2 
 
 ILL US TRA TED INTER VIE WS, 
 
 . BURN'AN'D AS THE " EX-CHICKEN 
 
 as Popple, in." In for a Holyday" ; as Mephistopheles, in " Alonzo the 
 Brave " ; as Jumbo, in " Turkish Waters " ; as Rumtifoozle ; and as 
 the Ex-Chicken, with Mr. Quinton Twiss a celebrated amateur as 
 Benjamin Bobbin, in " B. B.," a farce written by Mr. F. C. Burnand in 
 conjunction with the late Mr. Montagu Williams. Mr. Burnand still 
 has the MS. of the original plot of " Alonzo the Brave," produced 
 at Cambridge. 
 
 " Well," Mr. Burnand continued, in his happiest mood, " I took my 
 degree, and left Cambridge. I may tell you that during my last year 
 at Cambridge I determined to adopt the Church as my profession, and 
 an uncle of mine promised me a good country living, which was at 
 that time in his gift. My studies were commenced under Dr. Harold 
 Brown, and continued at Cuddesdon College, under the Rev. H. P. 
 Liddon subsequently Canon Liddon. However, I finally found 
 myself in the Seminary of the Oblatcs of St. Charles at Bayswater, 
 of which community Dr. Henry Edward Manning the late Cardinal 
 was the head. I have seen Cardinal Manning remember, I am 
 speaking of the days when I was at Bayswater put up his fists and 
 spar and hit out most scientifically with all the fun imaginable. In 
 his quiet way he would say, as he ' let go ' his left at an imaginary foe, 
 J Ah! I think I could do it.' I must confess to commencing a play 
 even whilst I was studying there. I finished my reading, and left 
 Previous to doing so, I went to see Dr. Manning. 
 
 " ' Well, well,' he said, ' and what are you going to do ? '
 
 MR. F. C. BURN AND. 
 
 93 
 
 " ' I'm not quite sure, Dr. Manning,' was my reply. 
 
 " ' Ah ! ' said the Doctor, ' I'm afraid you have no vocation for the 
 priesthood.' 
 
 " ' No,' I said, ' I have no vocation at least, not for the priest- 
 hood.' 
 
 " ' I don't understand,' the Doctor exclaimed, ' what you mean 
 by a vocation for anything else. 
 This is a great question, and 
 one concerning the soul.' 
 
 " Then I went straight at it. 
 ' Well, Doctor,' I said, ' 1 rather 
 thought of going on the stage.' 
 
 " ' Why, you might as well 
 call cobbling a vocation,' the 
 Doctor said, surprised. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I replied, quietly, 
 ' there would be more sole in it, 
 wouldn't there ? ' 
 
 " I can see him now laugh- 
 ing. He let me go. 
 
 "Shortly after that I went 
 to Edinburgh, where I met my 
 old Etonian school friend, Mr. 
 Montagu Williams, and acted 
 at Mr. Wyndham's Robert 
 Wyndham, not Charles theatre. 
 Then I stayed a good time at 
 Esher with George Meredith. 
 He had just written his first 
 book, ' Richard Feverell ' a work 
 never beaten by himself. I have 
 a first edition of it. I came to 
 London, and went to the Bar 
 not with success. I did a little 
 at the Clerkenwell Sessions. 
 Why did I give up the Bar ? 
 The following is the reason : I 
 made a fearful hash of a case of 
 forgery in which the wife was 
 committed with her husband. I 
 had to defend the wife ; Besley 
 was for the prosecution. It will 
 show you how much I knew 
 
 about the ways of the court when I tell you that I actually asked 
 Besley what to do. He wrote back on a slip of paper, 'Just get up 
 and say, "Coercion by husband." ' I did. Russell Gurney, the Recorder, 
 at once discharged her. The ungrateful woman was so cross at being 
 separated from her husband that she took off her boot and threw it 
 at me. With the throwing of the boot I threw up the Bar.
 
 94 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS, 
 
 " I was then play-writing. My first piece was produced at the 
 St. James's, under the direction of Chatterton and Miss Wyndham. 
 It ran a hundred nights a very considerable run in those days. I 
 got 2$ down, and 2 a night for it How did I get my first 
 commission ? I will tell you. At one time of great distress and 
 difficulty I had to sell all my books. I thought to myself, ' I've got 
 four plays printed, why should they not bring me a little coin ? ' I 
 called on Mr. Lacy in the Strand, and he gave me 8 for them. 
 I had a MS. of 'Dido,' which I had shown to Mr. W. B. Donne, the 
 Licenser of Plays. He advised me to show it to Robson. Robson 
 had just produced a burlesque on ' Medea,' so could not manage it. 
 I gave the MS. to Lacy to look over. Shortly afterwards I had a 
 letter from him asking me to come down to his shop. It seems a Mr. 
 Chas. Young had been struck by the piece. Young was an Australian 
 comedian. He liked one of the parts, and promised to show it to 
 Chatterton, one of the then lessees of the St. James's. Chatterton 
 accepted it. At this time I did not know a soul in the literary world. 
 Then I wrote ' B. B.' with Montagu Williams, another piece ' The 
 Isle of St. Tropez' with him for the Wigans, and I was writing 
 burlesques pretty frequently for the Olympic. 
 
 " Robson was unequalled as a comedian. He was a great study, 
 with wonderful flashes of real wit at rehearsal. He played in ' B. B./ 
 and I may tell you that it was his personality which suggested the 
 part to Montagu Williams and myself. At rehearsal Robson used to 
 make us laugh so much that we couldn't get on, and a farce taking 
 forty minutes to play would often take three hours with him to 
 rehearse. In the midst of a passage he would shout, ' Oh ! oh ! I've 
 thought of such a funny thing ! Now supposing,' addressing a brother 
 actor, ' I put my left hand on your shoulder just in that part. Now 
 let's run through that little bit again ! ' 
 
 " We did as he requested, and at the situation Robson would 
 put his right hand on the other actor's shoulder, which, of course, 
 reversed the positions. When we remonstrated with him it was 
 always, ' Oh, the other wouldn't have done at all ! " 
 
 It will be a surprise to many to know that Mr. Burnand's 
 connection with Punch of which paper he was destined, years after, 
 to become the Editor commenced when he was at college. He was 
 a capital draughtsman, and recorded his impressions pictorially on 
 the fly-leaf of any book he could lay his pencil on. There are, in 
 Vol. xxviii. of Punch, a couple of pictures, with no signatures, drawn 
 by Leech, the original drawings for which were sent to Mark Lemon 
 then the Editor by Mr. Burnand whilst at Cambridge. One is on 
 page 28 of the volume. This is entitled, " Friendly, but Very 
 Unpleasant " : 
 
 Lively Party (charging elderly gentleman with his umbrella) : " Halloa, 
 Jones!" 
 
 Disgust of Elderly Party, whose name is Smith. 
 
 The " Elderly Party's " face is just as Mr. Burnand drew it ; the 
 other is Leech's own, and, therefore, all the more remarkable. The
 
 MR, F. C BURN AND, 
 
 95 
 
 second picture, here given, is still more interesting. Though Mr, 
 Burnand knew neither Leech nor Mark Lemon, when he sent the 
 drawing he requested John Leech to be kind enough to copy the Dean 
 
 exactly, as it 
 was a likeness 
 of the Rev. Mr. 
 Medley, Senior 
 Dean of Trinity 
 College, Cam- 
 bridge, while the 
 youth was a 
 burlesque pre- 
 sentment of him- 
 self. Owing to 
 Mr. Burnand's 
 going in for 
 acting, he had 
 sacrificed a very 
 small mous- 
 tache. 
 
 Mr. Burnand 
 had very little 
 difficulty in get- 
 ting on the staff 
 of Punch. Whilst 
 engaged in play- 
 writing he also 
 did considerable 
 journalistic 
 work, and 
 amongst other 
 journals was 
 with the late 
 Henry J. Byron 
 
 and Mr. W. S. Gilbert on Fun. Tom Hood was Editor then, and the 
 proprietor a looking-glass manufacturer named Maclean. 
 
 " Maclean," Said Mr. Burnand, " used to smile very broadly, and 
 show a set of teeth that led Byron to call him Maclean teeth. I took 
 a very good idea to Maclean. It was to imitate the popular novelists 
 of the day, and I drew out the first sketch for his inspection. He 
 wouldn't see it. I wrote to Mark Lemon and asked him to see me. 
 He did he saw me and my notion at once. The first was to be a 
 burlesque of a page in The London Journal. Sir John Gilbert was 
 illustrating that paper at the time. 
 
 " ' We'll get Gilbert to do the pictures,' cried Lemon. Gilbert 
 undertook the work, and so it came about that he had to burlesque 
 himself! Millais did a picture for it, so did ' Phiz,' Du Maurier, and 
 Charles Keene. 
 
 " Keene ! I never knew Keene tell an anecdote in his life. He 
 
 Dean. "WBV, SIB!" 
 
 Small University Man (wnder die impression tlvat lie has irritated tlie DEAN by his 
 
 conspicuous moustaches). "I BELIEVE TOO WANIiD TO ..SPEAK TO ME, SIB, ABOUT 
 ABODT MT MoeSTACHIOS I " 
 
 Dean. "Sous MISTAKE, SIR! I DIDN'T PEBCETTE TEAT ion HAD AMY I" 
 
 MR. BURNAND AND THE DEAN. 
 By kinl psrmusim of the Proprietors of "Puneh."\
 
 9 6 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 couldn't. He could recollect something about a story, but could 
 never get through it. There he would sit, pulling away at his little 
 stump of a pipe, and all of a sudden break out into a laugh and 
 chuckle, and endeavour to contribute his anecdote something in this 
 style : 
 
 " ' I can't help laughing' chuckle. ' I once went to see' chuckle 
 'somebody I forget his name, but you II know about twenty-five years 
 ago' chuckle. ' When I say twenty-five I mean two or three years ago ' 
 
 chuckle. 'I was 
 going from ' 
 chuckle ' what's 
 that place ? Ah ! 
 I forget, but it 
 was on a 'bus. 
 There, it was the 
 funniest thingyou 
 ever saw ' pro- 
 longed chuckle 
 ' I was outside 
 no, it was inside, 
 when suddenly 
 the man said to 
 
 me ' 
 
 "'Whatman, 
 Charlie?' we 
 would ask. 
 
 " ' Why, the 
 man. He said to 
 me no it wasn't 
 me. Ah ! well, 
 it's no matter ' 
 chuckle. 
 
 '"Well, what 
 made, you laugh, 
 Charles?' was our 
 question. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 MR. BURNAND. 
 
 [Elliott < Frv. 
 
 " ' Why, the 'chuckle' the the joke ! ' 
 
 " ' What joke ? ' 
 
 " ' Well ' chuckle ' I hardly remember the joke ; but it was 
 about that time ! ' 
 
 " Poor Keene had an anecdote which he always wound up with 
 ' They were Ribston pippins/ but nobody ever knew what the story 
 was about, or where it began. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I knew Thackeray well. Thackeray sold me cnce. It 
 happened at his house at Prince's Gate, on the occasion of my first 
 visit there. He had his study fitted up with bookshelves all round. 
 Thackeray would invariably lead up the conversation with a reference 
 to some poet. I thought him in error one day, so I said, ' I don't 
 think that is the quotation.'
 
 MR. R C, BURNAND. 
 
 97 
 
 u '- 1 think so,' replied Thackeray. c But there are his works on 
 that shelf/ pointing to the door, on which were arranged shelves, as I 
 thought ; ' mount the ladder and see for yourself.' 
 
 " I did so, made a grasp for the volume, and found they were all 
 dummies ! Thackeray was delighted," 
 
 To-day Mr. Burnand sits in the identical chair once occupied by 
 Mark Lemon, Shirley Brooks, and Tom Taylor, the latter of whom 
 he succeeded as editor of Punch in 1880. It is an old-fashioned 
 wooden arm-chair. Every Wednesday night the famous Punch dinner 
 is held. About fourteen sit down at the ancient table, on which are 
 cut the names of everybody cut with their own hands who have 
 been privileged to find a seat there. One visitor invariably creeps 
 into the editor's room the Punch cat. It is the biggest cat in the 
 neighbourhood of Fleet Street, and when Mr. Burnand is working it 
 always perches on his chair. The Punch dinner is a suggestive meal. 
 Everybody there contributes some idea. After dinner the members 
 of the Punch staff go into committee on the political and social topics 
 of the day. The result of this deliberation is the cartoon and second 
 cartoon, or " Cartoon, junior," of the next number, 
 
 It is a remarkable fact that only one mishap in the principal 
 cartoon has happened during Mr. Burnand's editorship. It was at 
 the period when Khartoum was supposed to be all right and General 
 Gordon safe, All England was expecting Gordon's release, and 
 Punch appeared with a picture of him triumphant, Mr. Burnand 
 was on his way with Mr. Sambourne to an exhibition of pictures in 
 Bond Street. Suddenly the newsboys were heard shouting. Their 
 rapid and often unintelligible utterances were misunderstood by Mr. 
 Burnand, who turned to his companion and said, "Well, we are all 
 right with the cartoon." 
 
 But the boys drew nearer. 
 
 " I don't think that is what they are crying," Mr, Sambourne said. 
 "I'll get a paper." 
 
 The paper contained the news of the death of General Gordon. 
 
 A Parisian paper, in commenting upon the prediction in Punch 
 said the cartoon " showed what all England was expecting." 
 
 I was just leaving The Boltons, and shaking hands with Mr. 
 Burnand. 
 
 '' How does one become a humorist ? " I asked. 
 
 ft Oh ! " was the reply, " it comes from having a serious turn of 
 IE Ind and not yielding to it ! "
 
 VII. 
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING, 
 
 From a Photo. J>vl 
 
 IN THE STUDY. 
 
 I miiott fry. 
 
 RAFTON STREET, Bond Street, is not a particularly 
 attractive thoroughfare, yet the opening of the door of 
 No. I5A secures admission to one of the most interesting 
 domiciles in the country. It is the home of the leading 
 actor in the land. Here lives a man whom to meet and 
 talk with means a real privilege. One whole long day 
 with Henry Irving is something to be remembered. He is the worst 
 possible actor in his own home there is no suggestion of the theatre 
 whilst sitting talking with him ; yet the romance inseparable from the 
 player's life pervades every nook and corner of his house. He tried 
 his utmost to deceive me he worked hard to conceal the kindly
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING. 
 
 99 
 
 nature which is written in every feature of his face. It was a failure. 
 I remembered those " little cheques." I thought of his pensioners ; 
 of folk who were kind to him in those struggling days of the story 
 of the Christmas dinner which a worthy old Scotch couple gave him 
 when, on that day of goodwill and good things, he was almost with- 
 out one, and innumerable small but welcome acts which to-day are 
 being repaid back a hundredfold. I never met a man who talked less 
 about himself and more about other people than Henry Irving. With 
 delightful diplomacy he evaded my questions which would incriminate 
 himself of kindliness. My description of the great actor is of the 
 simplest character. He has the kindest face you ever saw, but you 
 must look into it first 
 
 From a Pl-oto. by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry- 
 
 I passed with him one long day, first at his home and then in a 
 convenient four-wheeler to the theatre. The staircase of his house is 
 replete with grand bronzes. One of Don Quixote is just opposite the 
 dining-room door. Here, too, are many views of Venice, and a 
 number of sketches by Seymour Lucas. The dining-room overlooks 
 Bond Street It is a distinctly comfortable room. A bust of Kemble 
 is over the bookcase, with another of Dante. The exquisite Spanish 
 ware is to be envied. On one side of the mantelpiece is an interest- 
 ing reminiscence of Mrs. Siddons a picture of " The Shoulder of 
 Mutton Inn," Brecon, South Wales, where she was born, an 
 excellent portrait of the famous actress herself, and a letter from 
 her to Lord Avon. The latter is in very tiny running writing, and
 
 IOO 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 reads : " Thank you for your kind note, my dear Lord Avon. We 
 shall be most happy to attend you at dinner. Alas ! Alas ! that 
 these delightful summers are so soon to end," The pattern of the 
 chairs in this apartment is highly suggestive of King Arthur and the 
 Knights of the Round Table. 
 
 The little cigar-room adjoins this. The boxes of weeds are 
 many, and are stored in a huge cabinet The last portrait ever 
 taken of Charles Mathews hangs here, together with a fine engraving 
 of Charles I. A bronze of a French harlequin stands just in the 
 shadow of the light from the window; quaint old books fill corners, 
 and over the mantel-board are examples of the Venetian school. 
 
 There is much of deep interest in the drawing-room and small 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 lEUMt Jt Fry. 
 
 reception-room upstairs. An old Empire clock has retired from 
 work for some time. It now rests on the white enamel mantel- 
 board. In the bookcase are some very fine and old editions of 
 Shakespeare. Mr. Irving possesses over thirty different editions, all 
 told. Every one is dated. Here is the third edition of the Bard 
 once the property of the Duke of Bedford. Another, originally in 
 the possession of the Earl of Aylesford, in red leather and gilt 
 binding, could not be purchased for $oo. The lives and memoirs 
 marvellous in their completeness of Edmund Kean, Garrick, and 
 Macready here also find their place. 
 
 The memoirs of Kean filled a quarter of the room when laid out on 
 the floor. Mr. Irving bought up the innumerable sheets, engravings,
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING. 
 
 101 
 
 and what not, including priceless letters and the like, and pasted eight 
 and nine of them on top of one another on a single sheet. It was an 
 unwieldy mass of hidden treasure, and Mr. Irving requested an 
 obliging friend to "amuse himself" with sorting them out, whilst he 
 was in America. On his return the thing was done. 
 
 A small case contains the russet boots which Edmund Kean wore 
 as Richard 111., and the sword he used as Coriolanus. A companion 
 cabinet is in the drawing-room. One by one the treasures are taken 
 
 EDMUND KEAN S BOOTS, SWORD AND PURSE. 
 
 From a Photo, bj KUiott <k Fry. 
 
 out and talked about. Here is David Garrick's ring, which he gave 
 to his brother on his death-bed. The Baroness Burdett-Coutts 
 presented it to Mr. Irving. Two watches are here. One is the gold 
 timekeeper of John Philip Kemble, the other a silver one which 
 formerly belonged to Edwin Forest. As I held the latter in my hand, 
 Mr. Irving said, quietly : 
 
 " Do you notice the time by it ? " 
 
 It was thirty-eight minutes past five.
 
 IO2 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 " That watch stopped at the very moment Forest breathed his 
 last ! " said Mr. Irving, as he gently replaced it. 
 
 But the treasures of the case are not exhausted. You can handle 
 the silver dagger worn by Lord Byron, a pair of old sandals worn by 
 Edmund Kean, a pin with a picture of Shakespeare, once the property 
 of Garrick, an ivory tablet which belonged to Charles Mathews. 
 Do not overlook this little purse of fine green silk thread and silver 
 band. It was found in the pocket of Edmund Kean when he died. 
 There was not a sixpence in it ! It was given to Henry Irving by 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 There are some fine pictures in the drawing-room, A bust of 
 Miss Ellen Terry is in the far corner. The silver shield which was 
 
 CORNER OF DRAWING-ROOM, 
 
 [EttMt tt Fry. 
 
 presented to John Kemble in Edinburgh hangs on the wall. It is 
 still surrounded with the wreath of laurel leaves now faded which 
 Mr. Irving had thrown to him the last night of the season. 
 
 Then the name of Toole is mentioned. If you want an example 
 of friendships, " Partners for Life," link the names of Irving and Toole 
 together. Their companionship is just as real as it is delightful. 
 John L. Toole's delight is to surprise his friend Irving. On a table 
 stands a fine silver-gilt trophy presented to John Philip Kemble on 
 his retirement from the stage. A part of its inscription reads : 
 " Bought from Robert Tait, Esq., and presented to Henry Irving, Esq., 
 by his old friend J. L. Toole, 5th July, 1884." 
 
 Scene Grafton Street. Time morning. Enter Mr. Tccle, 
 meeting Mr. Irving.
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING. 
 
 103 
 
 Mr. Toole : " I've found something that will interest you, Irving. 
 A vase presented to Kemble. Fine piece of plate designed by 
 Flaxman. Come to Messrs. Blanks and look at it." 
 
 Exit together. Arrival at shop. Big price asked for it. Toole 
 pooh-poohs the price. Thinks they ought to be only too glad to give 
 it to Mr. Irving. Shopkeeper immovable. Toole won't have it 
 " only wanted his friend to see it," etc., etc. The two friends leave the 
 shop. Toole induces Irving to go for a stroll. They return to Grafton 
 Street. Toole departs. The vase was upstairs ! 
 
 JOHN PHILIP KEMBLE'S SHIELD. 
 
 " That was his way of doing it," said Mr. Irving to me. 
 
 Mr. Irving prizes nine volumes of " Dickens." The volumes are 
 full of letters of the great novelist, bits of MSS. and drawings, all 
 associated with his name. They are Foster's " Life of Dickens," 
 interleaved with priceless mementos. Toole quietly left them at 
 Grafton Street one day when Mr. Irving was out. 
 
 " Just one little anecdote to show you the wonderful goodness of 
 dear old Toole for everybody. This will illustrate his fondness for 
 children. Many years ago, when we were both young men, we were
 
 104 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE \VS. 
 
 playing together at a theatre in Edinburgh. Ristori was appearing 
 at another house in ' Marie Stuart.' Our programme consisted of 
 three or four pieces ; we had finished the opening piece and were free 
 for the second, so we made up our minds to slip over and see Ristori 
 for half an hour or so. It so happened that the last piece on the 
 evening's bill was ' The Birthplace of Podgers." As Toole has to 
 appear in this very early he half dressed for the character, putting on 
 his corduroy trousers, red vest, and a big overcoat to hide them. 
 
 " We were just leaving the stage door together when we caught 
 sight of three little boys, who were standing there watching the actors 
 go in and out. It always was, and always will be, a fascinating 
 spot for little boys. Toole turned to me suddenly : ' Can't help it, 
 old chap ! Can't help it, must do it ! ' He rushed up to the 
 youngsters. 
 
 " ' Halloa ! my little friends ! Want to see Podgers ? Come 
 along. Look sharp here he is ! ' and he displayed to the wondering 
 youngsters his beautiful 
 red waistcoat with the 
 white pearl buttons. 
 
 " ' Here, wait a minute ! 
 There's one for you, 
 another for you, my little 
 man. Why ! I have got 
 another left for you. 
 Good - bye, God bless 
 you ? ' He had given 
 them all a penny each, 
 and we rushed away to 
 see Ristori." 
 
 A great black raven 
 stands just over the door 
 which leads to the study. 
 
 This is an apartment suggestive of much of which one can write 
 very little. The writing-table is placed near the window. Fresh 
 flowers had been put in the tiny vases a few minutes before. The 
 pictures are numerous ; the works of reference on every conceivable 
 subject can be counted by the hundred. I liked the simple picture 
 of Miss Ellen Terry with two dogs on her lap. She has written 
 on it : " We wish you many happy returns of the day, and shall ever 
 remain your loving, faithful friends, Fussie and Ned ; Feb. 6, 1889." 
 
 Here is Fussie, just come into the rcom. He has been following 
 us about the house all the morning. Who is Fussie? A faithful little 
 black and white fox-terrier, who goes with its master every night to 
 the theatre, patiently sits on a mat in his dressing-room until the 
 performance is over, and then hurries home again. He wakes every- 
 body in the house, sometimes at five o'clock in the morning, then 
 starts out for a tour of Bond Street, Oxford Street, Regent Street, 
 and the neighbourhood, returning in three or four hours' time. Fussie 
 once belonged to poor Fred Archer, and was given to Mr. Irving by 
 
 Ifro-m a Photo. ly\ 
 
 FUSSIE." 
 
 Ellen Term.
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING, I > 5 
 
 Miss Terry. Miss Terry was at Newmarket one day going over some 
 stables, and Fred Archer gave her a little pup, which was appropriately 
 christened Fussie. Mr. Irving assured me that if he went to America 
 and forgot to take the little terrier, the latter would swim the Atlantic 
 after him ! Fussie specially sat to Miss Ellen Terry for the photo. 
 reproduced. He was " caught " in the act of carrying his master's 
 walking-stick. 
 
 At the far end of the study is a great glass, which reaches from 
 the floor to the ceiling. Against this lean a number of swords, all 
 suggestive of interest, and many walking-sticks. The sword Edmund 
 Kean wore as Richard III. is in a crimson velvet scabbard ; another 
 is David Garrick's sword; and here is the one used by Mr. Irving as 
 
 From a Pfioto. by] 
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 t & Fry. 
 
 Hamlet for 200 nights, the crape with which it is covered being almost 
 in tatters. There are a score of walking-sticks. One of them belonged 
 to the late Frank Marshall, a cane he carried for years. 
 
 Then Mr. Irving sat down in his chair a chair of incomparable 
 comfort We spent the afternoon in " looking back." He spoke with 
 earnestness about everything, and with gentleness about everybody. 
 He seemed to me to always think before he spoke. His work has 
 long ago told of the scholarly artist which he is, but you begin to 
 understand it better after you have met the man. 
 
 One would like to write much about his brilliant career, a life 
 which he has used to elevate the profession, of which he is the head, 
 into the place it now occupies in the estimation of the public. Mr.
 
 io6 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 Irving lives, and has lived, for his art ; it will surely live after him, 
 Suffice it now to talk about the many pleasant incidents of a \vell- 
 spent day which only ended when I said " good-bye " to him at the 
 theatre late at night and with them something of the work he has 
 done. 
 
 John Henry Brodribb was born at Keinton, near Glastonbury, on 
 February 6th, 1838. Although Irving was adopted as his nom de 
 theatre, it is now his legal name, he having had letters patent granted 
 to him for this purpose. He passed the early years of his boyhood 
 in Cornwall. At eleven years of age he became a pupil at Dr. 
 Pinches' school, in George Yard, Lombard Street, a locality rendered 
 famous from the fact that it was at a chop-house in this neighbour- 
 
 From a Photo, bj 
 
 SOME FAMOUS SWORDS AND STICKS. 
 
 hood that Pickwick partook of his chops and tomato sauce. It was 
 at Dr. Pinches' academy that young Irving astonished both teacher 
 and taught with a recital of that somewhat weird though dramatic 
 
 poem, " The Uncle." From the school he went to the desk to an 
 
 East India house in Newgate Street, which is still in existence. Mr. 
 Irving admits to learning poems and parts out of convenient books 
 which he managed to hide between the pages of the ledger. 
 
 " I know, one day," said Mr, Irving, merrily, " I started to learn a 
 piece on my way to the office. I couldn't leave it. Every moment 
 when the manager's eye was not on me, out came my book. I made 
 up my mind to finish it that day, During my dinner hour I went 
 and hid myself in a huge wooden packing-case. The hour went by,
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING. 107 
 
 and I knew it not. It appears they were searching all over for 
 me, and it was just on six o'clock before they came across me 
 in the box." 
 
 He made his first appearance at the new Sunderland Theatre on 
 September 29th, 1856. Then he worked hard in the provinces, often 
 learning seventeen and eighteen parts a week. The early hours in 
 the morning he passed with wet towels round his head, working at 
 hb lines, would astonish the most enthusiastic college " cram." From 
 Sunderland he went to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Manchester, and Liver- 
 pool. Mr. Toole practically obtained the first London engagement 
 for Mr. Irving. They had met some time previously in Edinburgh. 
 But a small part in " Ivy Hall," at the Princess's, on September 24th, 
 1859, did not content the young actor. Away he went to the 
 provinces again, working harder than ever, and not for another seven 
 years did he return to London, as leading man at the St. James's, 
 playing Doricourt in " The Belle's Stratagem." His marvellous 
 character-acting as Digby Grant in " The Two Roses," at the Vaude- 
 ville, is still remembered, and his " little cheque " rings in the ears of 
 many. He played Grant for 300 nights. He was not regarded as a 
 tragic actor then, and his magnificent performance of Mathias in 
 " The Bells," at the Lyceum Theatre, under H. L. Bateman, came as 
 a revelation, only to be intensified after appearing as Charles /., 
 Eugene Aram, and Richelieu when he appeared as Hamlet. He 
 represented the Dane for 200 nights, the longest run of the play on 
 record. More Shakespearean and other work followed, until Mrs. 
 Bateman retired from the Lyceum. On December 3Oth, 1878, the 
 Lyceum Theatre opened with " Hamlet," which was played another 
 hundred nights. On the memorable 3Oth December, Miss Ellen 
 Terry commenced her work at the Lyceum. The actor had now 
 become a manager, and no management before or since has been 
 attended by such brilliant results. His productions have been watched 
 and waited for" The Merchant of Venice," " Twelfth Night," " Much 
 Ado About Nothing," " Vicar of Wakefield," " Macbeth," " Faust," 
 " The Cup," " Othello " in which he alternated the parts of the Moor 
 and lago with Edwin Booth " Henry the Eighth," which as a 
 spectacle has never been equalled ; and " King Lear " and Lord 
 Tennyson's "Becket." 
 
 Three times has Mr. Irving, accompanied by Miss Ellen Terry 
 and the Lyceum Company, crossed to America. As in this country 
 so in America his genius was instantaneously recognised. Mr. 
 William Winter, the eminent dramatic critic, says : " He speaks to 
 the soul and the imagination." But little has been said here of Miss 
 Ellen Terry's share in the Lyceum triumphs. Mr. Irving impressed 
 upon me the work she had done but, I have a little note on my 
 table as I write now. It bears the signature of Ellen Terry. For 
 further information see subsequent pages. 
 
 We spoke of many things that afternoon on matters merry and 
 subjects solid. Mr. Irving is never happier than when telling a story 
 against himself.
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 " Many years ago," he said, " I was playing in Dublin. I was 
 suddenly called upon to undertake a heavy part the actor who was 
 cast for it having been taken ill. In those days your gallery boy was 
 a much greater conversationalist than he is now I mean, if a couple 
 of gallery friends were separated, they thought nothing of holding 
 a conversation across the house whilst the play was in progress. Well. 
 I made my first entrance. 
 
 " ' Is that him ? eh ? ' shouted one youth to another. 
 
 " ' No,' came the reply, ' them is the young man's clothes ; they'll 
 shove him out later on ! ' " 
 
 The drift of this little story will be understood. 
 
 " Have I ever had any accidents ? Only one serious one. 
 It was in the first run of 
 ' Hamlet.' The sword slipped 
 out of Laertes' hand and cut 
 me near the eye. A dear 
 friend of mine, Dr. George 
 Critchett, was in front ; he 
 came round and stopped the 
 bleeding by twelve hours' ap- 
 plication of ice. Fencing? 
 You saw my foils downstairs 
 on the table ? I never practise 
 now, for if once learnt the art 
 is never forgotten. I took my 
 first lessons from a man named 
 Shury, in Chancery Lane, after- 
 wards from Roland, in Edin- 
 burgh, and also from McTurk 
 at Angelo's. Have I ever for- 
 gotten my part ? Yes, I have. 
 It is a curious thing that the 
 more perfect you are in a part, 
 the more likely you are to 
 ' stick.' It is often the case 
 after you have been playing 
 the same character for a 
 hundred or more nights. The 
 worst part of it is that when 
 you want the prompter he is 
 never there. 
 
 " ' Give me the word,' says 
 the actor. 
 
 " ' What word do you 
 want ? ' replies the prompter." 
 
 The day was going quickly. 
 
 Mr. Irving suddenly jumped up. 
 
 " Half-past six ! We must 
 
 be Off. ExCUSe me whilst I THE PRIVATE DOOR OF THE LYCEUM THEATRE.
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING. 109 
 
 just write a line. Look at that," passing me a letter ; " it came this 
 morning. I get many more like it." 
 
 It was a letter from a footman inviting Mr. Irving to produce an 
 original play in blank verse which he had written! 
 
 During our drive to the theatre he told me many things of 
 interest. On the question as to whether Mr. Irving thought a school 
 of acting necessary, he said that one could never make an actor. 
 You can teach him elocution, technique, but there is no making an 
 actor. Even technique is a life-long study. The fashions in hand- 
 shaking change every day. He studies his parts everywhere ; many 
 of the characters we are seeing to-day he had within his mind years 
 ago, and they have been developing and growing ever since. Then, 
 after years of playing, there is always something to learn in a 
 character. 
 
 Mr. Irving is one of the few actors who, at the conclusion of a 
 death scene in a tragedy, always fall forward. Mr. Irving has taken 
 the opinion of physicians and many old soldiers on the subject, and it 
 is the only natural way with those suddenly overtaken by death. 
 When a man was shot his head fell on his breast, and the body 
 always fell in the direction indicated by the head. 
 
 Just as we drove up to the private door of the theatre in Burleigh 
 Street, Strand, I asked Mr. Irving if he had ever met the late Cardinal 
 Manning. He never had. Yet as Cardinal Wolsey in " Henry the 
 Eighth," when the actor smiles, his expression is the exact counterpart 
 of that of the late Cardinal. 
 
 Fussie follows us in. Passing through a passage which leads 
 direct on to the stage, at the end we find some stairs. The walls just 
 here are covered with Indian matting. A very few steps, and you 
 have entered the dressing-room. It is just as cosy as it well can be. 
 The walls are covered with pictures and prints, including one by 
 Maclise, and Edmund Kean by Clint. Pictures of the actor himself 
 are not wanting, and portraits of Sarah Bernhardt, Ellen Terry, and 
 John L. Toole are in prominent positions. The place of honour is a 
 huge " King Arthur " chair. Here princes, poets, and politicians, men 
 of learning and of all nationalities, have sat 
 
 But it is the table which fascinates one most A clean white 
 linen cloth has been laid out, and everything is ready for making up. 
 Everything on the board is time-worn the table itself being a stage 
 "prop," and useful for banqueting scenes. The looking-glass tied 
 together with string has been in use for something like twenty 
 years ; the wicker-basket, which contains the making-up materials, is 
 of a good age. There is quite a variety of puffs. Tiny saucers and 
 plates are neatly arranged in order, containing various powders 
 principally a mixture of yellow ochre and white, for each will help to 
 suggest the complexion of Cardinal Wolsey, which is the character he 
 will play to-night. The chair placed in front of the table is old 
 and rickety, but he who has just sat down keeps it for associations' 
 sake, and it gives more comfort than a Turkish ottoman. 
 
 Fussie never stirs from the spot.
 
 no 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 There was still plenty of time to spare, as we had a reason for 
 reaching the theatre early. It was to talk about dear Charles 
 
 Mathews. Mr, 
 Irving took down 
 his picture. It 
 was given to him 
 by Mrs. Mathews, 
 
 TABLE IM THEATRE DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 and represents the electrical comedian at 
 
 seventy-six. It is a striking likeness ; 
 
 and the face of one of Mr. living's dearest friends brought many a 
 
 happy reminiscence to mind. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Irving, as he looked at the picture, " the 
 brilliancy and exquisite style of Mathews have never been excelled. 
 In my early days Mathews was a true friend to me yes, and in the 
 later days, too. I remember when I first went to the St. James's 
 Theatre ; I went as stage manager, and there were a lot of old actors 
 there amongst them Frank Matthews and Walter Lacy. I was a 
 young man amongst these old stagers. I admit to feeling nervous, 
 and was fearful lest I might do something which the older men might 
 resent. The first day came. All went very nicely, and we were 
 just commencing to rehearse ' The Belle's Stratagem,' when who 
 should skip on to the stage but Charles Mathews ! Stopping the 
 rehearsal for the moment, he rushed up to Frank Matthews and 
 Walter Lacy. 
 
 " ' Ah ! Frank, my boy Walter ! One moment. My young 
 friend, Irving Frank, Walter. Be kind to him. Good-bye. God 
 bless you ! ' And he was gone. 
 
 " Mathews had a tender heart. Here is another kindness of 
 Mathews. I once played a part in London, and was very much cut 
 up by the Press. Mathews was round at my rooms almost as soon
 
 MR. HEXR Y 1R VING. 
 
 in 
 
 as the papers were out. He talked to me for over an hour, cheered 
 me up, and did more for me in that hour than I can tell. ! heard 
 afterwards that as soon as he read the notices in the papers at his 
 
 breakfast, he got up 
 there and then, left 
 his meal unfinished,, 
 and hurried away. 
 
 " Mathews and 
 I were one day 
 locking through an 
 album, and came 
 across a drawing of 
 the back of a man. 
 
 " ' Lafont ! > I 
 cried. 
 
 " Mathews cried 
 out, ' What do you 
 know about La- 
 font ? ' 
 
 " ' I've seen him 
 act,' I replied. 
 
 " Mathews 
 turned to me very 
 quietly, and said : 
 * To that man I 
 owe all I built my- 
 self up on him ! 
 The fact is/* con- 
 tinued Mr, Irving, 
 ' when I was play- 
 ing at the St. 
 James's, after I had 
 finished I would 
 often drop into the 
 gallery of the Princess's Theatre and see the end of a French play. 
 From that gallery I saw an actor, which caused me to say inwardly, 
 ' That's my man.' He was great. That actor was Lafont. That 
 is how I recognised him in Mathews' album. 
 
 " Mathews was always letter-perfect, and severe with the forgetful 
 ones. Here is an instance. I was once playing at Edinburgh in 
 ' Bachelor of Arts.' A certain actor was cast for the part of Adolphus. 
 Mathews, in the play, was his tutor. It was necessary for the 
 elucidation of the plot for Adolphus to tell the story of his life to his 
 tutor. The scene arrived. He did not know his part He started 
 and stumbled, started again and stumbled worse, until at last, thinking 
 to get out of it, he turned to Mathews and said : ' Well, er if you'll 
 come into the next room I'll tell you the story ! ' 
 " Mathews caught him by the coat 
 "'Sit down, sir, 5 he cried, ' sit down. There are some ladies and 
 
 CHARLES MATHEWS. 
 
 From the Paintiny in 3f-. Irvintfa Dressing-room.
 
 TI2 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 MR. HENRY IRVING AS CARDINAL WOLSKY. 
 
 gentlemen in this house to-night who would like to hear you tell that 
 story Never mind me. Go on.' 
 
 " : Well, er ' began the youth. 
 
 :: : Just so,' said the irrepressible comedian, ' you wanted to tell me 
 that you were born ' 
 
 * ' Yes, 1 faltered the youth. 
 
 " ' And that after spending a few years '
 
 MR HENRY IRVING, 
 
 " ' Just so.' 
 
 " So Mathews filed out the whole speech for him. When he had 
 finished he turned to the young fellow and in a voice of thunder 
 cried : 
 
 " ' Now you may go into the next room !.' 
 
 " Here is a story just to show you the difference of opinion in 
 two great actors. The - - came to Birmingham, where I was 
 engaged. The play was ' A Scrap of Paper,' and I was cast for the 
 boy's part. In this I have to challenge a man of the world to fight. 
 He treats it as a joke, and suggests that it should take place in 
 
 Japanese 
 fashion, 
 which, ac- 
 cording to 
 him, is to 
 each take a 
 knife and 
 rush. Boy 
 gets very 
 fidgety at 
 
 " I used to take 
 a pocket-handker- 
 chief to wipe my 
 face at my prospects 
 in the duel.and manage, 
 at the same time, to let 
 an orange fall. The 
 audience were delighted 
 at this little bit of 
 business. Well, the 
 
 play was over the first night. A knock at my 
 dressing-room door Mr. and Mrs. - 
 wished to see me. ! got a most severe 
 lecture, and the orange business was for- 
 bidden. It didn't occur again. 
 
 " Some time afterwards I was at another theatre. Same piece 
 was played ; I was cast for the boy again, and Mathews was in it As 
 
 I didn't agree with the on the orange business, I introduced it 
 
 again, believing it helped the scene. The orange was dropped. 
 Mathews stopped and coughed. 
 
 " ' Good gracious ! ' I thought. ' I've bothered Mathews ! ' 
 " Still, after the play was over, no knock came to the door. On 
 the second night, thinking I inconvenienced Mathews, I left the piece 
 of 'business' out. That night there was a tap at the door. It was 
 Mathews. 
 
 " ' Well, young Irving, what's the matter with you to-night ? ' he 
 said ; ' you're as dull as ditchwater. Where's the orange ? Let's have 
 that orange, it's the hit of the piece.' "
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS, 
 
 Now Mr. Irving lays his glasses on one side it is time to 
 make up. By-the-bye, he considers it an advantage to the actor to be 
 short-sighted he doesn't see if the audience smiles at the serious 
 parts and cries at the comic 
 portions of the play. 
 
 The face finished, Mr. 
 Irving resumes his glasses. 
 The whole make-up has only 
 taken a few minutes. That 
 needed for Mathias in " The 
 Bells " is the simplest of all 
 such stage faces ; Shylock is 
 the most elaborate, occupying 
 three - quarters of an hour, 
 Richelieu and Charles /. rank- 
 ing next. Now Mr. Irving dons 
 the silken robes of the Cardinal 
 the biretta and book are 
 close at hand. A ring is put 
 on the finger ; a final glance, 
 and the great actor leaves the 
 dressing-room. 
 
 I follow quietly downstairs 
 talking together until we 
 reach the wings ; a door opens 
 in the scene ; Mr. Irving hur- 
 riedly remarks : " I'm off," and 
 the next moment a shout of 
 welcome tells me that Cardinal 
 Wolsey is on the stage. This 
 wonderful change, so sudden 
 and complete for he had 
 walked straight from his room 
 to the stage, the entrance 
 being cleverly timed this 
 sudden transition from the 
 man to the player was remark- 
 able. It was so all the even- 
 ing. Whilst on the stage he 
 at once became another man ; 
 with his exit the Cardinal was 
 completely forgotten. One 
 moment he would be in the 
 act of relating some merry 
 anecdote, only to break away 
 without a word of warning, in 
 the midst of it, and the recollection 
 listening to some magnificent speech. 
 
 BETWEEN THE ACTS. 
 
 of the story was soon lost in 
 
 The opportunity was afforded me of witnessing the workng of a
 
 MR. IRVING. 115 
 
 veritable little army of stage hands behind the scenes. It is a perfect 
 organization, and the enthusiasm displayed by the men, whether in 
 setting a scene or brushing the crimson plush chairs in readiness for 
 a change, seemed to tell that it was as much out of regard for the 
 man under whom they labour as it was for wages. But, when not 
 with Mr. Irving, I spent most of my time on a little wooden seat 
 which has been let into the proscenium wall, and affords an excellent 
 view of the stage from behind. It is the favourite scat of Mr. \V. 1C. 
 Gladstone when he visits the Lyceum, and many other eminent men 
 have occupied it. 
 
 I was sitting there quietly. Mr. Irving had just made his exit, 
 and was by my side. 
 
 " Comfortable seat ? " he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. " The 
 Chinese Ambassador sat there one night. We were playing 
 ' Hamlet.' Miss Terry was in the midst cf her mad scene. I was 
 just going round to see how my honoured Celestial friend was getting 
 on. He was in the act of walking on to the stage the playing of 
 Miss Terry had affected him so that he was burning to congratulate 
 her on the spot. I was only in the nick of time to hold him back ; 
 another half a foot and he would have made his ' first appearance ! ' 
 I wonder what the audience would have thought of the entrance of 
 somebody in the most gorgeous of robes, whose name was not 
 on the programme ! "
 
 VIII. 
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY. 
 
 From a Phota. oy Elliott <t Fry 
 
 N the course of my chat with Mr. Irving, 
 I casually hinted at a little something 
 which practically amounted to a promise. It was a 
 note from Miss Ellen Terry. That note has been 
 honoured, and it is a pleasurable effort to sit down 
 and endeavour to recollect all that happened during 
 nearly a couple of days spent with her at London and Winchelsea. 
 Eminent people who are homely are positive blessings and that is 
 just what Ellen Terry is. The first word she said to me when I 
 reached Winchelsea, as she sat holding the reins behind Tommy, the 
 pony, whilst Punch, her dog, seemed to be barking an invitation 
 to take my seat by its mistress's side, was " Welcome ! " I shall 
 always remember that greeting and what came of it. 
 
 But Winchelsea must wait for a few pages there is the house 
 in Barkston Gardens to be visited first, and then away to " Holiday 
 Home." If you walked round the square of great red brick houses 
 at Earl's Court which constitutes Barkston Gardens, in the summer
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY. 
 
 117 
 
 time, you would have no difficulty in finding Miss Terry's house. Its 
 number is flowers flowers flowers! They fill the window-sills and 
 block the balcony of the drawing-room. A man may be known by 
 the pictures he hangs on his walls so may a woman by the flowers 
 she puts in her vases and windows. Here at Barkston Gardens 
 they are of the simplest and homeliest kind, the tiny blue-bell, mar- 
 guerite, and the cottage nasturtium. Within this floral exterior I met 
 Miss Terry. She wore a long black gown, which to me suggested 
 Portia. She is tall, handsome, with a mouth that has a struggle on 
 the stage to keep away the smiles which refuse to be overcome, and 
 eyes that look at you and twinkle with heart-born merriment. Yet 
 against all this there is a stately grace which indicates what falls to 
 the lot of few women a merry mood at all times, and gifted genius 
 ever shining through it. 
 
 Dear old Mrs. Rumball her friend of twenty years sat there 
 watching her every movement. 
 
 " My little home ! " said Miss Terry, as I entered " only full of 
 twopenny-halfpenny things ; but I love them all for dear associa- 
 tions' sake." 
 
 Here are a very few of the things of which Miss Terry so wrongly 
 under-estimated the worth. The entrance-hall contains a proof 
 etching of Forbes Robertson's picture of the church scene in " Much 
 Ado About Nothing." To the right is the dining-room a delightful 
 apartment. The walls are of green, pink, and embossed gold, and 
 harmonize to perfection. A bust of Henry Irving is over a little 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM BAKKSTON GARDENS. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry.
 
 It8 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 book-case, the volumes on the shelves Shakespeare, Thackeray, 
 Dickens being hidden by art curtains ; drawings by Mrs. Hastings 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Terry the father and mother of the gifted actress 
 hang on the wall, together with those of her two children Mr. Gordon 
 and Miss Ailsa Craig. Over the quaint oaken sideboard is a reproduc- 
 tion of the Venus of Milo. Her table is in the recess of the window. 
 On this there is yet another portrait of Mr. Gordon Craig indeed, 
 her two children are in every room of the house. 
 
 Next to the dining-room, separated from the hall by great tapestry 
 curtains, is the smallest sitting-room imaginable. I never saw so many 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE SITTING-ROOM AND STUDY. 
 
 [Elli- 
 
 chairs in so small a space. This is in every sense of the word a study. 
 In a corner of this apartment is a great resting ottoman, with many 
 pillows thrown negligently upon it. It is here that Ellen Terry rests 
 and reads, living with the genius of the man who first conceived and 
 penned the lines in that little row of books on the wall, which bear 
 his name in golden letters Shakespeare. The knick-knacks in this 
 room are countless. A picture of Sheridan is reputed to be by 
 Gainsborough ; there are numerous original studies for costume 
 principally Shakespearean and a very small bust of Fechter is under 
 a glass shade on the mantel-board. A screen of Sir Walter Scott's is 
 noticeable. 
 
 The Alcove is the most delightful arrangement in miniature rooms 
 conceivable. It was really a bit of spare landing space now it is one 
 of the prettiest corners in the whole house. It is of white enamel. 
 As a specimen of artistic furnishing, this little alcove may be opened
 
 MISS ELLEN 1ERRY. 
 
 119 
 
 THE ALCOVE. 
 
 them autographed and accompanied by 
 
 Nordica, Miss Julia Neilson who married 
 
 Miss Mary Anderson, 
 
 Sarasate, and Salvini. 
 
 Signor Tosti has sent his 
 
 photo, and surrounded it 
 
 with words and music 
 
 " Good-bye, Summer, good- 
 
 bye, good-bye!" Tosti, one 
 
 day, specially sang this 
 
 beautiful song for Miss 
 
 Terry at a friend's house. 
 
 Very shortly afterwards this 
 
 pleasant memento came. 
 
 There is an old picture of 
 
 Mrs. Cowley, who wrote 
 
 " The Belle's Stratagem." 
 
 Where there are not books 
 
 there are pictures, such as 
 
 an admirable likeness of 
 
 Roger Kemblc, father cf 
 
 J. P. Kemble; Mrs. Sid- 
 
 dons, Sarah Bernhardt, 
 
 Forbes Robertson, and Miss 
 
 Terry and Henry Irving in 
 
 various characters. Fred 
 
 Barnard, the artist, is well 
 
 represented with etchings 
 
 out as a per- 
 fect model. It 
 won't let one 
 get away. 
 How cosy are 
 the cushions 
 under the 
 canopy of the 
 window how 
 quaint the 
 oaken table 
 and chairs, 
 which are an 
 exact model of 
 those used by 
 Shakespeare 
 himself ! 
 
 Over the 
 mantel -board 
 are many por- 
 traits, all of 
 kindly messages: Madame 
 Miss Terry's brother Fred 
 
 From a Photo, by] MISS ELLEN TERRY. [Window & Grove,
 
 120 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 of Mr. Irving as Digby Grant in " The Two Roses." An original study 
 as Hamlet is striking. There is also an excellent pencil sketch of Miss 
 Terry as Portia, whilst Sidney L. Smith is responsible for Miss Terry 
 as Beatrice. 
 
 A spinning-wheel is near the window. 
 
 " No, you are wrong," said Miss Terry ; "that is not the one I used 
 to sit down to as Marguerite in ' Faust.' I bought this in Nuremberg 
 and meant to use it, but, believe me, I found that an ' old property ' 
 one looked much better on the stage." 
 
 Just then a tiny little piping note was heard. It was as sweet 
 and as true as the note of a flute. It seemed to come from upstairs, 
 and was apparently the gentle whistling of an old German air by an 
 unknown and invisible personage. My inquisitive surprise delighted 
 Miss Terry. She beckoned me. We went tip-toe up the stairs, and 
 as I drew aside the amber silk curtains of the drawing-room, the 
 whistle became louder and sweeter still. Ah, there was the culprit, 
 caged up in the window ! 
 
 " Prince my bullfinch ! " cried Miss Terry. How that little 
 creature whistled, to be sure ! Just as though its very life depended 
 on the number and purity of its notes. 
 
 " He pipes all day," Prince's mistress said, running her fingers 
 along the brass wires of the cage, " and we don't quite know what the 
 tune is. When I bought him he was in a little wooden cage, and on 
 it were written in pencil the names of two songs ' Du bist wie eine 
 Blume,' and what do you think ? Poli Berkins ! But he's never 
 whistled of ' My Pretty Polly Perkins of Paddington Green ' to 
 this day." 
 
 The drawing-room overlooks the gardens, and is fragrant with the 
 : perfume of the roses which fill the china bowls on the tables. A huge 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 I aiitM <C Fry.
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY. 
 
 bouquet of carnations is just beginning to fade a few fallen petals 
 are strewn on the carpet. But it will rest there till it drops. It was 
 a gift from Sarah Bernhardt. Tables are set out with silver trinkets. 
 and a cabinet is crowded with blue china. The music of 
 "Henry VIII." is open on the piano on top of which is an oil 
 painting of a corner of the kitchen of the " Audrey " Arms, at 
 Uxbridge. Miss Terry saw this quaint, old-fashioned little place, 
 and wanted it. A difficulty had to be overcome, for it was an inn. 
 The place was bought, and an old woman was employed to sell the 
 beer, and for some time Miss Terry spent her holidays in the rooms 
 pertaining to the old " Audrey " Arms, previous to her settling 
 at Winchelsea. 
 
 A beautiful specimen of the original, out-of-date, square piano is 
 here, but still delightful in tone, it having recently been completely 
 
 restored by Messrs. Broad- 
 wood. It bears the name 
 of Longman and Broderip 
 the latter name being 
 very similar to that of Mr. 
 Irving's birth name. It was 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 OFF FOR A DRIVE. 
 
 [Ellifitt <i' Fry. 
 
 picked up at Deal. The old firm of Longman and Broderip has 
 been continued through dementi to Messrs. Collard, who still retain 
 the old Cheapside premises, whence this pretty old piano came nearly 
 a hundred years ago. 
 
 The case of curios must not be forgotten. Amongst other things, 
 it contains a pair of old gold buckles which belonged to a Cavalier 
 who was hidden in the oak tree with Charles II.; Mrs. Siddons's 
 Bible, with a letter in her own handwriting ; a tiara which was once
 
 122 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 owned by the famous Lady Blessington ; a little blue china cup of 
 Sir Walter Scott's ; and surely the daintiest and tiniest of lace hand- 
 kerchiefs Sarah Bernhardt's. But what gave rise to most curiosity 
 were a number of pairs of eye-glasses. I was holding in my hand 
 a pair with the name of " Henry " written on one glass and " Irving " 
 on the other. Then I learnt that Miss Terry has a rare collection of 
 famous men's glasses, amongst them being Mr. Whistler's, Dr. 
 Mackenzie's, Sir Arthur Sullivan's, and others. 
 
 From the time I laid down these eye-glasses and bade Miss Terry 
 "Good-bye," to the day I arrived at the little Sussex village of 
 
 F 'rcm a Photo. by\ TOWER COTTAGE MISS TERRY AND HER DAUGHTER IN THE GARDEN. lElliott & Fry. 
 
 Winchelsea and heard her " Welcome ! " was just two months. It was 
 on one of the days just before her return to town and work again. I 
 jumped up into the dog-cart to which Tommy was harnessed and 
 Tower Cottage was quickly reached. 
 
 " Tommy carried us all the way from London to Winchelsea," said 
 Miss Terry, enthusiastically, " and he'll take us back again. We put 
 our luggage on board Punch, this young rascal of a terrier, who 
 seems to live only to bark, and Prince. You'll see Prince yes, and 
 hear him, too, in a few minutes for he's at the cottage. At a pretty 
 roadside inn we found a wee kitten it seemed to like me. It came 
 running out to us and appeared lost. It gave such a funny little v/nine,
 
 MSSS ELLEN TERRY. 
 
 TOWER COTTAGE FRONT VIEW. 
 
 which seemed to say, 'Me-e-ne-e,' so I christened it Minnie on the spot. 
 Isn't this country glorious ? Isn't it the place for a rest ? But, wait 
 a little ! Have I been ill ? Yes, indeed. But we won't talk about 
 that ; still, it reminds me of a little story, and I thought perhaps you 
 might like to hear it, because some of the people in it have appeared 
 in your Magazine : 
 
 " We were stopping, about a year ago, at the Forest of Dean. 
 There were a good many of us, among whom was Sir Morell Mackenzie. 
 We made an excursion one day to Tintern. On the road my maid 
 called out that something had got into her eye, and that she was in 
 great pain. We stopped at the next village, but the chemist's shop was 
 shut, the chemist being at church, for it was Sunday ; but Sir Morell 
 was bent on healing, and rang at the door, got down the different bottles 
 himself, and with his own hand prepared a lotion for my poor maid's eye. 
 
 I need scarcely tell you how much astonished Mrs. , the chemist's 
 
 wife, was upon learning the name of her distinguished dispenser, and 
 on our way back the whole village turned out to look at the dear man 
 whose fame for good deeds, great and small, cannot be increased by any 
 words which I could speak, or I would try to grow eloquent and 
 perhaps become inspired by the noble theme." 
 
 We had reached the top of the hill, drove beneath the old stone 
 gate, curiously enough known as the " Strand Gate," a great pile of 
 ragstone, with towers at each angle, and partially covered v/ith ivy, 
 and stopped at the little white wicket gate. And, true enough, there 
 was Prince, singing away with a heart as free as though he were in 
 the open air instead of in his cage by the window the same sweet 
 tune. At sight of his mistress he hopped about in mad delight, 
 stretched his little neck and lifted his head, anxious to pipe his richest 
 notes as an assurance of perfect happiness. And here was the tortoise on 
 the grass and Minnie cuddled up in the doorway, blinking her tiny
 
 124 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 blue eyes at the sunbeams which were playfully striving to drive the 
 peacefully disposed kitten out of her chosen corner. Who ever built 
 Tower Cottage is hereby publicly thanked its bricks and latticed 
 windows form the prettiest little piece of architecture of its kind, and 
 its site almost amounts to a paradise. Just look at its walls, up which 
 the honeysuckle is creeping and the roses growing, the great blooming 
 crimson fuschias, and the paths edged with the greenest of box ! 
 the blackberry bushes and the hammocks hung in the shade between 
 the boughs of the apple trees ! You walk along the gravel paths 
 
 of the garden, and 
 every blossom on 
 the branches peep- 
 ing out from the 
 grassy beds ap- 
 pears just to have 
 come there of its 
 own free will. You 
 look round for the 
 sign of a trowel or 
 spade in vain. 
 Nature seems to 
 have been her own 
 gardener, and 
 planned and 
 planted this floral 
 nook. Then come 
 a little farther to 
 this turret built 
 over the stables 
 the turret top with 
 its alternate green 
 boxes of cloves 
 and nasturtiums, 
 on which a swing 
 seat has been put 
 up. Then you get 
 the view. 
 
 " I have seen it 
 
 f.-oma Photo by] THE HAMMOCKS UNDER THE APPLE TREES. [Elliott <t Fry. many times before," 
 
 said Miss Terry, 
 
 " but I always find something more to look upon. Isn't it fair? I love 
 space, and surely it is here. Look, right away across the fields with the 
 lambs playing about by the side of the winding rivulets is the sea 
 dotted with tiny vessels. To the left is Rye it looks like a little 
 hillock of houses, doesn't it ? Rye with its windmills and every one of 
 them is working. You remember Thackeray's unfinished ' Dennis 
 Duval ' ? Dennis had a grandfather who was a barber and perruquier, 
 and elder of the French Protestant Church at Winchelsea. Dennis 
 himself often used to walk from this little town into Rye, perhaps
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY 
 
 12 5 
 
 children, but not one of her- 
 self. " I don't like seeing 
 myself about the place," she 
 said. " I have a friend who 
 gets every photo, of me pub- 
 lished, and puts them in her 
 rooms. I haven't been to see 
 her for some time. It made 
 me quite wretched when I 
 last called ; there was I ' weep- 
 ing ' in her bed-room, ' mad ' 
 in her dining-room, whilst in 
 the front parlour I was posi- 
 tively 'dying' in three different 
 positions ! " Still, it is to be 
 hoped that Miss Terry will not 
 be reduced to despair when 
 she opens these pages, and 
 beholds herself in all the 
 most famous characters in 
 which she has appeared at 
 the Lyceum. 
 
 past this very cottage ! To 
 my mind there is no more 
 restful or more romantic spot 
 anywhere than this. You 
 can't even remember there 
 exists such a thing as a 
 theatre here! But I'll take 
 you round the village this 
 afternoon." 
 
 Inside the house was all 
 that was suggested by the out- 
 side all was dainty and in 
 miniature. One thing struck 
 me there was not a single 
 picture of the great actress 
 herself on the walls. Here 
 were her friends, her two 
 
 BEATRICE."- (Much Ado about Nothir 
 From a Photo, by Window <t Grove.
 
 126 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS, 
 
 Our luncheon party comprised Miss Ailsa Craig, two friends, 
 Miss Terry, and myself. Punch and Minnie were also present! 
 Luncheon over, we hurried away to the apple trees, and Miss Terry 
 brought out her camera for she is a wonderfully adept photographer 
 
 and insisted on my 
 giving her a sitting. I 
 wonder if Miss Terry knows 
 what happened whilst this 
 was going on? Probably 
 she does ere this ; but one 
 member of this very happy 
 party hastily procured 
 another camera, and, whilst 
 Miss Terry was photo- 
 graphing me, she was 
 " taken " herself. Then we 
 started out for Winchelsea, 
 and what a delightful guide 
 I had ! We yished the old 
 prison and judgment house, 
 now used as a public read- 
 ing-room, and my kindly 
 guide remembered a little 
 entertainment she once 
 gave there, when, together 
 with her daughter and a 
 friend, they made their first 
 and only appearance as 
 " The Three Old Maids of 
 
 Lee." We looked in at the old church, and every one of the great 
 square pews seemed to suggest sleep, sleep, beautiful sleep ! We 
 saw the tree under which John Wesley made his last open-air 
 address ; the Friary, a fine old specimen of architecture, and the 
 wonderful old gates and cellars of the town, which make Winchelsea 
 a rarity amongst rare picturesque places. 
 
 For half-an-hour whilst Miss Terry rested a little I was left 
 alone with a cigar. So I walked and talked with the village children. 
 And I found out that Miss Terry's loving kindness to the little ones 
 is known in Winchelsea, as everywhere else. One bright, sunburnt 
 little maid, whom I met in one of the lanes, told me she was going 
 to Miss Terry's to tea " next Wednesday," and, added the child, with 
 eyes as big as stars and twinkling as brightly, " Miss Terry says 
 poetry to us ! " I was glad the child told me that, because it made 
 assurance doubly sure of my estimate of the woman's character. I 
 thought of the packed theatre, and the people who had paid half-a- 
 guinea for their stalls ; then of the handful of little ones who had sn 
 unpurchasable entertainment for nothing listening to Miss Terry 
 " saying poetry." 
 
 I returned to Tower Cottage. 
 
 from a Photo, by] AS " LETITIA HARDY. [Window & Grot's 
 (The Belle's Stratagem.)
 
 MJSS ELLEN TERRY. 
 
 127 
 
 We met again 
 on the turret top, 
 and then I listened 
 to the story of her 
 life. How earnestly 
 she spoke of every- 
 thing associated 
 with her brilliant 
 career. She has 
 always been in the 
 best circle thea- 
 trically speaking 
 ever since she 
 began. But she 
 referred to all this 
 very quietly. If 
 Ellen Terry im- 
 presses one on the 
 stage as an actress, 
 how much more 
 does she do so 
 when sitting sur- 
 rounded by one of 
 the fairest of 
 Nature's scenes, as 
 a woman ! When 
 she remembers an 
 incident it is in- 
 deed remembered. 
 All the circum- 
 stances connected 
 with it crowd into 
 
 her memory, the place, the people everything, and she lives through 
 it once again, even though it may belong to her very youngest years. 
 
 Miss Ellen Alice Terry was born at Coventry in St. Valentine's 
 month. St. Valentine's month has seen the natal day of many of 
 the great Wordsworth, Ruskin, Charles Dickens, Abraham Lincoln, 
 Rossini, Joseph Jefferson, Victor Hugo, Handel, Longfellow, J. R. 
 Lowell, George Washington, Cardinal Newman, and Henry Irving. 
 
 " My father and mother," said Miss Terry, " were acting from 
 place to place. Then I came to them at Coventry. There is no 
 trace of the house where I was born it may have been at an inn or 
 in lodgings. It is not generally known that my mother, when 
 eighteen years of age, played the Queen to Macrcady's Hamlet. 
 Macready liked playing with my mother ; he gave a curious reason 
 for it ' because she wouldn't stick her hair all over with pins ! ' My 
 own particular first appearance was made on the stage somewhere 
 between the ages of seven and eight, at the Princess's Theatre, under 
 the management of Mrs. Charles Kean. Now, here's an interesting 
 
 Fro;n a Photo, by] 
 
 i CATHERINE DUVAL. 
 
 (The Dead Heart.) 
 
 [Window & Grove.
 
 123 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 AS " IOLANTHE." 
 
 (lolanthe.) 
 From a Photo, by Window <t Grove. 
 
 but not quite up, for 
 the man shut the 
 trap -door too soon, 
 and caught my toe. 
 I screamed, Kate 
 rushed to me, and 
 banged her foot on 
 the stage ; but the 
 man closed the trap 
 tighter, mistaking the 
 signal. ' Oh ! Katie ! 
 Katie ! ' I cried. 
 
 <"Oh! Nelly, 
 Nelly ! ' returned my 
 sister. 
 
 "Mrs. Keari 
 came rushing on, 
 
 little fact : When I was 
 playing Puck at the Theatre 
 Royal, Manchester and quite 
 an experienced little actress 
 by that time Mr. Irving, 
 although he is ten years older 
 than myself, was at that time 
 just making his first appear- 
 ance. But, something more. 
 It is very possible that on the 
 very night he made his first 
 bow, I was having my toe 
 nearly squeezed off! I will 
 tell you the little story. 
 
 " I was playing Puck in 
 the ' Midsummer Night's 
 Dream,' and had come up 
 through a trap at the end of 
 the last act to give the final 
 speech. My sister Kate was 
 playing Titania. Up I came 
 
 I 1'iiulu. bij\ 
 
 AS PORTIA. 
 
 (The Merchant of Venice.)
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY, 
 
 'and 
 your 
 
 was 
 
 and made them 
 open the trap, and 
 so I released my 
 foot. 
 
 "'Finish the 
 play, dear,' she 
 w h i s p e red, 
 excitedly, 
 I'll double 
 salary ! ' 
 
 " There 
 
 Kate holding me 
 up on one side 
 and Mrs. Kean on 
 the other. Well, 
 I did finish the 
 play; it was some- 
 thing like this : 
 
 "If we shadows 
 have offended (' Oh ! 
 Katie ! Katie ! ') 
 
 Think but this, 
 and all is mended, 
 (' I hope my poor toe 
 will !') 
 
 That you have 
 but slumbered here 
 
 While these 
 visions did appear. 
 (' I can't ! I can't ! ') 
 
 And this weak 
 and idle theme, 
 
 No more yielding but a dream 
 
 Gentles, do not reprehend ; 
 
 If you pardon, we will mend. (' Oh ! Mrs. Kean ! ) 
 
 " And so I got through it. My salary was doubled, and Mr. Skey, 
 President of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, who chanced to be in a stall 
 that very evening, came round behind the scenes and put my toe right. 
 He remained my friend for life. I can well remember Charles Kean 
 he was so charming and lovable ;. Mrs. Kean was more alert and 
 admirable. He was very fond of children. He had a rare way of 
 amusing us little ones at the theatre. He had a tiny ballet skirt made. 
 This he put round his hand, and placing his third and fourth fingers 
 out and folding up the others, it looked just like a little woman dan- 
 cing. Oh ! how we used to scream with laughter, and the louder we 
 laughed the higher the lady kicked." 
 
 Everybody saw in the child Nelly an actress ; but this was 
 strongly substantiated one night in a remarkable way. It happened 
 through a scream. She was playing in a piece in which she had to 
 put a snake round her neck and scream. Of course, the snake was 
 not real, but so intense and heartrending was the scream, that it 
 electrified the audience. 
 
 J'rum a Plutto. by] 
 
 AS " JULIET." 
 (Romeo and Juliet.) 
 
 [Winflow Grove, 
 
 (' Oh ! dear ! Oh ! dear ! ' and a big sob.)
 
 130 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 After leaving the Keans, Miss Terry appeared at the Royalty and 
 Haymarket Theatres. Already her work was being closely followed 
 by the critics. Then came the first playing with Mr. Irving. It was 
 at the old Queen's Theatre, in " The Taming of the Shrew." Miss 
 Terry said that it was such a foggy night that you could scarcely see 
 across the stage. The usual forebodings predicted by such a dark 
 night, however, have not been realized, for surely no work could have 
 been brighter or more brilliant than that which was subsequently and 
 is to-day associated with the names of Mirs Terry and Mr. Irving. 
 
 After an absence 
 
 the last-named theatre, 
 followed by engage- 
 ments at the Prince of 
 Wales's and the Court. 
 Then came a memor- 
 able night : her first 
 appearance with Mr. 
 Irving, at the Lyceum, 
 asO/>7ietia,on December 
 30th, 1878 nearly 
 fifteen years ago. Since 
 then, as effort suc- 
 ceeded effort, creation 
 succeeded creation, so 
 has she advanced in 
 the favour of the public, 
 and made good her 
 claim to rank amongst 
 the greatest actresses 
 our country has given 
 us. Pauline, Portia, 
 Desdemona, Juliet, Lady 
 Macbeth, and many 
 more ; how well we 
 know them all ! 
 
 Miss Terry well remembered that memorable night of December 
 30th, 1878. 
 
 " You ask me if I know what nervousness means," she said. 
 " Why, I am so high-strung at the Lyceum, on a first night, that if I 
 realized that there was an audience in front, staring at me, I should 
 fly off and be down at Winchelsea in two two's ! I shall never 
 forget my first appearance at the Lyceum as Ophelia. Dear old Mrs. 
 Rumball you remember meeting her at Barkston Gardens? was 
 waiting for me in my dressing-room. I finished my part at the end of 
 the fourth act I couldn't wait to see the fifth. I rushed upstairs to 
 my room and threw myself into her arms. 
 
 Window (t Grove,
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY. 
 
 "' I've failed I've failed ! ' I cried, in despair. 
 
 " ' No, no ! ' 
 
 " ' But I have I have. Come along,' and we hurried away from 
 the theatre, I in my Ophelia dress, with a big cloak thrown around me, 
 and drove up and down 
 the Embankment a dozen 
 times before I dared go 
 home." 
 
 "And when you saw 
 the papers in the morning, 
 how did you feel then ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 And as Punch, the 
 terrier, came rushing down 
 the path towards its mis- 
 tress, the reply to my 
 question told everything. 
 She simply answered and 
 with all her heart " Very 
 happy." 
 
 " Dead ! Dead, sir ! 
 Dead little doggy. Why 
 won't you die? I really 
 think this dog is as mad 
 as a hatter. If he doesn't 
 alter, I shall certainly call 
 him 'The Hatter/ Die 
 doggy, die!" 
 
 Punch did die even- 
 tually. He lay on his 
 side, with his legs as stiff 
 as those of a mahogany 
 table. Then at the words 
 One two three ! " 
 equivalent to the tolling of the bell up he jumped, fully decided 
 that it was downright ridiculous to die when he could live and be 
 happy at Winchelsea. 
 
 Then tea was brought out, and over a refreshing cup, 
 accompanied by delicious bread and butter and sultana cake 
 real sultana cake, with plenty of plums in it ! I learnt much of 
 the greatest interest. Dress is a very important matter with 
 Miss Terry. She, with Mrs. Comyns Carr, designs her own costumes. 
 Miss Terry thinks and rightly too that a dress should do much to 
 indicate the character of the woman who is wearing it, as witness the 
 dress she wears as Lady Macbeth, which looks like a coiling snake. 
 " I could have gone mad," she said, " as Ophelia, much more comfort- 
 ably in black than in white. But, oh ! the little ins and outs of which 
 the public know nothing. Hamlet and Othello must be black, then 
 Ophelia and Desdemona must be white." Then on the question of 
 
 AS " QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA." 
 
 (Charles I.) 
 From a PJtoto. by Window & Grove.
 
 132 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 studying a part. Any school-girl can learn the words of a part, but 
 that is a very different thing to knowing and growing up, as it were, 
 with the character you are called upon to conceive and create. To 
 study means to foioiv, to know means to be. I saw one of her books. 
 Its leaves were interspersed with almost as many notes as there was 
 type notes on the character of the woman, period, costume, sur- 
 roundings, influences. One little note reads : " Character Undemon- 
 strative Singing voice About twenty-five She ought to be nice- 
 looking, for the King of France took her without any dower ; every 
 servant in the Court loves her indeed, the Court Fool pines away 
 when she goes to France." Some half-dozen books, all for the same 
 character, are full of notes of this kind. She loves Beatrice and Ophelia 
 the best, and the shortest and smallest part she ever played was only 
 a year or two ago, when she went on at an amateur performance, and 
 the applause which greeted her would scarcely allow her to give her 
 
 one and only line : 
 " Please, ma'am, are 
 you hin or are you 
 hout ? " 
 
 "I feel very 
 strongly about girls 
 going on the stage," 
 said Miss Terry quietly. 
 " They talk so glibly 
 about it but they 
 don't understand it a 
 bit. I look upon going 
 en the stage as a divine 
 mission a mission in- 
 tended for the few and 
 not the many. You 
 can't teach acting. It 
 is the same as every- 
 thing else acting is a 
 gift, a precious gift, 
 which must be highly 
 cultivated, and those 
 who possess it can't go 
 and tie their talent up 
 in a napkin and bury 
 it in the ground. It 
 must it will come out. 
 I examine lots of girls 
 in elocution how few 
 (The Cup.) of them possess the one 
 
 thing needful." 
 
 But the contents of the little silver teapot were all gone, the 
 cream in the jug at a premium, and the sultana cake a thing of the 
 past. So we went into the house, and a pile of letters was brought
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY, 
 
 '33 
 
 out, These are some of the missives which fall to the lot of a great 
 
 and popular actress : 
 
 " Madam, I am a gentleman, although a clergyman's son. Will 
 
 you lend me .8 ? " Here is another : 
 
 " Dear Madam, I have just been offered a position of clerk in 
 
 Manchester, I cannot afford 
 a ticket from London, I 
 should like to go on a bicycle. 
 Will you, dear madam, give 
 me one, and, if you will, will 
 you do a double-barrelled 
 kindness and buy it at my 
 brother's shop ? " 
 
 " Then," said Miss Terry, 
 " I have any number of letters 
 
 'LUCY ASHTON. 
 
 (Ravenswood.) 
 From a Photo, by Window & Grove. 
 
 from people who want 
 to dress me at the 
 theatre for nothing. 
 Poor creatures ! They 
 little know what is in 
 store for them. ' Lizzie ' 
 her name is Julia, so 
 I suppose that's why I 
 call her Lizzie Lizzie 
 has been my maid at 
 the theatre for fourteen 
 years, and I haven't quite killed her yet ! " 
 
 Birthday presents ! On her birthday flowers are arriving at 
 Barkston Gardens all day long ; yes, and fruit and vegetables, too. 
 Many old market women know her, and with reason ; and when the 
 
 troma Phuto. i/l AS " NANCE OLDFIELD.' 
 (Nance Oldfield.) 
 
 I Window <t (jirutK.
 
 134 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE I VS. 
 
 2/th of Valentine's month 
 comes round they like to 
 send their little presents. 
 Miss Terry might have read, 
 " Because you have been 
 kind to me," written in large 
 letters on the sack, which 
 contained a bushel of 
 potatoes, sent from an old 
 woman last birthday. 
 
 Yet, a very precious 
 present was given to her 
 once. She was playing 
 Frou-Frou in the provinces. 
 One of the actors got to 
 know that it was her birth- 
 day. In the last act of this 
 play, when Frou-Frou is 
 dying, she asks for her 
 
 AS LADY MACBETH. 
 
 (Macbeth.) 
 From a Photo, by Window & Grov: 
 
 locket, in which 
 rests the portrait 
 of her little child. 
 The locket was 
 brought. Frou- 
 Frou opened it, and 
 there was a picture 
 of her own two 
 children. Needless 
 to say, the acting 
 at this moment did 
 not lose in its 
 intensity. 
 
 Together we 
 looked through her 
 album. A portrait 
 of the Queen comes 
 first, then follows a 
 view of Hampton 
 Court, where Miss 
 
 AS VIOLA. 
 (Twelfth Night.)
 
 MISS ELLEN TERRY, 
 
 Terry's first cottage was situated. The album is full of friends, and 
 
 by the side of views of places visited are tiny flowers, bits of grasses 
 
 and ivy gathered there. Both 
 
 her children always give her a 
 
 present on the first night of a 
 
 play. Here is a faded rose from 
 
 her daughter on the first night 
 
 of " The Dead Heart," and next 
 
 to it the original of a piece of H J^^HK&y*' 
 
 music which her boy composed 
 
 in honour of the event. 
 
 As we shut the album, Miss 
 Terry cried out merrily : 
 
 " Now let's go and see the 
 
 AS "ELLALINE." 
 
 (The Amber Heart.) 
 
 From a Photo, by Window & Grove. 
 
 hop - pickers. There will be 
 plenty of time before dinner. 
 Come along." 
 
 It was quite dark when we 
 Miss Terry, her daughter, and 
 myself got into the carriage. 
 As we drove along the lanes 
 of Sussex, what stories we 
 listened to ! 
 
 " People think they see 
 everything on the stage," Miss 
 Terry said. " Nothing of the 
 sort Acting is an art which can show what you want to show, and 
 hide what you want to hide. I remember years ago playing with 
 
 From a Photo. M AS " OLIVIA." {.Window & Grove. 
 (The Vicar of Wakefield.)
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 a well-known actor. He was full of tricks, and was the possessor 
 of a false tooth. In a certain play he was on the stage with me, and 
 I had to sit with my face in full view of the audience. Suddenly 
 in a most serious part he pulled out his handkerchief and put it to 
 his mouth. I knew what was coming I knew it the false tooth ! 
 He dropped something from his handkerchief on the ground at :\iy 
 feet ! I trembled I could scarcely go on. The manager noticed it 
 and, at the conclusion of the scene, came up. 
 " ' Why, what has upset you, Miss Terry ? ' 
 
 " ' I expect I did/ said the culprit, who was standing by ; ' but I 
 
 think it very hard on me 
 that Miss Terry should be 
 upset only because I let fall 
 an acid drop! ' " 
 
 We had reached the 
 hop-pickers, and our car- 
 riage drew up by the side of 
 the hedge in the dark lane. 
 It was a most impressive 
 scene the tents of the 
 pickers standing out like 
 phantoms, the whole thing 
 being made all the more 
 weird by the light of the 
 fires, over which the hoppers 
 were bending, cooking their 
 evening meal. It was all so 
 silent, save for the voice of 
 a hop - picker who would 
 suddenly shout out some 
 command, or the cry of a 
 child, for the tiniest of 
 workers may be found 
 "helping mother" in the 
 fields by day I can see 
 Miss Terry now, as she 
 stood up and looked upon 
 this striking picture. 
 
 "If that could only be reproduced on the stage ! " she said. " Look 
 at it now. Wait a moment until it is very still. Now. Now what 
 does it look like ? Why, the finest idea of a battle-field by night it is 
 possible to have." 
 
 As we drove back again we stopped for a moment to hear the 
 owls hissing amongst the ivy which covers the walls of the old church. 
 How they hissed a positive warfare in hissing ! 
 
 Miss Terry leant across to me, just as an extra-strong noise came 
 from the ivy, and said, merrily : 
 
 " I don't think I have ever been hissed, but in future I shall come 
 here and study my parts. Then I shan't get vain ! " 
 
 KINE. 
 
 (Henry VIII.) 
 From a Photo, by Window tt Grove,
 
 IX. 
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE. 
 
 HERE is probably no name better known in the world of 
 literature and learning, and certainly no figure more 
 familiar in the streets of the Scotch capital, than John 
 Stuart Blackie. There is always much combined curi- 
 osity and speculation regarding the life and habits of the 
 man who has won fame within the limits of his own room 
 and the surroundings of his family circle. It is from a distinctly 
 homely point of view that I would talk about Professor Blackie. I 
 spent some time with him in Edinburgh, and the sum and total of his 
 characteristics seemed to be the very personification of refined culture, 
 hearty and honest opinion, and unadulterated merriment. He will 
 quote Plato one moment, dilate on the severity of the Scottish Sab- 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE IN HIS STUDY. 
 
 [Elliott A Fry.
 
 138 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 bath the next, and then with lightning rapidity burst forth into singing 
 an old Scotch ballad that sets one's heart beating considerably above 
 the regulation rate. He shook hands with me, and then commenced 
 to sing. He told me of his career, and sandwiched between his 
 anecdotes snatches of song and pithy quotations ; and so it went 
 on all through the day. If he is worried for a sentence, or troubled for 
 a rhyme, he walks about the room humming. " I am a motive 
 animal," he says. Sometimes he will sit down at the piano in the 
 drawing-room at night, and the music tempts the Muse. Again, when 
 rhymes are rare, he will make an excursion into the heart of some 
 glorious glen, or try the mountain path, and on his return he brings a 
 poem with him, which is immediately transferred to paper. And this, 
 be it remembered, is the doings of one of the fathers of Scotland, who 
 can put in a substantial claim to eighty-five birthdays. 
 
 I found him sitting at his table in one of his studies. The 
 table is just by the window looking into the garden. He wore a 
 long blue coat, picturesquely fastened round the waist with a red 
 silk sash. He had on a very broad linen collar, with a long black 
 cravat, loosely tied, negligently hanging down. On his head was a 
 fine broad-brimmed Panama straw hat, an excellent assistance to 
 the retention of good sight ; he has never worn a pair of spectacles 
 in his life. Strange to say, too, until the morning of my visit, he has 
 needed no medical advice for over thirty years. He is patriarchal 
 in appearance, with classical features, and long pure white hair which 
 reaches to his shoulders. He has all the vitality of a young man. A 
 trip alone to Constantinople at the age of eighty-two is a good 
 record. He attributes his robust health to the fact that he has always 
 worked and lived, read and thought, on a system. He rises at 7.30 
 and breakfasts. The morning is occupied in work and correspon- 
 dence. The open air claims him every day for two hours before 
 dinner, and Morpheus for an hour after the midday meal. No hard 
 work after nine. Unless he has a lecture or other engagement, the 
 evening finds him playing a game of backgammon with his wife, 
 and he opens the door of his bedroom as the clock is chiming 
 twelve. System governs every hour of the day, and two unapproach- 
 able mottoes guide every movement of his life. You cannot receive 
 a letter from Professor Blackie without finding his motto penned in 
 Greek characters in his own handwriting in the left-hand corner of 
 the envelope. He puts it in the corner of every envelope he finds 
 about the place, his servants' included. " Adopt it," he says, " and 
 it will turn earth into O 
 
 heaven, it will revolu- f*/\^ /* f ^ 
 
 tionize society in the (XX^l n~ * , / 9/1. ^//v-jC^- 
 
 twinkling of an eye." t1/2(/&V &U 0^*/7* 
 
 His motto is, " Speak / t 
 
 the truth in love " THE PROFESSOR'S MOTTO. 
 
 (Ephes. iv. 1 5), and he points out that the Greek verb means acting 
 as well' as speaking. The second motto is x^7r T Ka\u, " All 
 ntible things are difficult to do."
 
 PR OFESSQR LLA CK2E. 
 
 '39 
 
 We went from room to room. The drawing-room is a beautiful 
 apartment. The walls are of quiet blue, picked out in gold, in 
 harmony with the crimson plush curtains which hang at the windows, 
 
 Vram a Photo. by\ 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 and the green plush furniture. The fireplace is massive and striking. 
 It is of Indian workmanship, exquisitely carved as, indeed, are all 
 the fireplaces throughout the house, for it was formerly occupied by 
 Sir William Hunter, an Indian magnate. The photos are countless, 
 and are everywhere. Here is the late Cardinal Newman a precious 
 reminiscence of the day when he was created Cardinal, at which 
 ceremony Professor Blackie was present. Here again are Gladstone, 
 John Morley, the late Count von Moltke, the German Emperor, Sir 
 John Millais every one autographed. Here, too, is an excellent 
 portrait of Browning, with an inscription on the back " This testifies 
 that I have spent a delightful morning through the goodness of dear 
 Blackie. May the pleasure be conferred on me at no distant time. 
 May, 1885." Here is a portrait of Miss Mary Anderson. Sixteen 
 years ago the Professor wrote to Miss Jennie Lee that " the stage 
 had more influence than the pulpit " hence many theatrical reminis- 
 cences are visible about the house. Look in this small volume, and 
 you will find a couple of New Year's cards from Henry Irving. A 
 small album on a table close at hand is highly valued by its owner. 
 It contains some simple cartes de visite of some of the most eminent 
 men of the century. The first place is given to the late Cardinal 
 Manning he has penned his autograph and then in quick succession
 
 140 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 come the features and signatures of such men as Sir David Brevvster, 
 Sir J. Noel Paton with a child on his shoulders, a little one who is 
 now Dr. Noel Paton, the physiologist the late Dean Ramsay, Dr. 
 Guthrie, Sir J. Y. Simpson who discovered chloroform Norman 
 McLeod, the Duke of Argyll, Lord Shaftesbury, Professor Faraday, 
 John Bright, and Charles Kingsley. There are a number of pictures 
 of the Professor himself; two just at the far end of the room are 
 productions of the old black-paper-and-scissors process, and very 
 cleverly are they cut. 
 
 On a small easel stands a medallion, in a plush frame, by Mrs. 
 D. O. Hill, a sister of Sir Noel Paton, who executed the Livingstons 
 statue in Prince's Street. Many are the portraits of cats and dogs, for 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliutt 0; J-'rif. 
 
 Mrs. Blackie is fond of these domestic pets. An excellent picture of 
 Goethe, at the age of thirty, is pointed out to me. The room, too, is rich 
 in old china, some of which belonged to Wordsworth and Lord Byron. 
 A bowl, once the property of the late Dr. Chalmers, stands on a 
 cabinet near the door. This little rosewood receptacle contains a 
 wealth of interest. It has on its shelves a copy of every work which 
 the Professor has written. As each new work is issued so it is added. 
 The cabinet is called "The Shrine." Amongst the water-colour 
 paintings is a small text painted in the midst of autumn leaves and 
 blackberries. It is only a simple effort, and does not measure six 
 inches square. Yet when Ruskin saw it he exclaimed, " That's the 
 finest picture in Edinburgh."
 
 PROFESSOR BLACK IE. 
 
 141 
 
 " Yet," said Professor Blackie, as we crossed to the window and 
 looked out upon the Corstorphine Hill, with its grand fir trees, and 
 strained our eyes to catch a view of the distant hills of Fife " yet 
 Ruskin, who was a man of deep and intense feelings, would lift you 
 up in delightful imagination as easily as he would drop you again to 
 the ordinary level of life. Ruskin was a small edition of Carlyle 
 but he was a delicate and dainty edition. I will talk of Carlyle by- 
 and-by. Well, some forty years ago, I was walking with Ruskin 
 down Prince's Street, and 
 he was looking up at the 
 old town which rises high 
 before you. 
 
 " ' When I walk along 
 this grand street,' he said, 
 'I am always glad when I 
 come to the cross streets, 
 for then I look from the 
 works of man to the works 
 of God.' 
 
 " This remark, no doubt, 
 was justified by the general 
 tameness and monotony of 
 the street architecture not 
 only in Edinburgh, but in 
 London, at the time when 
 the new town of Edinburgh 
 was built. 
 
 "'But,' said I, 'have 
 you no eye for those palatial 
 structures which are now 
 rising all along the street 
 to vary the monotony of 
 the original three-storied 
 houses ? ' 
 
 " No,' said he, ' I hate 
 high houses.' 
 
 " ' Why ? ' said I. 
 
 " ' Because,' said he, 
 ' they are bad for people with rheumatic legs ! ' 
 
 " Either this was a joke, or it showed a certain confusion of the 
 ethical and the sesthetical which sometimes seems to mar the sound- 
 ness of his judgment in matters of art." 
 
 We were standing at the window, and for a moment, before going 
 through the other rooms of the house, Professor Blackie remembered 
 something regarding some of the men whose portraits we had just 
 glanced at. There was Dr. Guthrie. 
 
 " He was an intimate friend of mine," said the kindly Professor ; 
 " a splendid humorist, and a true Scotchman. He overflowed with 
 humour. One Sunday he had been up at Inverness assisting at the 
 
 i'rmn a Photo, by] 
 
 \_JbUiutt ik Fry.
 
 142 
 
 LLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Sacrament. On the Monday there was a meeting, and the Doctor 
 happened to be particularly merry. There was one man in the front 
 seat who eyed the Doctor with great gravity, and as he gave out joke 
 after joke, his face became graver still. When the meeting was all 
 over, he went up to Guthrie with a fearfully solemn face, and said, 
 ' Ah ! Dr. Guthrie, Dr. Guthrie, if it hadn't been for the grace of God 
 ye might have been a splendid comic actor ! ' 
 
 I was now looking at John Bright. 
 
 " I lived at Oban in the summer season," continued Professor 
 Blackie, "and John Bright lodged at Taynuilt. It was one day when 
 sitting in John Bright's chair at the inn that I wrote the two sonnets 
 to him." And he reads out with fine dramatic effect the two beautiful 
 poems which are familiar to all students of his works. 
 
 "Ah ! that portrait is of Norman McLeod. He told me a capital 
 story once, which well illustrates the severity with which the Scotch 
 people regard the Sabbath. The church in Skye is some fifteen 
 or twenty miles from the parish, and one bright and glorious summer 
 day a grave o!d elder and a young man of happier inclinations set 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE HALL. 
 
 lEllwtt & iffy. 
 
 out to walk this distance. As it was Sunday, they walked on for 
 some miles without speaking a word to each other. At last the 
 younger man had to speak. 
 
 " ' It's a verra fine day,' he observed quietly. 
 
 " The old elder looked at him, and with a gravity sufficient to 
 silence anybody, replied, ' Yes, it is a fine day ; but is this a day to 
 be talking about days ? ' "
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE. 
 
 Professor Blackie leaves me for a moment, and as I sit down in a 
 recess by the window I turn over in my mind his own ideas of the obser- 
 vance of the Scotch Sabbath. He says frankly that the good people of 
 the Highlands are too strict much too strict, though he docs not 
 question for a moment the sincerity of their convictions. He believes, 
 as the ancient Greeks did, that the body, which is the temple of the soul, 
 should have as much care bestowed upon its culture as is bestowed on 
 the spiritual part of our nature. He would have us love physical 
 recreation more, but he would not have us love psychical recreation less. 
 You will find him in his pew on a Sunday, but he has not hesitated to 
 play croquet on the same day. His soul called for devotion, his body 
 for recreation. Only half an hour ago, soon after I had shaken 
 hands with him he told me an anecdote of himself and the Sabbath. 
 Some years ago he was lecturing in Glasgow on a Sunday. His 
 subject was " The Philosophy of Love," and he directed the attention 
 of his hearers to the love-songs of Scotland. In his fervour he burst 
 out singing a Scotch ballad, " Let us go to Kelvin Grove, bonnic 
 lassie oh ! " It had an electrical effect upon his hearers, but oh ! 
 the shock, the terrible shock, it occasioned on the morrow ! A 
 
 few days afterwards 
 he received an 
 anonymous carica- 
 ture of himself. It 
 represents a certain 
 one shall he be 
 mildly referred to as 
 Mephistopheles? 
 carrying off the 
 good Professor on 
 his back at a high 
 rate of speed. It 
 is here reproduced 
 for the first time. 
 
 " Come along," 
 cries a kindly voice. 
 " I justhad toanswer 
 a letter. I always 
 answer my own 
 letters, and never 
 use postcards. I 
 always call the let- 
 ters I receive the 
 four B's Business, 
 Blethers, Bothers, 
 and Beggary." 
 
 The hall is very fine. The balustrades are of polished oak. Near 
 the fireplace is an old oak cabinet in which is cut ' R. B., 1709." A 
 companion cabinet is on the other side. These contain all the letters 
 and papers of Professor Blackie a biographical store By the door 
 
 MEPHISTOPHELES TAKES THE PROFESSOR.
 
 144 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 is a fine oil painting of Mrs. Blackie's father James Wyld, of Gilston, 
 and here, again, a canvas which chronicles the face of Oliver Cromwell. 
 One of the busts in the hall is that of John Wilson (Christopher 
 North). A fine cabinet is loaded with china, and close by the entrance 
 to the dining-room is a convenient receptacle for walking-sticks. 
 I counted them. Professor Blackie has twenty such aids to 
 pedestrianism. 
 
 The dining-room has some excellent reproductions of Van Dyck 
 and Rubens. More old china is neatly set out on an oaken sideboard ; 
 the ferns are fresh and green at the window ; and above a pair of 
 vases on the mantelpiece -- filled with peacocks' feathers, 
 which tells that superstition is not part and parcel of the household 
 is a grand picture of Professor Blackie standing in a Highland glen 
 with his plaid about his shoulders. It was painted by James 
 Archer, R.S.A. 
 
 Leaving the dining-room, one passes on the stairs which lead to 
 
 the trio of studies 
 reproductions of the 
 old masters, pictures 
 of Lady Martin, Sir 
 Walter Scott, an old- 
 time print of Burns 
 in an Edinburgh 
 drawing-room, and 
 a portrait of Car- 
 lyle. 
 
 " Are the songs 
 of Burns as popular 
 as ever ? " I asked. 
 
 "No, Scotch 
 songs are not so 
 popular," was the 
 reply. " Burns is 
 popular with the 
 masses. I find it 
 very difficult to get 
 ladies in the upper 
 circles to sing Scotch 
 songs. The upper 
 classes are corrup- 
 ted in this direction. 
 Corruption begins 
 at the top I say 
 that as a philoso- 
 pher. We are be- 
 coming less and less 
 Scotch, and more 
 and more Anglicized. Why, it is hard to get a servant girl to speak real 
 Scotch. Scotch songs! Compare your Enrlbh and German songs 
 
 From a Photo, fry] THE FAVOURITE STUDY. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry.
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE. 145 
 
 with the songs of the Highlands. The Scotch beat them hollow for 
 variety and character. Every Scotch song is a picture and a drama, 
 a dramatic scene with natural scenery." 
 
 We had reached the studies ; there are really three of them, and, 
 together with other books about the place, they contain some seven 
 thousand volumes, comprising the best modern Greek library in 
 Britain. Each of these three corners is interesting. One of them is 
 used by Dr. Stodart Walker, a nephew of Professor Blackie ; for 
 professor Blackie has no children, and Dr. Walker lives and learns 
 with him. In this room are capital photos of Professor Grainger 
 Stewart (the Queen's physician in Scotland), Professor Rutherford, 
 Dr. R. J. A. Berry, Mr. Morley, Mr. Ruskin, and others. The 
 study which is more particularly used by the professor is separated 
 from the drawing-room by folding doors, from which hang great 
 curtains. There is little in it save books, but one notes a bust of Mrs. 
 Dobell, a great beauty, the wife of the poet ; a bust as a young man 
 and a statuette of a later period of Professor Blackie ; and one of 
 Goethe on the mantelboard, with portraits of Mr. Cunliffc Brooks, Mr. 
 H. C. Reid, J.P., and Mrs. Blackie surrounding it, and a very successful 
 painting of the Professor by Mr. J. H. Lorimer, R.S.A. Then a cosy 
 chair was pointed out to me by the fire, and I sat down and listened. 
 
 "I was born at Glasgow in July, 1809," said Professor Blackie, 
 walking about the room, " and at the age of three went to Aberdeen. 
 My father was a Border man, a Kelso lad, and was the first agent 
 for the Commercial Bank of Scotland in Aberdeen, where it 
 started in 1811. I went to school at Aberdeen -Aberdonians 
 have produced the best Latin scholars in Scotland. I have to admit 
 to being twice flogged by my father. One chastising was for telling 
 a lie. My aunt insisted on pouring down my throat some broth 
 which I did not like. I didn't go to school, but went and sulkily hid 
 myself. I said that I had been to school. I was flogged. The 
 second occasion was for calling a servant girl names. I was flogged 
 for that, and quite right too. 
 
 " As a boy I was always antagonistic to school fights pugilism 
 had no fascination for me. I well remember a lad, over some small 
 squabble, saying to me, ' Will you fight me ? ' ' No,' I replied ; ' but 
 I'll knock you down,' and immediately did it with great applause. I 
 went to college at twelve. I won a scholarship there for Latin, but as 
 the gift was intended for poor people I resigned it. My principal 
 pastime in those days was golf, which we used to play on the 
 Aberdeen links. I remained at college until I was fifteen, when I 
 went to Edinburgh, where I was for two years attending a special 
 class under Professor John Wilson"; and in those days, Professor 
 Blackie told me, he was working out his moral life. This disturbed 
 his studies, as he gave his whole thoughts to devotional meditation. 
 When it came to the distribution of prizes John Wilson told him that 
 he could not give him one, for he had only written a single essay, 
 although it was a remarkably good one. On learning this young 
 Blackie burst into tears.
 
 146 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 " At the age of twenty," he continued, " I went to Germany and on 
 to Rome, where I devoted myself to the study of the languages. 
 Here, too, I met many of the world's greatest men. And 
 so the days passed by until once more I returned to the old country, 
 and in 1834 was called to the Scottish Bar. But I was not a success, 
 and I really used to sing a song at my own expense when out at 
 parties, which asked all benevolent people to give a poor starving 
 lawyer a fee." 
 
 Crossing to a desk, Professor Blackie searched through a number 
 of old papers, and at last came across a long sheet. of foolscap, the ink 
 on which was yellow with age. It was written fifty-eight years ago ! 
 It was the original manuscript of the song he wrote himself, and, save 
 
 .From a Photo 
 
 [EMM < Fry. 
 
 for the time occupied in learning it, that slip of paper had not seen 
 the light of day for all these years. The words are reproduced for the 
 first time in these pages. His favourite Scotch ballad to-day, and one 
 he often sings, is " Jenny Geddes." 
 
 GIVE A FEE. 
 
 (A NEW SONG FOR YOUNG BARRISTERS.) 
 [Air : Buy a Broom.'] 
 
 O LISTEN, of Scotch and of Civil Law Doctors all, 
 
 Solicitors, Agents, Accountants, to me ! 
 O listen, of strifes and of law-suits concoctors all, 
 
 And give to a poor starving lawyer a fee ! 
 
 Give a fee ! give a fee ! give a fee ! 
 O give to a poor starving lawyer i f$
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE. 
 
 Ei Du mein lieber first fee ! mein first fee ! mein first fee 
 O when wilt thou tinkle so sweet to my ear ? 
 
 Weeks I wait, months I wait, years all in vain I wait, 
 Ei Du mein lieber first fee, when wilt thou appear ? 
 
 The soldier and sailor they dash on and splash on, 
 And, sure of their pay, scour the land and the sea ; 
 
 But we peak and pine here, and long, long years pass on 
 Before our eyes blink at our first guinea fee. 
 
 Give a fee, etc. 
 
 The Church is an Eden of violets and roses, 
 The Bishop its Adam from drudgery free ; 
 
 The big burly priest on his soft down reposes, 
 
 While we still must fag on, and cry, " Give a fee ! " 
 
 Give a fee, etc. 
 
 The quack he sells wholesale his pills universal, 
 And straight waxes richer than sagest M.U., 
 
 But we still must con o'er the same dull rehearsal, 
 And leave one or two old stagers for to pocket the fee ! 
 
 Give a fee, etc. 
 
 Some men who can worship the 
 
 star that's ascendant, 
 One speech from the hustings 
 
 whips up to the sky ; 
 But I, who in all things am most 
 
 independent 
 Except in my purse in the 
 
 mud here I lie. 
 Give a fee, etc. 
 
 Here sit I, all frozen ; my youth's 
 
 glowing visions 
 See-saw, like a Chinese Joss, 
 
 or a Turkish Cadi. 
 I seek for no learning beyond the 
 
 Decisions, 
 And my soul's proud ideal is a 
 
 bright guinea fee. 
 Give a fee, etc. 
 
 My cheeks they are yellow, my 
 
 hair it is grey, sir ; 
 Mine eyes are deep sunk in my 
 
 head, as you see ; 
 I feel life's sear Autumn when 
 
 scarce past its May, sir, 
 And still I am waiting my first 
 
 guinea fee ! 
 Give a fee ! give a fee ! give a 
 
 fee! 
 O force me no longer to cry, 
 
 " Give a fee ! " 
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE AT THIRTY . FIVE . 
 
 " Finally," he said, " at _ 
 the age of thirty, I found my froma] 
 talents lor the Bar were 
 small, so I gave it up. In 1841 I was appointed to the newly-formed 
 chair of Latin Literature in Mareschal College, Aberdeen." The 
 world knows his work and his successful efforts to better the
 
 148 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 condition of his fellow-creatures too well for the subject to call for 
 lengthy remark here. His books are extensively read, the two which 
 have had the largest sale being " Self-Culture " and " Life of Burns." 
 His metrical translation of Goethe's " Faust " was done in four months ; 
 his " Homer and the Iliad," which occasioned much research, took 
 altogether ten years to complete, but was only worked at as a summer 
 recreation. One of the triumphs of his life was that of founding the 
 Celtic Chair in the University of Edinburgh. Here is the story : 
 
 " The Highlanders wanted a Celtic Chair of Literature, and I 
 was asked to undertake the task. Now, I am not accustomed to 
 begging. I was told if I didn't beg the thing would go to the wall. 
 Well, I said I would try. During that four years of begging I got a 
 great insight into human nature. In a word, the art of begging is 
 simply this if you want the Duke you must first get the Duchess. 
 There is more sympathy in women in these matters. When I had 
 got about ,5,000 Her Majesty at Inverary Castle subscribed .200. 
 The Princess Louise said to me, ' How do you expect to get the rest 
 of the money ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, some way or other, your Royal Highness,' I replied. 
 
 " ' But how ? ' the Princess insisted. 
 
 " ' Faith removes mountains,' I replied," and the enthusiastic 
 Professor might have added " Scotch mountains," for it was no easy 
 task to move the pockets of the people ere the .10,000 was obtained, 
 and the Celtic Chair was an accomplished fact. His great fervour 
 of Celtic enthusiasm led to the drawing of a caricature by his brother- 
 in-law, which is shown in the adjoining cut. 
 
 Professor Blackie loves the Germans. All the books he has in 
 
 THE PROFESSOR IN A KILT. 
 
 From a Pen-and-ink Sketch by his Brother-in-law.
 
 PROCESSOR BLACK IE. 
 
 149 
 
 
 o 
 
 CO 
 CO 
 
 w 
 fc 
 
 O 
 
 K 
 Cu
 
 150 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 his library, implying thought and learning, have the names of German 
 writers on their backs. He doesn't care for the French, for the 
 natural reason that he is so fond of the Germans. Neither does he 
 like the French language " It is too snippy," he says, "scrappy and 
 polished. French is a polite corruption of Latin, whilst Italian, 
 though a variation of Latin, has much dignity and sweetness about 
 it." He regards the Baron von Bunsen as the finest type of a human 
 being he ever niet, whilst Max Miiller is the only German he knows 
 who can write perfectly good English, and has the rare threefold gift 
 of learning, piety, and common sense. 
 
 When I left the study, in response to the sound of the gong in 
 the hall, it was not without a half-sheet of notepaper, on which 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 CHE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 were written a few lines specially for these pages, and entitled " Men, 
 and What to Think of Them." 
 
 In the dining-room I met Mrs. Blackie, a woman of great 
 culture and rare kindness. She has been a wifely help to her 
 husband for more than fifty years, for the morning of their golden 
 wedding dawned some two years ago. Even to-day, when her husband 
 writes her a letter, he calls her " Oke," a Greek word which means 
 "swift." It was a happy quartette at the luncheon table Professor 
 Blackie and his wife, Dr. Stodart Walker and myself. The Professor's 
 milk was in a glass, keeping warm by the fire, but to-day to-day, 
 owing to the presence of "visitors" port wine was substituted for the 
 creamy fluid. Such was his repast, with a little Scotch home-made 
 ginger-bread. Delicious.
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE. 151 
 
 A word is whispered across the table " Carlyle ! " 
 " I knew Carlyle intimately," Professor Blackie said, responding 
 to the whispered name, " but I was not one of his out-and-out 
 worshippers at all. His work was to rouse the world ; but I was wide 
 awake and required no rousing. I thought him somewhat despotic 
 and tyrannical ; though, mark you, he possessed extraordinary pic- 
 torial power, and was a good Scotchman. I admired his genius, and 
 perhaps his bark was worse than his bite. He was hard-hearted, and 
 hated sinners. He called here once just when the great noise was 
 going on about the convicts being underfed. He began talking about 
 them. ' Puir fellows ! puir fellows ! ' he said, ' give them brown soup 
 and a footstool, and kick them to the devil ! ' 
 
 From a Photo. 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 lEUMt & Fry. 
 
 " Carlyle was a great talker, and he would talk, talk, talk, and 
 never give one a chance to contradict his assertions. I have a habit 
 one of many years' standing of going up to London once every year. 
 I do it now. I always called on Carlyle at Chelsea, generallv on 
 Sunday evenings. One night I contrived, by starting as soon as I got 
 into the room, to open the conversation, and went on from topic to 
 topic, till they mounted to a dozen ; but to none of my themes would 
 my stout old friend give an assenting reply. At last in desperation I 
 shouted out, ' Very well, I think you have come to " The Everlasting 
 No," so you and I can't agree.' Off I went, but we remained good 
 friends for all that. 
 
 " One night I shook him yes, shook him. His poor wife used to 
 sit there and never speak. I was in his room on this particular
 
 152 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE \VS. 
 
 Sunday, and his wife particularly wanted to say something. But there 
 was not the smallest chance. I got up, took hold of him, and giving 
 him a good shaking, cried, ' Let your wife speak, you monster ! ' but 
 for all that he wouldn't." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Carlyle! She suffered from heart disease. Even when 
 she heard that her husband had made his successful oration as Lord 
 Rector of Edinburgh University, she fainted. The circumstances sur- 
 rounding her death, too, are both painful and tragic. Whilst out in her 
 carriage her little pet dog contrived to get out and was run over. The 
 coachman drove on and on, until at last, receiving no orders, he looked 
 in at the carriage. Whether it was the shock or not will never be 
 
 Anown, but his mistress lay 
 there dead. 
 
 Carlyle lies buried with 
 his own people at Eccle- 
 fechan, whilst his wife rests 
 by the side of her father at 
 Haddington. 
 
 Still the name of Car- 
 lyle hovers about the dinner 
 table, and Mrs. Blackie con- 
 tributes her story about 
 him thus : 
 
 "One day," said Mrs. 
 Blackie, " I went to call en 
 Mrs. Carlyle. It was in the 
 afternoon of a very, very 
 hot day. I was just saying 
 good-bye, when it suddenly 
 occurred to me to ask 
 referring of course to her 
 husband, ' May I see the 
 great man?' Mrs. Carlyle 
 took me down some dark 
 kitchen stairs, and there, in 
 a corner, with his trousers 
 drawn up to his knees, sat 
 Carlyle on a chair, with his 
 feet and legs in a great tub 
 of cold water ! " 
 
 If that little luncheon party was responsible for nothing more, it 
 will be memorable for one thing. It was the scene of the denial of 
 the accuracy of probably one of the most famous anecdotes told of 
 any man. Who has not heard the story? Dr. Stodart Walker related 
 it once again. It is to the effect that one day Professor Blackie caused 
 a notice to be written on the black-board of the class-room, stating 
 that " Professor Blackie will not meet his classes to-day." The story 
 continues that a wag of a student, entering soon after, very unkindly 
 rubbed off the letter c. Still, furthermore, so runs the anecdote, the 
 
 BUST OF PROFESSOR BLACKIE AS A YOUNG MAN.
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE. -53 
 
 Professor himself entered, and seeing the obliteration of the c, im- 
 mediately proceeded to wipe out the 1 ! 
 
 " It's not true ! it's not true ! " exclaimed Professor Blackic, 
 dramatically, rising from his chair and striking his fist on the table. 
 
 " But, my dear," said Mrs. Blackie, merrily, " it's just what you 
 would have done," and the Professor crossed to his wife, and putting 
 his arms about her neck, kissed her. Then he cried vigorously, as he 
 looked out at " the weather," " It's going to be a beautiful afternoon. 
 I'll go out I'll go out ! " In five minutes the blue dressing-gown with 
 the red silk sash, the Panama straw hat have been cast aside, and the 
 Professor appears in a black frock-coat with his plaid cast round him, 
 and a large broad-brimmed black felt hat on his head. We are stand- 
 ing at the door. 
 
 " Oh," says the Professor, light-heartedly, as he selects one of the 
 twenty walking-sticks, " I still do my three or four miles a day. But 
 there were times when I lived at Oban, when I would go off for a 
 fortnight's walk on what I used to call ' The One Shirt Expedition.' 
 Why, there's not a high mountain in Scotland that I have not been to 
 the top of, and I've no doubt but that I could do one now with a 
 rest by the way." We left the house together.
 
 X. 
 
 LORD WOLSELEY, G.C.B., G.C.M.G., &c. 
 
 Fronal'ho'o.by] LORIJ WCLSELEV'S QUARTERS, ROYAL HOSPITAL, KILMAINIIAM. [Klliotta, . 
 
 T is not intended that these papers should be so much 
 biographical as retrospective. I meet a man. I ask him 
 to glance through his life as he would through a volume 
 of pictures. He passes by some quickly they are 
 ordinary and every-day subjects such as we all know and 
 see ; at others he lingers a long time a picture here and 
 a picture there revives more vividly some memorable incident in his 
 career, and he almost lives it over again, so impressive does it become. 
 To chronicle all the pictures scattered throughout Lord Wolseley's 
 life would call for many pages ; to inscribe his biography many 
 volumes. His years have been full of countless incident, of action as 
 brilliant as it has been brave ; tact, discretion, unquenchable earnest- 
 ness and enthusiasm have characterized his whole life. He has long 
 been recognised as our ablest soldier and commander. All this 
 is the outcome of incessant work, and such work constitutes a history. 
 Lord Wolseley's history is just now too much to remember, and far, 
 far too long to write. This paper is but the happy recollection of a 
 few days passed with him in Ireland, where many of the more striking 
 incidents of his life were brought to light again. 
 
 As Commander-in-Chief of Her Majesty's forces in Ireland, Lord 
 Wolseley's quarters are situated at the Royal Hospital, Kilmainham. 
 Here the heroic survivors of many a battle are quietly " waiting." 
 As Lord Wolseley and I wandered about the place many proofs were
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 From, a Photo. 
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 afforded of the kindness of heart of the great soldier for these older 
 brothers in battle. He has a word for every one of them as they 
 stand straight and at " attention." For example, we are talking
 
 '56 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 together at the porch. An old fellow hurries along he is a new 
 arrival. What does he want ? He just thought he would like to 
 remind his lordship that "they had slept in many a cold bed together." 
 The old man had been through the Crimea with Lord Wolseley. 
 The next moment a band passes by. It is on its way to assist in 
 paying a last military honour to an old Victoria Cross man who is 
 to be buried to-day. " There is a death here almost every week," 
 said Lord Wolseley, quietly. 
 
 Lord Wolseley is a trifle below the medium height. His face is 
 bronzed, his hair white. His right eye is blind, and there still remains 
 evidence of a wound on the left cheek in the shape of a scar, the 
 history of which I 
 am to know by- 
 and-by. He talks 
 rapidly, earnestly, 
 and speaks with all 
 the force of a man 
 who means what he 
 says. One could not 
 help connecting his 
 training as a soldier 
 with the ease of his 
 posture when con- 
 versing. He would 
 stand talking for a 
 couple of hours 
 without moving his 
 position an inch. He 
 is frank and honest 
 in all he says, he 
 has no fear of giving 
 utterance to his con- 
 victions, and he says 
 nothing which is not 
 worth remembering. 
 He throws his whole 
 heart and soul into 
 a conversation, with 
 all the zeal and 
 ardour he would put 
 into a campaign. 
 
 We went from 
 room to room of his 
 delightful quarters, 
 now and again 
 joined by Lady 
 Wolseley to whose 
 artistic ingenuity 
 every piece of furni- 
 
 Prom a Photo, by] 
 
 LADY WOLSELEY.
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 T 57 
 
 ture owes its place. What a work it was ! When Lord Wolscley 
 received his appointment in Ireland a position he will hold for 
 five years it was close on a year before the house was ready to 
 receive Lady Wolseley and her daughter, the Hon. Frances Wolseley. 
 Each article of furniture every chair, cabinet, cushion, and footstool 
 was labelled in London by Lady W T olseley, and allotted to the very 
 corner it was to occupy, so that when they entered the place it was 
 like walking into their old home imported bodily from town. 
 
 " During that year of re-decoration," Lord Wolseley merrily 
 remarked, " I was to be found at an hotel." The manner in which that 
 little remark was made told that Lord Wolseley loved home. 
 
 The entrance-hall has on its walls some fine armour designs are 
 ingeniously executed with the aid of cutlasses, breastplates, pistols, 
 
 [Elliott ,i Fry. 
 
 and sabres. The walls are of terra-cotta ; the chairs remind one of 
 those generally associated with the Knights of the Round Table. 
 Over the fireplace tiny Egyptian idols are set out, above the marble 
 table is Arabi Pasha's pistol, and on the marble slab are a couple of 
 Cetewayo's milk-pails yellow vases about one-and-a-half feet long. 
 Underneath are more milk-pails, a wooden dish big enough to hold 
 half a sheep, and some Zulu pillows of wood. These were all taken 
 from Cetewayo's kraal. 
 
 To the left are the small reception-rooms leading into the drawing- 
 room. The walls are of white enamel, and the colour of the various 
 upholstery harmonizes to perfection. 
 
 Every one of these apartments is the resting-place of something of
 
 158 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 From a 1'kuto. by] 
 
 FIRST RECEPTION-BOOM. 
 
 [Eiliuttit- /'/</. 
 
 striking interest. Flowers are in abundance. Lord Wolseley say 
 that flowers make life happy they are the perfume of life. Crocuses 
 of all colours, snowdrops, violets, and lilies-of-the-valley fill the vases. 
 In the first apartment are a couple of oil-paintings of Lady Wolseley 
 and her daughter, as a child. These were painted in 1884 by Julian 
 Story, who married Miss Eames some time ago. Here in a niche 
 is a portrait of Lord Wolseley's great-great-grandfather, in armour, 
 who fought in Ireland with William III. In the second room, over 
 the mantelpiece, is Frank Roll's picture of Lord Wolseley, given by 
 the artist to Lady Wolseley. On the mantel-board are three dolphins 
 in Japan ware, which had been at the bottom of the sea for over ninety 
 years. Staffordshire pottery is plentiful. This is a great hobby of 
 Lord Wolseley's ; indeed, he has one of the finest collections of 
 Staffordshire ware in the kingdom. His quaint old watches, with 
 enamel backs, picturesquely set out under glass cases and on cabinets, 
 are distributed all over the house, and are of great value. 
 
 Near the door is a glass case. Lord Wolseley opens it, and 
 replaces the sword he has just been wearing. The weapon once 
 belonged to King Coffee, and was taken from his palace. An 
 inscription on one side tells that it was given by the Queen to the 
 King of Ashantee ; the other side tells how it was bought by Lord 
 Wolseley's staff at a private sale, and presented to him. Another 
 sword belonged to Lord Airey ; a third cost ^"2,000. 
 
 " It was given to me by the people of Cairo," remarked Lord 
 Wolseley ; " and was richly studded with diamonds. However, I took 
 the stones off and gave them to my wife." 
 
 " Who makes good use of them ! " chimed in Lady Wolseley.
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 '59 
 
 SWORD-CASE IN SECOND RECEPTION-ROOM. 
 
 From a Photo, by Elliott dc Fry. 
 
 Another sword 
 \vas presented by the 
 City of London, and 
 on the ledge below 
 are the six volumes 
 containing the thanks 
 of the nation from 
 the Lords and Com- 
 mons, an honour 
 bestowed upon Lord 
 Wolseley on three 
 occasions. 
 
 The drawing- 
 room is very beauti- 
 ful. On the occasion 
 of a ball the folding 
 doors at the end are 
 thrown open, and the 
 great hall of the hos- 
 pital is converted into 
 a ball-room. Many 
 old-time pictures are 
 here, countless curi- 
 osities and antique 
 knick-knacks arc set 
 out, and the walls are 
 frequently decorated 
 with rare fans, of 
 which Lady Wolseley 
 was at one time an 
 the marble mantelpiece on which 
 is a painting by Sir P. Lely of the 
 Another canvas depicts the " Death 
 On a table is a silver box from 
 
 Here, 
 
 ardent collector. Over 
 
 rests some choice china 
 
 "Duchess of Portsmouth." 
 
 of Sir R. Abercrombie." 
 
 Coomassie. It is made of half-crowns, beaten out very thin. 
 
 too, is the gold and enamel box which contained the Freedom of the 
 
 City. An inscription on a grandly cut crystal ball reads : " This 
 
 crystal ball was fired out of a cannon by the rebels of Lucknow at 
 
 the relief of the Residency, and fell amongst the poth Regiment." 
 
 A "George Morland " stands on the grand piano. It is a dainty 
 "bit of Surrey." The owner declares he would carry that tiny canvas 
 with him wherever he went, as a reminiscence of England. Morland's 
 genius was never more heartily recognised. A glass case reveals 
 some objects of intense interest. One by one Lord Wolseley takes 
 them out the gold and enamel snuff-box from the Emperor of 
 Russia ; a large gold infant's rattle, brought from Coomassie, which 
 Miss Wolseley used to play with as a child ; one of the few remaining 
 decorations General Gordon had made for his brave fellows at 
 Khartoum, and a couple of dollars used by him just before all his
 
 i6o 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 silver had vanished, and he was forced to issue notes ; a little silver 
 cross which a French soldier took from a dead Russian's breast in the 
 Crimea its owner bought it from the Frenchman. Lord Wolseley 
 is a great admirer of Pitt here is a medallion of the famous Pitt 
 Club. But his hero is Nelson, to whom he is the truest patriot 
 
 From a Photo. 6j/] 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 \_EllifM <fc Fry. 
 
 England has ever seen ; anything associated with the great naval 
 commander's name he buys. When the statue to Lord Nelson was 
 erected in Sackville Street, Dublin, the fifteen committee-men wore a 
 medallion of Nelson, surmounted by a gold anchor ; this little case 
 contains one, picked up in an old curiosity shop. A gold cigarette- 
 case, with a horse-shoe in rubies, came from the Duchess of Edin- 
 burgh ; a curl of the hair of the Duke of Wellington is set in a pin, 
 and I tried some of the snuff, for curiosity's sake, once belonging to 
 the great Napoleon but years have robbed it of its pungency. 
 
 In a little gilt frame is one of the Government notes, issued in 
 1884 by Gordon in Khartoum, when all his money was gone. It is 
 torn, and in Lord Wolseley's handwriting the following may be read 
 on the back : 
 
 " This is one of the notes issued by General Gordon in Khartoum. 
 It is for ten piastres (about is. 8d.). It was found in the steamer in 
 which Colonel Stewart was wounded, in September, '84, just before he 
 was murdered. Korti, February, 1885." 
 
 Possibly the most interesting of all the treasures is in the same 
 frame. It is the last letter General Gordon ever wrote. Lord 
 Wolseley had several missives from that brave man. Two days before
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 161 
 
 GORDON'S BANK-NOTE. 
 
 Khartoum fell one was received which said : " Khartoum all right, can 
 hold out for ever." Then came the last, still cheering Gordon 
 trusted to the last " Khartoum all right. 14/12/84. C. E. GORDON." 
 It was brought to Lord Wolseley at Korti, by an 
 Arab messenger, rolled up in the hem of his clothing. 
 
 A frame of similar pattern contains two letters, 
 one of which is of remarkable interest. On Lord 
 Wolseley 's return from Egypt he was banqueted by 
 the Queen at Balmoral. Her Majesty proposed 
 the great soldier's health. 
 
 " When my husband returned," Lady Wolseley said, as we looked 
 
 GORDON S LAST LETTER. 
 
 ARAB BRINGING LORD WOLSELEY GORDON'S '.ETTER.
 
 162 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 at the framed letters together, " I asked him what the Queen said. 
 He positively could not remember ! I wrote to Lady Ely, who was 
 present at the banquet, asking her if she could possibly recollect, and 
 if so if she would kindly write it down. It seems Lady Ely showed 
 my letter to the Queen, and Her Majesty graciously wrote out the 
 words herself." 
 
 The Queen wrote on the familiar buff-coloured paper : 
 
 /sJU^ 
 
 las QUEEN'S TOAST TO LORD WOLSELEY, IN HER MAJESTY'S HANDWRITING.
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 163 
 
 The dining-room opens from the drawing-room, and leads out on 
 to a green lawn. Its walls are a delicate blending of salmon and yellow, 
 and the ceiling is supported by four massive pillars of white marble. 
 This room is principally noted for its portraits. The two pictures of 
 Queen Charlotte and George III., at either end, and the "Battle of 
 the Boyne," over the mantelpiece, belong to the house. Amongst 
 the other pictures it includes one of the only poet in the Wolseley 
 family of note though it should be mentioned that Lord Wolseley's 
 mother was gifted in verse Summerville, who wrote "The Chase." 
 The original study for the great picture of Wellington hangs near the 
 door. It was here at luncheon-time that many capital hunting anecdotes 
 and merry stories were told. The Honourable Miss Wolseley is a 
 
 from a Photo, by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 lEUMt it Fry. 
 
 splendid horsewoman, and rides wonderfully straight. Only the day 
 before, she had led the field all through the hunt on "Lady Alice" ; 
 so Major Childers Lord Wolseley's military secretary who was 
 hunting, too, assured me. Captain Smithson, late adjutant of the 
 1 3th Hussars, and now A.D.C. to Lord Wolseley, was also present, 
 together with Lord Edward Cecil, another aide-de-camp a son of the 
 Marquis of Salisbury, and whose height is 6ft. 4in. who, full of 
 hilarity, told of a race he had had with a brother officer that same 
 morning. Lord Edward persuaded his brother soldier to race 
 down a hill, because he knew that if he once got the officer's horse to 
 go the rider would never be able to keep his seat Lord Edward 
 was right !
 
 164 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 The day was bright, and, luncheon over, it was suggested that a 
 visit should be made to places of interest outside. Lord Wolseley's 
 raven was gaily hopping about the lawn as we entered the great hall 
 where the old pensioners were gathered round the fire, engaged in an 
 innocent game of cards. There is some grand armour here notably 
 Cromwellian. 
 
 It was whilst standing here that Lord Wolseley referred to the 
 late Duke of Clarence. 
 
 " The Duke was here to two or three little dances," he said. 
 " He was devotedly fond of dancing. He was the most sincere 
 young man I ever met I would that we had more like him. He 
 
 never spoke an 
 unkind word " ; 
 an expression in 
 itself a monument 
 to the late Prince's 
 memory. 
 
 Then we 
 looked into the 
 chapel and ad- 
 mired the grand 
 ceilingby Cipriani. 
 Every Sunday 
 Lord Wolseley 
 and his staff sit in 
 a great oak seat 
 overshadowed by 
 an oaken canopy 
 in the gallery at 
 the far end. At 
 the conclusion of 
 every service the 
 band plays " God 
 save the Queen." 
 As we left the 
 sacred edifice, and 
 passed through the 
 
 Gardens, " Bully," a very ferocious dog, was met with. " Bully " is 
 very ugly. " Bully " poses as a protector, not as a handsome crea- 
 ture. Lord Wolseley is very fond of dogs. He points me out a 
 little mound of earth under a mulberry tree, on which crocuses are 
 growing. The mulberry tree was planted there by James II., and 
 underneath the earth and the crocuses lies " Caesar " a dog who was 
 a great pet of Lady Wolseley. 
 
 A glorious avenue of trees leads down to the stables. On one 
 side is a field freely provided with difficult hedge-rows, hurdles, and 
 ugly water-jumps the practice-ground of Miss Wolseley. We stay 
 for a moment to watch her " take " the water. Blackberry a pretty 
 mare is a bit shy, but a good run and a little inducement does it, 
 
 LORD WOLSELEY'S GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER.
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. T 6 S 
 
 and Blackberry 
 clears the water 
 with a good foot of 
 ground to spare. 
 All the horses have 
 their names over 
 their stalls in the 
 stables. Here is 
 Chance,Sir Redvers, 
 Brown Bess, Blue- 
 bell, Blackberry, 
 and Chem. A tiny 
 cat practically lives 
 on Chem's back a 
 sort of feline jockey. 
 Go into the stables 
 when you will, the cat is always mounted, and Chem seems delighted 
 to afford her accommodation. 
 
 On our return to the house, Blackberry and Miss Wolseley were 
 waiting. Lord Wolseley took the bridle, for Blackberry was not 
 inclined to favour the presence of a sentry, and a convenient camera 
 chronicled the picture. Then Lord Wolseley mounts Paddy, and 
 Lord Edward Cecil stands at the horse's head, while another photo- 
 graph is taken. Then the bark of a dog is heard. Lady Wolseley 
 is now at the porch, and her pet dog a fine specimen of the Dach- 
 shund breed christened after King Coffee, takes up his position as 
 well, and a third picture is secured. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 [Elliott <l~ Fry. 
 
 .'Vom a Photo. lu\ 
 
 THE JOCKEY CAT.
 
 1 66 
 
 1L L US1RA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 LORD WOLSELEY AND THE HON. MISS WOLSELEY. 
 
 [Elliott ,t Frv, 
 
 Then we entered the house. 
 
 There was still very much more to be seen before the study of 
 the great soldier was reached. The staircases are hung with many 
 rare pieces of tapestry, and numbers of quaint specimens of " picture 
 needle-work " are on the walls in frames. 
 
 A pair of ironing boards, carved in oak and dated 1667, are in a 
 corner reminders of the days when ladies of high degree themselves 
 ironed their own laces, collars, and frills. Near by is a handsomely 
 carved gong from Burmah, a small oak cradle of the seventeenth 
 century, and a reproduction of Boehm's bust of Lord Wolseley done 
 in 1882. A great cabinet with glass doors reveals the fact that Lady 
 Wolseley not only collects fans and lace by-the-bye but just now 
 is industriously engaged in collecting rare covers of old books. Many 
 of these are of exquisite workmanship. Miss Wolseley 's hobby is 
 bookplates, of which she has over two thousand specimens. 
 
 The way to Lord Wolseley's study is to the right of the entrance- 
 hall. The first apartment passed through is Miss Wolseley's study. 
 The tone of the wall is of white and blue, the furniture of rose-wood.
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 167 
 
 There are some delightful water-colours here, principally of scenes in 
 Cyprus. The only suggestion of matters military about the room is a 
 small breastplate near the fireplace the remnant of a suit of armour. 
 
 A door opens to a small corridor of white enamel. This is one of 
 the most interesting corners of the house. One side along which the 
 windows run is devoted to old military pictures, of which Lord 
 Wolseley has a very choice collection. Here, too, are many of the 
 playbills of performances given by the French Zouaves in the Crimea. 
 The opposite side contains an excellent library, whilst in the spare 
 spaces are set out the various testimonials and illuminated vellums 
 presented at various times. There are quite a number of letters 
 captured from the Mahdi. One of these has the following inscription : 
 " Letter from Mahamet El Kheir Emir, of Barbar, to Abdul Magid 
 Wad Le Ralik, giving an account of the capture of Khartoum and 
 death of Gordon (the accursed), picked up on the battle-field of El 
 Kirbek, Feb. 1 1, 1885. Found by a soldier of the Duke of Cornwall's 
 Light Infantry in a donkey's saddle-bag." 
 
 This leads on to Lord Wolseley 's dressing-room. With but few 
 exceptions, the pictures here are nearly all prints or engravings. One 
 of the Queen has the following note of interest written beneath it : 
 "This picture was taken in the Ulandi Kraal, in August, 1879, where 
 it was hung in Cetewayo's private room." Over the door is a sugges- 
 tive picture of General Gordon " The Last Watch Khartoum." 
 
 The study is decorated in blue and white. Many are the engrav- 
 ings of Nelson ; there are no fewer than four in the immediate vicinity 
 of the mantel-board. A clever crayon drawing of Bismarck, by
 
 1 68 
 
 ILL US1RA TED 1XTER VIE \ I 3. 
 
 Linbach, reminds Lord Wolseley to credit Bismarck with the most 
 interesting conversation he has ever had with any man. There is a 
 print of Warren Hastings another hero of Lord Wolseley's. An 
 engraving from Frank Roll's picture of Colonel Stewart suggests to 
 its owner to tell how, at Stewart's death, his brother officers and friends 
 
 were desirous of having a picture of him painted. Frank Roll best 
 
 and kindest-hearted of all artists was asked if he would do it for 
 ^"300. 300 ! No ; he would do it for nothing. In a niche between 
 the two windows are grouped together the autographed portraits 
 received from members of the Royal Family. The centre is occupied 
 by Her Majesty dated Balmoral, October 31, 1882 and round the 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE CORRIDOR 
 
 (Elliott <t fry. 
 
 Queen are gathered Princess Beatrice, the Duke and Duchess of Edin- 
 burgh, the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, the Duke of Cambridge, 
 the Emperor of Russia, William I., Emperor of Germany, and others. 
 The volumes here are as numerous as they are varied and useful. 
 Lord Wolseley considers books and horses among the greatest 
 comforts a man can have. He has every work written on the life or 
 times of the great Duke of Marlborough a man whom he considers 
 far greater than Wellington. The early hours of the day for Lord 
 Wolseley is down at six every morning find him at work adding 
 something to the history of the Duke which he is writing. Already a 
 dozen bulky volumes of MSS. are completed. He works and writes, 
 sometimes sitting at the table, sometimes standing at his desk. The 
 mention of Wellington's name causes Lord Wolseley to take from a
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 l6q 
 
 chair a small flag. Though the brilliancy of its colours gold and red 
 has faded, it still betokens a former richness. 
 
 " When the Duke was buried," Lord Wolseley said, " the great 
 pall was surrounded by six small flags. A short time ago the present 
 Duke was asked to take these out of the crypt at St. Paul's. He took 
 four of them. A friend of mine secured two, from whom I obtained 
 this." 
 
 I then settled down to hear from his own lips some of the inci- 
 dents which have formed part of a life which on more than one 
 occasion may truly be said to have been charmed. He has had 
 bullets run through the lappets and sleeves of his coat ; shots have 
 
 From a Plioto. by] 
 
 THE DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliot 
 
 carried the cap off his head, but still have missed him. He has been 
 laid low with wounds such as many a stronger man than he would 
 have succumbed to, but he point blank refused to die, and he kept his 
 word and held on to his decision. Look at his early training. True, 
 he was a soldier from the first, but he was a better one at the end of 
 eight years. During his first eight years in the Army he was at war 
 every year. In 1852 and 1853, in Burmah ; 1854, 1855, and 1856, in 
 the Crimea; 1857, 1858, and 1859, in the Indian Mutiny ; and 1860 
 found him in the China war. He frankly says this is the secret of his 
 success. Lord Wolseley accounts for his rapid promotion by the 
 experience he gained during those eight years of preliminary training. 
 At the time he was made a captain within three years of joining 
 he was the youngest in the Army ; he was promoted to be a Major as
 
 170 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 soon as the allotted six years had passed, and nine months afterwards 
 was Lieut-Colonel a record of rapid rising neither to be beaten nor 
 equalled. 
 
 " We all have chances," said Lord Wolseley, " but a large 
 proportion of men don't know it. The opportunities are waiting for 
 them to grasp, and they won't put out their hands to take them. I 
 had my chances, and had the knowledge to grasp them. Then I was 
 fortunate enough to win approval. There is only one way for a 
 young man to get on in the Army. He must try and get killed in 
 every way he possibly can ! He must be absolutely indifferent to 
 life. If he does not succeed in getting killed he is bound to get on 
 that is, always assuming he has intelligence and the instincts of a 
 soldier." 
 
 Lord Wolseley comes from a family of soldiers, and is the son of 
 the late Major G. J. Wolseley, and was born at Golden Bridge House 
 curiously enough, within a stone's throw of his present abode on 
 June 4, 1833. A portrait of his mother, reproduced in these pages, stands 
 on a table in his study. He was called Garnet, after Bishop Garnet, his 
 father's great-uncle. He has practically little in the way of ancestry 
 to hang his successful career on. The successful man be he a 
 soldier or what you will lifts himself in life, and does not depend on 
 the support of ancestral pillars. So says Lord Wolseley. He 
 passed his early days in Dublin, occasionally coming over to England 
 on holiday visits to Sir Richard Wolseley. He entered the Army in 
 1850 as an ensign. The campaign in Burmah was his first war. 
 
 " The first man I ever saw killed was during a skirmish in 
 Burmah," Lord Wolseley said, " and Lord Alcester then a young 
 naval commander was responsible for it. I can scarcely tell you how 
 I felt on going into my first action. It is a sensation hard to describe. 
 Nine out of ten men don't know how they are going to behave. You 
 look forward with eagerness to see what a battle is like. I know 
 I was longing to get shot at. Nerve nerve, is the great thing 
 needed. The wise men who haven't got it give up, the fools stay on 
 and come to grief. Your soldier may have spirit and enthusiasm, but 
 nerve beats everything else. Spirit is not much use when death is in 
 the air, enthusiasm of little avail when bullets are whistling about and 
 trying to pick you out from amongst all the others. Nerve, nothing 
 but nerve, tells in the long run. 
 
 ""The first engagement I was in came about as follows. It was 
 in Burmah : 
 
 " I was at Rangoon at the time, and the news arrived there of the 
 rout of a company commanded by Captain Lock. Every soldier who 
 could be spared was to go up the river, push through the jungle and 
 punish the enemy. Two hundred of the 8oth Regiment went, under 
 command of Sir John Cheape. We fought for nineteen days, until at 
 last we worked our way up to the final position one afternoon, halted 
 and began making arrangements for attacking the next morning. At 
 daybreak, when the fog cleared, I was told off with four men to a 
 certain point to skirmish. / had never been drilled ! My four men
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 171 
 
 or rather boys had never been drilled nor even fired off a musket. 
 I tell you this to illustrate the great nonsense of some people's ideas, 
 who state that the Army to-day is inferior to that of thirty years ago. 
 Though I had not been drilled I was well up in strategy tactics, of 
 which I had been a student from my earliest days. \Vc started, 
 and suddenly came upon the enemy. The enemy heard us, and 
 opened a heavy fire, killing my four men. More men now came up, 
 and we were ordered to go on and charge. There was a native 
 regiment of infantry extended in skirmishing order, and I well 
 remember kicking a fat old native officer because he wouldn't go on. 
 Then volunteers were called for the charging party. I said I would 
 
 From a Photo. 'by\ 
 
 THE GREAT HALL, USED AS 
 
 [Elliott d; fry. 
 
 go, and with others principally of the 8oth under the lead of the 
 present General Allan Johnson, we went. 
 
 " When about thirty or forty yards from the enemy's works I fell 
 into a great hole, dug some five feet deep, with a very formidable spike 
 in the middle, and brambles and twigs and leaves scattered over it ; 
 it was indeed a man-trap ! I was stunned for some time. When I 
 recovered I rose and crawled out on the enemy's side ! They 
 commenced firing. I disappeared into my hole again. I waited 
 awhile. Not a soul seemed to be stirring, though I could hear heavy 
 firing. I got out of the hole and ran for my life. It was 1 50 yards to 
 our lines, and I cannot tell you the sensation of that 1 50 yards' run, 
 expecting every moment to provide a refuge for a dozen or twenty 
 bullets in my body. I found our people lying down. It was not so 
 easy to reach the enemy as had been anticipated, and consequently
 
 172 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 volunteers for a second storming party were asked for. Another man 
 named Taylor led one detachment, and I led the other. I warned 
 him of the hole, and we went stealing on, two and two, along the narrow 
 path right and left of the dangerous trap. Taylor was shot through 
 both legs, and died by my side afterwards. Only a few more yards 
 and we were victors ! I fell, shot through the left leg. I thought I 
 was bleeding to, death. The men saw me fall and were inclined to go 
 back, and a sergeant named Quin wanted to carry me away. ' Go 
 on ! Go on ! ' I cried, with what strength I could ' Go on, men go 
 on ! ' They did, scrambled over the parapet and the enemy bolted." 
 
 Such was the first day's real work of the young ensign. He was 
 so badly wounded that he had to lay up for three months for the best 
 part of two months lying on his back, and for a considerable time 
 afterwards going about on crutches. On his recovery he obtained a 
 lieutenancy in the poth Light Infantry. Then came the news of the 
 battle of Inkerman. This called him to the Crimea, and on 
 November 19, 1854, he started from Ireland, where he was staying 
 when the news arrived. Here again his conspicuous bravery brought 
 him into prominence ; in the Crimea, as in all his subsequent engage- 
 ments, he practically snapped his fingers at the bullets, and held up 
 his head as a bull's-eye for shells. He was twice wounded once very 
 badly, which resulted in the loss of the sight of one of his eyes, and 
 the still visible scar on his cheek. 
 
 We now come to the week before Sebastopol was taken. Young 
 Wolseley was an engineer officer, and, being short of men, experienced 
 fellows were taken from the line for engineering work. The young 
 officer had charge of the advance sap close up to the redoubts. He 
 was to push on the sap at night as fast as possible. The place was 
 very rocky, 
 
 " It was a glorious night," continued Lord Wolseley ; " the moon 
 was shining, and by its light I was sketching a plan of the place to 
 pass on to the officer who was to relieve me. I paused for a moment 
 to look at a certain battery, expecting them to open fire. Suddenly 
 I saw a flash ! A round shot fell amongst us, and struck the gabion 
 which was filled with stones, scattering them with terrific force 
 amongst us. Both the poor fellows by my side were killed. I fell to 
 the ground. I was lifted up by two men and carried into the camp. 
 My left cheek was lying on my jacket I thought my jawbone was 
 broken. I was hit all over the face, riddled with the stones and flint. 
 They got me to the doctor's hut through which a stream of wounded 
 were passing all night aye, we were losing a battalion a day then. 
 They wanted to patch me up, but I wouldn't let them. I whispered 
 that I had something in my cheek. They said it was my jawbone. 
 But it was not. For the very next morning a sergeant gave me, 
 wrapped in a newspaper, a piece of flint two-and-a-half inches long, 
 which they had pulled out of my cheek with a pair of dentist's 
 forceps." 
 
 Such is the story of the scar and the loss of sight of the right eye. 
 Wolseley had to live in a dark cave for many days after this occur-
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 BEFORE SEBASTOPOL. 
 
 rence. He was wounded, however, previous to this, when he fought 
 from sunrise to daybreak next morning four-and-twenty hours. 
 Utterly exhausted he fell from a wound in the thigh, received whilst 
 getting over a parapet to go out, for he had to make a trench the 
 connecting link between the lines himself. He was found amongst 
 the dead and dying, .where he was picked up by a brother officer. 
 
 " We won some of our engagements simply through shouting," 
 Lord Wolseley said. " We had no men, and I don't believe we had 
 twenty-five fellows the last time we attacked. We were shouting, 
 shouting, shouting, and afterwards I could not speak for four days, 
 whilst some of the officers lost their voices for a week. We were 
 firing from behind a heap of dead bodies, and I told the bugler to 
 blow his very loudest whilst we cheered, and so the enemy thought 
 we had plenty of men in the rear." 
 
 Lord Wolseley referred very merrily to a certain Christmas Day 
 which he spent in the Crimea, and how he made a Christmas 
 pudding, the result of which went a long way to prove that his 
 culinary education had been neglected. 
 
 "In the Crimea we messed by companies," he said. " It was 
 Christmas Christmas in the Crimea. What more natural than a 
 plum-pudding ! A brother officer and myself determined to make
 
 74 
 
 ILLUSTRATED tNTERl IEWS. 
 
 LORD WOLSELEY'S CHRISTMAS PUDDING. 
 
 one. We had no bread or flour, only biscuit, which we powdered 
 up in a hollowed-out shell, with a shot for a pestle. No plums 
 either. But we chopped up some figs, and managed to get a couple 
 of pounds of very bad suet from Balaclava. We had some doubts 
 in our mind as to whether it ought to be roasted or boiled, but 
 finally decided on the latter, and wrapped our mixture up in a 
 towel. 
 
 " Now in the ordinary course of events it was not our turn for 
 the trenches, but the pudding had scarcely been boiling half an 
 hour when an officer came in and ordered us out. What was to be 
 done ? Eat the Christmas concoction now or to-morrow ? Decision 
 now. And, unmindful of the fact that Christmas puddings take a 
 great deal longer than half an hour to boil, I confess to eating 
 liberally. Away I went to the trenches. About twelve o'clock I 
 thought I was going to expire. It was the only night I ever had to 
 leave the trenches. A regimental doctor got hold of me, and I was 
 on my way home, when the walk did me so much good that I went 
 back again. Since then I have never made a pudding, either 
 Christmas or otherwise." 
 
 Then came the Indian Mutiny. He was really bound for 
 China when the Mutiny broke out, and the cjoth were the first to 
 land. Whilst on his way to China in the Transit, he was shipwrecked 
 in the Straits of Malacca. Together with his company, he was posted 
 on the lower deck, the only light afforded being that of lanterns.
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 175 
 
 How vivid and solemn is the picture ! The ship sinking, a thousand 
 souls on board, the men standing at " attention," silent, and waiting 
 for death. In turn they made for the boats, until at last it fell to 
 Wolseley with his 112 men to go on deck, and they were saved. The 
 shipwrecked party lived at Malacca an almost uninhabited spot for 
 ten days. They had saved some salt pork from the ship, and this was 
 put into a pot with some pieces of baboon ! a most sickening meat. 
 At last Singapore was reached Wolseley, having lost all he had in 
 the Transit, buying a fresh kit at Calcutta, which the enemy eventually 
 burnt at Cawnpore. 
 
 Lord Wolseley led the storming party that eventually relieved 
 Lucknow. The picture which illustrates this incident is a reproduction 
 of a painting by Mr. Wollen, which now hangs in the officers' mess- 
 room of the Marine Artillery at Portsmouth, for which Lord Wolseley 
 sat. In speaking of this picture, Lord Wolseley said : 
 
 " It was at the storming party which I led against the Metee 
 Mohul in November, 1857, which opened out the way into the Lucknow 
 Residency. The picture represents me carrying off a wounded man 
 out of fire to a neighbouring shelter. The wounded man was Private 
 Andrews, of my company, one of the very bravest private soldiers I 
 ever knew. He was a Londoner. When I had him in my arms a 
 rebel sepoy fired at me from a loophole about six or seven yards off, 
 and the bullet, instead of going through me, went through Private 
 Andrews. He was thus badly wounded twice within a few minutes." 
 
 The Mutiny over, in 1858 he became a Major in the poth Foot, 
 and Lieut-Colonel in 1859. In 1860 Wolseley was with Sir Hope 
 Grant in China. Here he formed those very decisive and strong 
 opinions of the Chinese which are as great a conviction with him to- 
 day as in the sixties. He believes the Chinese to be the greatest race 
 in the world ; they possess all the elements of being a great people ; 
 they have courage, physical power, and absolute contempt for death. 
 To-day in that country soldiering is looked down upon ; only the 
 " failures in life " enter the army. Let a Bismarck or a Napoleon rise 
 up amongst them, and in two generations they would be the greatest 
 nation and conquering power in the world. They only need a 
 leader. Give them progress and they will conquer. Three hundred 
 years ago they were the head of the world, but their growth was 
 stunted. China wants a modern man with modern ambitions. Let 
 their leader come, and they must revive again. 
 
 " So great is their aptitude for learning," Lord Wolseley said, 
 " that I should be glad to have a force of Chinamen here, where, under 
 the tuition of English Infantry officers, in one year they would turn 
 out the finest soldiers in the world." 
 
 From China he went to Canada, where in 1870 he was in charge 
 of the Red River Expedition, of which he had supreme command. 
 For this he was knighted. Then followed a period at the War Office, 
 where he did more to convert our Army into a modern fighting 
 machine than any of his predecessors. A short campaign in Ashantee 
 brought him the thanks of Parliament, a grant of ^25,000, a K.C.B.,
 
 176 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 and the freedom of the City of London. He was then sent out to 
 Natal to carry out a change of Government. One of the papers 
 stated that " a new Governor had come out to drown the independence 
 of the country in champagne and sherry," so liberal was he in the 
 entertainments he gave. After a year at the India Office he was 
 
 appointed the first Governor of Cyprus, in 1878. Then the Zulu war 
 broke out. Lord Wolseley had a most amusing anecdote to tell about 
 Cetewayo. 
 
 " For six weeks," he said, " we were trying to capture him. He 
 was eventually betrayed into my hands by his Prime Minister. He 
 was surrounded in a kraal, and there was no escape for him. I never
 
 LORD \VOLSELEY. 
 
 177 
 
 spoke to Cetewayo I refused to but I can see him now, walking 
 into camp, very dignified, very fat, very kingly in appearance. When 
 I took him he was accompanied by several hundred wives. I gave 
 him three out of these, and shipped him away in a man-o'-war to an 
 island in Table Bay. He was continually asking for more wives a 
 request I never granted. But at last, when he heard I was returning to 
 England, he sent me a message to the effect that ' if I wouldn't give 
 him any more, would I exchange the three he had for three others ! ' ' 
 Not the least interesting part of the time spent at the Royal 
 Hospital was passed in listening to stories associated with the 
 Egyptian Campaign, and reminiscences of General Gordon. 
 
 From a Photo. 
 
 LORD WOLSELEY'S STUDY. 
 
 [Elliott < Fry. 
 
 " The Duke of Connaught," said Lord Wolseley, " was the best 
 brigadier I had there. He was a capital officer, devoted to his men, 
 and a most keen soldier. 
 
 "Gordon left London on January 18, 1884 ; he started from my 
 house, and when he left he said, ' I pray for three people every night 
 of my life, and you are one of them.' When Gordon went to Khartoum 
 he went for God. I think Charley Gordon was one of the two great 
 heroes I have known in my life. I have met abler men, but^ none so 
 sincere. He was full of courage and determination, honest in every- 
 thing he did or ever thought of, and totally indifferent to wealth. His 
 departure for the Soudan took place late in the afternoon. There he 
 stood in a tall silk hat and a frock-coat. I offered to send him any- 
 thing he wanted.
 
 17* 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 " ' Don't want anything,' he said. 
 " ' But you've got no clothes ! ' 
 "' I'll go as I am ! ' he said, and he meant it. 
 " He never had any money ; he always gave it away. I know 
 once he had some 7,000. It all went in the establishment of a ragged 
 school for boys. 
 
 " I asked him if he had any cash. 
 
 " ' No,' was his calm reply. ' When I left Brussels I had to borrow 
 ,2$ from the King to pay my hotel bill with.' 
 
 " ' Very well,' I said, 'I'll try to get you some, and meet you at 
 the railway station with it.' I went round to the various clubs and 
 got 320 in gold. I gave the money to Colonel Stewart, who went 
 with him : Gordon wasn't to be trusted with it. A week or so passed 
 by when I had a letter from Stewart. He said : ' You remember the 
 ,300 you gave me ? When we arrived at Port Said a great crowd 
 came out to cheer Gordon. Amongst them was an old sheik to whom 
 Gordon was much attached, and who had become poor and blind. 
 Gordon got the money and gave the whole of it to him ! ' 
 
 " I left England the August following his departure. Early in April 
 I had pressed the Government to relieve him. My calculation was 
 that he wouldn't hold out beyond November 15, 1884; based, of 
 course, on the amount of provisions and ammunition which he pos- 
 sessed. Never in 
 history was there 
 such a race about 
 i, 800 miles up the 
 Nile from the sea, 
 when we lost at the 
 post by a neck. The 
 Mahdi made pre- 
 tence that he had 
 won a great victory 
 by taking round a 
 few helmets he had 
 picked up. The 
 people of Khar- 
 toum were starving 
 existing at last 
 on herbs and roots. 
 Charley Gordon 
 would have been 
 alive to-day had 
 not poor Stewart 
 been struck down. 
 " Colonel Stew- 
 art w r as the hand- 
 somest man in the 
 Army. He could 
 
 LORD WOLSELEVs MOTHER. ^O *Iiy tiling. 1
 
 LORD WOLSELEY. 
 
 179 
 
 picked him up as a captain in Zululand. When I first landed, 
 and, on reaching Korti, found Gordon in extremes, I had made 
 up my mind to send the Camel Corps, which Stewart com- 
 manded, across the desert. But we couldn't move. Both men I sent 
 were killed. I rode into the desert with Stewart when he was starting 
 across the sandy plain. 
 
 " ' Now, Stewart,' I said, ' I'll make use of an Irishism. I'll never 
 forgive you if you get killed.' 
 
 ILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU IF YOU GET KILLED. 
 
 " ' I won't ! ' he cried, and wrung my hand, as he rode away. 
 
 " Poor Stewart ! When he was dying he wrote me a message, 
 apologizing for having got killed. When I heard he was wounded it 
 was a great blow to me. I was connected by telegraph from Korti to 
 England, and I wired to Lord Hartington ' Stewart wounded, chance 
 of living, strongly recommend him a Major-General.' Within twelve 
 hours the Queen made him a Major-General. I believe in the sudden 
 delivery of good news to a wounded man in battle. It held Stewart 
 up for days, but he finally succumbed, and was buried in the 
 desert. 
 
 " I have never smoked since I was in the desert in 1885. I once 
 used to smoke in all actions, and in India demolished some twenty 
 cigars a day. I thought smoking injurious to the nerves, and I 
 wanted every iota of nerve before I went up to take Khartoum. I 
 remember, too, I did not smoke for a week before Tel-el-Kebir was 
 won. I used to carry a case containing six regalias. After the fight 
 was over and I despatched my telegram to England, I went off to 
 find a poor aide-de-camp. I lit a cigar. By the time I found him I
 
 i8o 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 had smoked a couple, and finally finished the whole half-dozen, and 
 excellent cigars they were, too." 
 
 On Lord Wolseley's return from Egypt he was elevated to the 
 rank of Viscount. 
 
 In reply to a question regarding compulsory service, Lord 
 Wolseley said : " It is a mistake to imagine that I have ever advocated 
 universal service for England. I have on more than one occasion 
 pointed out the great benefits which must accrue to any nation which 
 has the patriotism to adopt such a system. I have done so by 
 balancing the pros and cons on this particular point The advantages 
 are, briefly, that you supplement your ordinary schools of education 
 in which the mind alone is taught and trained. By a service of a 
 couple of years in the Army, such as the young German soldier 
 receives, you develop his physical power, you make a man of him in 
 body and in strength, as the schools he had been at previously had 
 made a man of him mentally. You teach him habits of cleanliness, 
 tidiness, punctuality, reverence for superiors, and obedience to those 
 'above him, and you do this in a way that no other species of 
 machinery that I have ever been acquainted with could possibly fulfil. In 
 fact, you give him all the qualities calculated to make him a thoroughly 
 useful and loyal citizen when he leaves the colours and returns hcme 
 
 to civil life. And of 
 this I am quite certain, 
 that the nation which 
 has the courage and 
 the patriotism to in- 
 sist on all its sons 
 undergoing this 
 species of education 
 and training for at 
 least two or three 
 generations, will con- 
 sist of men and 
 women far better 
 calculated to be the 
 fathers and mothers 
 of healthy and 
 vigorous children 
 than the nation which allows its young people to grow up without any 
 physical training, although they may cram their heads with all sorts of 
 scientific knowledge in their national schools. In other words, the race 
 in two or three generations will be stronger, more vigorous, and there- 
 fore braver, and more calculated to make the nation to which they belong 
 great and powerful. Such a system must necessarily be a burden 
 upon the people, entailing upon the present generation a considerable 
 loss of time, and many other drawbacks, all to be endured for a great 
 future benefit to the nation. In fact, the plan means a certain amount 
 of self-abnegation to the individual for the sake of the future of the 
 nation to which that individual belongs." 
 
 CETEWAYO'S MILK-PAILS, DISH, AND PILLOWS. 
 
 From a Photo. by Elliott it Fry.
 
 XI. 
 
 MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 
 EORGE AUGUSTUS SALA or, as popularity has 
 abbreviated him, " G. A. S." is one of the merriest men 
 of the nineteenth century. He is literally loaded with 
 fun and good humour. Touch the veteran journalist on 
 his anecdotal trigger and you will live all the happier 
 after receiving a volley. Ask him a question and his 
 answer is an anecdote. It is his only hobby to gather them up 
 and he is a past-master in the art of dispensing them in any sized 
 quantities to meet the requirements of the most susceptible constitution. 
 Mr. Sala and his wife are not favourably inclined towards flats, and 
 
 infinitely prefer to 
 live at Brighton, 
 where they have a 
 little house, and 
 never lose an 
 opportunity of 
 leaving the dark- 
 ness and blackness 
 of Victoria Street 
 for the welcome 
 breezes of the 
 Marine Metro- 
 polis ; yet their 
 little flat is 
 pleasantness itself, 
 and in order to 
 reach it, you are 
 welcome to enter 
 the front door 
 always con- 
 veniently open 
 of No. 125, ring 
 the bell of the 
 passenger lift, and 
 an obliging youth 
 will immediately 
 elevate you to the 
 third floor. For 
 such is the where- 
 abouts of Sala's flat. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 ENTRANCE-HALL. 
 
 [Elliott & Pry.
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 His pictures are so many that he has positively had to fall back 
 on the kitchen walls whereon to hang many a proof engraving and 
 etching, whilst the lower part of the dresser in the same culinary 
 department actually provides a resting-place for china and other ware 
 of rare worth, in place of the customary pots and pans. 
 
 The entrance-hall is a perfect little menagerie. Here, on shelves 
 artistically draped with crimson plush, are china cows and horses, 
 deer, canaries, and even a rhinoceros. The pig predominates. Mr. 
 Sala believes in pigs for luck, and purchases one wherever he goes. 
 The two places of honour, however, are given up to a large-sized cat 
 and monkey. Let it be told in a whisper that Mrs. Sala confesses to 
 the cat as her guardian angel, because it is most like a woman ; whilst 
 Mr. Sala leans towards the monkey, because it most resembles a - 
 A grandfather's clock is ticking in the corner. 
 
 MRS. SALAS CAT. 
 
 From Photos, 'by Elliott < Fry. 
 
 MR. SALAS MONKEY. 
 
 Here hangs a silver violin. It was made in Cawnpore, and was 
 the property of some Rajah of India. 
 
 " I bought it in Leicester Square," said its owner. " It \vas 
 marked 35. I went inside and offered a ten-pound note for it." 
 
 "'Oh!' exclaimed the proprietor, 'you're Mr. Sailor, you are! 
 Well, look here, you can have it for ,1$.' 
 
 " ' Right,' I said. 
 
 " ' Going to pay now ? ' he asked. 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 " ' Then, take :'t out of the shop ; for it's been hanging here for 
 twenty-five years.' "
 
 MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 183 
 
 There are many fine engravings about ; and just by the dining- 
 room door is a stick given to Mr. Sala by Lord Wolseley, after his 
 great campaign in South Africa. 
 
 The dining-room overlooks Victoria Street. It is a little room, 
 suggestive of comfortable meals and excellent company. G. A. S.'s 
 personal dining-table is not very big one and a half feet square. He 
 always uses it, seldom sitting at the larger board, and sits in an easy- 
 chair. The bronzes on the mantel-board are as exquisite as the china 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott tt Fry. 
 
 and Hanoverian ware set out on the bookshelves, and it would be 
 difficult to find more works of art crowded into so small a space. 
 Examples of Sir John Gilbert, Montalba, Copley Fielding, Van 
 Dyck, Gerard Dhow, Gustave Dore represented by a grand scene in 
 the Highlands the original sketch in oils for Luke Fildes' " Betty," 
 and a very clever painting by Miss Genevieve Ward, the actress, of a 
 monk enjoying an after-dinner pipe. Two dogs are from the brush of 
 George Earlc. 
 
 Mrs. Sala's study adjoins this room. On the mantelpiece is a 
 small bust of Henry Irving as Hamlet, and near the window is a safe 
 of strong proportions. On a silver shield is the following inscription : 
 " George Augustus Sala, from Henry Irving, 1881. Safe Bind Safe 
 Find." Mr. Irving was once dining with Mr. Sala, when the latter 
 brought out his commonplace book, which was commenced in 1859, 
 and is full of notes of delightful interest.
 
 184 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE \VS. 
 
 From a Photo. 
 
 " Aren't you afraid of losing this ? " the actor asked. " This 
 wants taking into custody." 
 
 A few days afterwards the safe came. 
 
 From a Photo, fry] 
 
 THE LIBRARY. 
 
 lElliott & Fry.
 
 AIR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SAL A. 
 
 18-; 
 
 On my way to the drawing-room and study which is down a 
 passage full of pictures and crowded with knick-knacks I look in at 
 the library, with its highly decorative stained-glass windows. The 
 famous cookery library is in a corner of the bedroom. It comprises 
 over 500 volumes, dating from 1578 to the present day, of every 
 country and in every language. Here is a cookery book in Greek, 
 and a first edition of " Mrs. Glasse," worth ;ioo. Even to-day dishes 
 are prepared at the Victoria Street flat from an old cookery volume of 
 Henry V.'s reign. It contains a recipe for a delicious oyster patty. 
 These old-time books are useful when you know how to leave out 
 the peacocks' tongues and swans' livers from Elizabethan dishes. 
 
 The drawing-room is now reached. Drawing back the curtains, 
 one enters Mr. Sala's study. In the first apartment the doors of 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott d- Fry. 
 
 which are inlaid with panels of fruit and flowers painted on satin- 
 more artistic treasures are to be met with, from the brush and pencil 
 of many a master hand. A large picture finished by Millais of the 
 late Mrs. Sala, rests on an easel draped with blue plush. 
 
 It was whilst standing here that Mr. Sala paid a tribute of great 
 tenderness to the memory of his late wife, and spoke as only a real 
 man and true husband could of the woman who is his helpmate to- 
 day. Journalists are the very worst of business men, and the veteran 
 declares that he is no exception to the rule. Happy the journalist 
 who possesses a wife of business instincts a woman who can relieve 
 him of all these worries, and leave him a free course to run his pen.
 
 i86 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 "My wife," says Mr. Sala, " is my man of business. She opens my 
 letters, reads, and answers them, looks after contracts, and keeps my 
 
 accounts. Therein 
 lies one of my little 
 secrets, you see. My 
 wife takes upon her- 
 self all the worries 
 of business, so I am 
 enabled to work 
 with an easy mind 
 and a freedom of 
 heart unattainable 
 by any other 
 means." 
 
 This small 
 cabinet was made 
 for the little Dau- 
 phin of France. 
 
 BLbT BY .MR. FRED CALLCOTT, AND THE DAUPHIN'S CABINET. T\ /r C~1~ 
 
 From a Photo, by Elliott Fry. Mr. bala Saw it in a 
 
 pawnbroker's window in his early days, 
 and paid ,2 a month for it until he 
 had purchased it outright for 15. He 
 tells how, as a young man, when first 
 married, the height of his ambition 
 was to possess a silver soup-tureen. 
 Again he patronized the pawnbroker's, 
 and selected one " to be put by " at 
 35. Unfortunately, after paying 8 
 his subscription lapsed, and the pawn- 
 broker profited to that extent. A 
 bust of a baby just by this little 
 cabinet is a very clever sample of 
 the sculptor's art the work of Mr. 
 Fred Callcott. 
 
 A very remarkable example of 
 the sculptor's art rests on a table. 
 Originally the Saint was in a semi- 
 nude state. Ewing, a wonderfully 
 clever Scotch sculptor, who modelled 
 the children of the Prince of Wales, 
 saw it one day. He took out his 
 pocket-handkerchief and asked for 
 some warm starch. Dipping the linen 
 in this, his ingenious fingers wrapped 
 it round the tiny statuette, as now 
 seen, and, as the starch dried, the 
 fabric stiffened, still retaining its 
 most delicately natural folds. Poor 
 
 SAINT DRAPED IN A HANDKERCHIEF, 
 from a Photo, fcy Elliott it Fry.
 
 MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 
 187 
 
 Ewing ! He died in poverty, and was buried in New York. A great 
 actor, whose name has already been mentioned, stood by him till 
 the last. 
 
 It is impossible to catalogue the curiosities in the study ; every 
 one of them has a history. A little stuffed canary was a present from 
 the late Lady Rosebery. It died ; it almost sang itself to death, so 
 loud and sweet and frequent were its notes. These ostrich eggs 
 hanging from the ceiling were stolen from a mosque in Morocco. Mr. 
 Sala was the receiver, and he revels in his crime. This picture is 
 curious. It is executed on a common fourpenny dish, purchased in 
 the Tottenham Court Road. It was held over the smoke of a candle, 
 and, after the artist had worked on it with his nails and penknife, a 
 charming Italian landscape was the result. A table of eighteen 
 different kinds of wood was presented to Mr. Sala by the New 
 Zealand Government. A glass case contains presentation silver, 
 including a massive service from the proprietors of the Daily 
 Telegraph on Mr. Sala's fiftieth birthday. The pictures, too, are 
 striking dozens of Millais' engravings, Munkacsy, Caton Woodville, 
 Boughton, Storey, and paintings by Da Witte, Stothard, Montalba, 
 another Dore, a Keeley Halswelle, 
 and numerous others from notable 
 artists. Amongst the pictorial 
 curiosities are some studies by 
 E. M. Ward for his great picture 
 of " Napoleon and Queen Louisa 
 of Prussia at Tilsit, 1808"; "'Ape,' 
 aped by himself," which means the 
 late Carlo Pellegrini caricaturing 
 himself; and a pictorially addressed 
 envelope, which was done by 
 Augustus Mayhew, one of the 
 brothers Mayhew of Punch, the 
 dog being a portrait of a pug 
 belonging to the artist's wife, who 
 was, and still is, a great breeder of 
 pugs. On the top of the shelf is a 
 bust of Beaconsfield. It will be 
 remembered that Mr. Sala gave 
 important evidence at the famous 
 Belt trial, and stated how he saw 
 the sculptor take a piece of clay 
 and make the curl which was wont 
 to be seen on the great statesman's 
 forehead. This is the first cast for 
 the statue in question. 
 
 Now it was that we settled 
 down to talk. Mr. Sala discards his 
 customary chair at the writing-table, 
 
 , . i , c " ATE," AI'F.D BY HIMSELF. 
 
 on which stands a statuette of From Pftjtop byElliott ^ Fry .
 
 i88 
 
 11 L USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 Thackeray ; but, lighting a cigar 
 and is not G. A. S. generally 
 accredited as being the best judge 
 of a Havana in London? he 
 meditatively walks the room, and 
 tells, point by point, and chapter 
 by chapter, the story of his life. 
 He wears a short smoking-jacket. 
 He is of medium height, and is the 
 happy possessor ( of a wonderfully 
 level temper. He speaks kindly 
 and good - naturedly of all his 
 brother scribes, and writes the 
 most microscopic hand amongst 
 them all. He is three-and-sixty 
 years of age, but prepared to pack 
 his bag and start as " Special Cor- 
 respondent " to Siberia at a couple 
 of hours' notice. Though certainly 
 the most versatile leader-writer of 
 to-day, and justly regarded as 
 being at the top of the journalistic 
 tree, he is still a working man. 
 His work is his recreation, the 
 recreation of a moving mind. He 
 has written more " leaders " than 
 
 any man living. For the first five years of his thirty-four years' 
 connection with the Daily Telegraph he wrote two a day ; now, three 
 hundred leaders a year is his estimate. He has no politics, and for 
 upwards of twenty years not a line from his pen has appeared in 
 the Daily Telegraph on home politics. He argues that, whatever 
 the Government in power, it must needs be the best Government. 
 He has seen the work of every Government in every country, 
 from the matter-of-fact and easy-going Parliament of the dwellers in 
 Central Africa to that of Australia, where the supreme ruler is his 
 royal highness Working Man. 
 
 George Augustus Sala was born in New Street, Manchester 
 Square, on November 24th, 1828. His father was an Italian, his mother 
 being a professor of Italian singing. He was born at a time when 
 children were sent out to be nursed. His nurse must have been a 
 most diabolical young woman, for when it was decided by his mother 
 to have little George Augustus home again, she attempted to kill her 
 charge. This resulted in a long and serious illness, and the small life 
 was despaired of. 
 
 " I was blind and deaf," he said, " from seven to half-past eight, 
 that is, from 7 years to S}4 years of age. Every oculist had a go at 
 my eyes. I have still signs of the holes in my ears where I wore ear- 
 rings, but all to no avail. During this time my sister read the Bible 
 to me, and told me childish fairy tales. When, at last, I recovered 
 
 MAYHEW S ENVELOPE. 
 
 From a Photo, by Elliott & Fry.
 
 MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SAL A. 
 
 189 
 
 LEARNING TO WRITE. 
 
 my sight, I had a yearning to read all that my sister had told me, and 
 I taught myself out of a big ' History of England.' " 
 
 He learned to write as well practised caligraphy from a black- 
 letter Chaucer. This will account for Mr. Sala's peculiar print-like 
 handwriting. What a happy picture the little fellow on his knees, 
 with the great volume against the back of the chair, tracing out letter 
 by letter on a piece of paper. His parents' house was the resort of 
 many foreigners of distinction. At ten years of age he could not speak 
 a word of English, and after passing a few years at a school in France, 
 came back to a school here for the purpose of learning the English 
 language. He found it more difficult than Greek. As a child he 
 wrote short stories a notable one was a story of travel. But his 
 
 o 
 
 #0. 
 
 a 
 7*r Uf. 
 
 SPECIMEN OF MR. SALA's HANDWRITING.
 
 i go 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 childish fingers seemed destined for the clay, for at school in Paris he 
 gained the first prize for modelling a map of South America. 
 
 "Every hill and mountain top, every river and valley was 
 modelled in clay," said Mr. Sala. "That's what I call practical 
 geography that's what I should like to see in our schools to-day. 
 We want practical lessons. I was sent to a school where lectures 
 were object-lessons. We found something to learn in the green fields 
 
 PORTION OF SKETCH BY MR. SALA. 
 
 and flowers, knowledge in every article of furniture in the house, from 
 the piano to the fire-irons. Why, I read my Greek Testament in a 
 laurel grove ! and whenever I had a spare moment, so surely was I 
 to be found drawing and modelling." 
 
 So his childhood's days were passed, and eventually at fourteen 
 he was apprenticed to Carl Schiller a miniature painter. He also 
 became a pupil at Leigh's Art School in Maddox Street. At sixteen 
 he became assistant screen-painter to Beverley, at the Princess's 
 Theatre. Beverley was a warm-hearted man. Without taking a 
 halfpenny premium he was virtually young Sala's instructor in 
 architectural drawing and perspective. 
 
 " Then my eyes began to trouble me again," said Mr. Sala. 
 " You see, when a figure had to be introduced into a scene I was called 
 in to do it. I was almost colour-blind. I put black into everything. 
 Indeed, they called me the ' gentleman in black.' Even to this day the 
 ink I use is a Japanese fluid of the deepest and darkest dye, such as 
 music is copied with. My old skill in modelling stood me in good 
 stead at the Princess's Theatre. I used to model masks for the 
 pantomime and to paint ' props.' As a linguist I translated French 
 farces, as a caligraphist I used to copy out parts. From my early 
 mathematical training I was put on to keep the accounts, stock books, 
 wardrobe you know the sort of thing two pairs tights, seventeen 
 dancers' dresses, three pairs of trunks, etc., and all tot fifteen shillings 
 a week ! Yet I was never so happy in my life ; and at the end of
 
 MR, GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 
 IQI 
 
 every week I always had 2s. left to lay out during the week ensuing 
 in tea and toast at Mr. Porter's coffee-shop in Long Acre. Porter 
 was a greasy man, who was the proud possessor of a still greasier 
 library. There was streaky bacon and shilling butter on every page ; 
 but, as I ate my toast and swallowed my tea, I devoured that library. 
 I read Eraser, John Bull in Theodore Hook's time, The Quarterly, 
 Blackwood's Magazine from the commencement, and I know not 
 what. I was, unconsciously, fitting myself for a leader-writer. I 
 still kept up my painting, though, and well remember doing fifty 
 illustrations of Jenny Lind at is. 6d. each for a man in the Burlington 
 Arcade, who made a big profit out of them. 
 
 " At last I threw up the engagement at fifteen shillings a week, 
 and years afterwards I remember the old manager at the Princess's 
 
 from a Photo. 6y] 
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 [Elliott <i- Frj. 
 
 saying to a friend, ' Look at him. I brought him out at fifteen bob a 
 week, and now he is riding in his carriage ! ' ' 
 
 Soon after this young Sala got connected with the publishing 
 firm of Ackerman & Co., doing all kinds of humorous productions for 
 them, mainly etching on stone. Adolphe Ackerman a man of great 
 principle insisted, however, that the young engraver should learn the 
 whole process of engraving on copper and steel ; and, having saved a 
 little money, and being helped by Mr. Ackerman, he apprenticed 
 himself to Henry Alkin for three years. He also illustrated many 
 books some written by Albert Smith, and others for Mr. Edward 
 Lloyd, who founded Lloyds News. Mr. Sala characterizes these last
 
 192 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 pictures as being very ghastly. One in particular was for a small 
 novel, called " Heads of the Headless," but the picture block was 
 not " strong" enough for Mr. Lloyd. He sent it back with the note: 
 " More blood, and eyes larger ! " So skilful did the young artist be- 
 come in his new calling, that at the age of twenty-four, he and 
 Mr. Alkin were commissioned to execute an immense panorama 
 of the funeral of the Duke of Wellington. Alkin did the horses, and 
 Sala the hundreds of figures. They worked at it for six months, but 
 the fumes of the acid acting on the steel plates so injured Sala's 
 normally weak eyes that he was compelled, in infinite degradation of 
 spirit, to give up the craft he so dearly loved otherwise he would 
 have gone blind. He still retains the needles he worked with, and the 
 very paper-weight to be seen on his study table is a copperplate on 
 which he had worked more than forty years ago. 
 
 " In 1850," continued the journalist, " I renewed my acquaintance 
 with Dickens. I had written an article called ' The Key of the 
 Street,' for Household Words. From 1850 to 1856 I made 300 a 
 year out of Dickens's paper. I did a little in the dramatic line with a 
 dear, dead brother of mine, Charles. I wrote a panto, called 
 ' Harlequin Billie Taylor,' under Charles Kean's management, 
 receiving I oo for the opening and ,$ apiece for the comic scenes.' 
 Then I did a translation of ' The Corsican Brothers ' for the Surrey 
 Theatre, and got a guinea a night for it. It ran 1 50 nights. Many 
 other pieces followed, one of which was a burlesque in 1869 at the 
 Gaiety, called 'Watt Tyler,' M.P.,' in which Toole played the 
 titular part. I was successful enough, though the late John Oxen- 
 ford, in a criticism in the Times, said that my plays were 
 ' evidently the production of a novice in theatrical matters ! ' 
 Possibly Oxenford had never heard of the 155. a week engagement 
 at the Princess's. 
 
 " In 1856 I went to Russia for Dickens. We had a row about 
 the travelling expenses, so I went on to the Illustrated Times. On 
 the staff were James Hannay, Fred and James Greenwood, Sutherland 
 Edwards, Edmund Yates, Edward Draper a solicitor, who did the 
 law and crime and Old White, the doorkeeper of the House of 
 Commons, who used to divulge the secrets of the House ! My 
 turning-point, however, came a year later, when the proprietors of 
 the Daily Telegraph, then a young paper, sent for me. I was paid 
 two guineas a leader, often writing two for three guineas. Since then 
 I have been all over the world in times of peace, war, and revolution. 
 I have often been chaffed because I once said, in the preface of a 
 book, that the proprietors of the Daily Telegraph gave me ' the wages 
 of an ambassador and the treatment of a gentleman.' That which I 
 stated was the precise and literal fact. Litigating journalists often 
 have proposed to subpoena me with a view to testifying as to the 
 custom and law in journalism. My answer invariably is, ' I can give 
 no kind of testimony as to law or custom, inasmuch as I have never 
 had any written engagement with the Daily Telegraph, who can 
 dismiss me, or I could leave them, to-morrow. Their arrangements
 
 MR GEORGE AUGUSTUS SAL A, 
 
 From a Photo 
 
 SALAS WRITING-TABLE. 
 
 lElliott & Fry. 
 
 with me, both as regards home service and foreign missions, have 
 always been of the friendliest and happiest character.' " 
 
 A fresh sample from a box of the choicest Havanas having 
 been lit, the clouds of smoke from the weed gave rise to many a 
 merry recollection, both of a personal character and also associated 
 with people whom Mr. Sala has met. The day I spent with Mr. Sala 
 was very near to the opening of the Royal Academy. He protested 
 strongly against the practice of Show-Sunday at artists' studios. 
 
 " If I go to a man's studio," he said, " how can I, whilst accepting 
 his hospitality, condemn his picture to his face? If I praised it to 
 him to-day, I should only have to slate it the next morning in my 
 notice. It is not fair either to the critic or the artist." 
 
 But a cloud from the Havana takes him back to the early 
 days again. 
 
 "When Alexander II. was assassinated, I was dining at the 
 Duke of Fife's at Cavendish Square. It was a Sunday. The Russian 
 Ambassador sent a messenger saying that he would be unable to be 
 present, as an attempt had been made on the Czar's life, and he was 
 gravely wounded. Later in the evening came another despatch saying 
 that his Imperial Majesty was dead. I knew well enough that 
 the D. T. people would be down on me that very night to go off to 
 St. Petersburg, and I particularly wanted the next day in London. 
 I roved about from club to club till three o'clock in the morning, but 
 they ran me down the same day with a note from the editor saying, 
 ' Please write leading article on the " Price of Fish at Billingsgate 
 Market," and start for St. Petersburg by the night mail ! ' I went. 
 
 14
 
 194 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 I was compensated at the rate of 100 a week and all travelling 
 expenses. I was present at the coronation of Alexander III., and 
 some of my telegrams cost .300 to send. I was forwarding some- 
 thing like seven columns a day. 
 
 " I have never had to disguise myself in my calling, as some of 
 my brother journalists have. I well remember an amusing instance 
 of this at the Czar's coronation. The Court choir there on such 
 occasions consists of men arrayed in long crimson cassocks, and 
 wearing very long beards, who march along chanting very loudly. 
 The representative of a Parisian paper whom I knew was much upset 
 at not getting a pass to go in to the ceremony. He said he meant to 
 go, however. The great day arrived. I was standing in my allotted 
 seat, so to speak, when the choir approached. They were all chanting 
 loudly, but one of their number, fully arrayed and bearded, seemed as 
 though singing for dear life. He caught my eye and winked. It was 
 my friend ! 
 
 " Everything in Russia is done by bribery. Still, bribery is not 
 always successful, as the following will prove. 
 
 " I was present at the Jubilee garden-party given by Her Majesty 
 at Buckingham Palace. My flower dropped out of my button-hole. 
 A very pretty young servant presumably there for the purpose of 
 looking after our wearing apparel, sticks, and umbrellas picked it up. 
 Whilst in the act of putting it in my coat again, with a view to 
 obtaining a peep into the Queen's rooms, I asked her if there was 
 a chance of seeing them, at the same time endeavouring to slip a 
 sovereign into her hand. She shrunk back. 
 
 " ' I wish I could, sir,' she whispered, : but there's a heye on me ! ' 
 
 " Talking of queens naturally reminds me of kings. I have 
 lunched with Alphonso XII. of Spain under most distressing cir- 
 cumstances. My friend Antonio Gallenga was with me. We were 
 travelling with the King in a very sumptuous saloon carriage lent to 
 us by Mr. Salamanaca, the great Madrid financier, which the authorities 
 permitted to be attached to the Royal train from Madrid to Saragossa. 
 After travelling all night in terribly cold weather, early in the morning 
 one of His Majesty's aides-de-camp appeared and commanded us to 
 'join the Royal luncheon party at 1 1 a.m.' Alas! there is no rose 
 without its thorn. The bitter weather had frozen all the water, and 
 our faces were as black as sweeps' ! We stared at one another we 
 were both black in the face. What was to be done ? Good gracious ! 
 we could not sit before a king with such dark expressions as these ! 
 
 " Gallenga was a man of infinite resource, and was apparently 
 undismayed by this almost insurmountable obstacle. 
 
 " ' Ever try candles ? ' he asked. ' The dry wash process. See, and 
 he took down some of the wax candles with which the carriage was 
 lighted, and commenced rubbing his face with one of them. With 
 infinite trust in Gallenga's wisdom I did likewise, and really, after 
 some ten minutes' persistent rubbing, our faces certainly looked more 
 respectable, though somewhat waxy and ghastly. The aide-de-camp 
 entered, and we went forth to eat with the King. Now, the King's
 
 MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 
 THE DRY-WASH PROCESS. 
 
 salcon was 
 unc o m f ort- 
 ably warm 
 very uncom- 
 fortably warm 
 and as the 
 lunch pro- 
 ceeded it be- 
 came incon- 
 veniently hot. 
 When the 
 coffee and 
 cigarette stage 
 arrived our 
 faces were 
 converted into 
 a series of 
 small streams 
 tears, sir, 
 tears, such 
 as tender 
 fathers shed ! 
 In vain I tried 
 to hide them, 
 my pocket- 
 handkerchief was useless, and I left 
 the Royal presence with a countenance 
 like but we will draw a veil ever 
 my features ! " 
 
 I suggested that perhaps Mr. Sala knew Sothern " Dundreary " 
 Sothern. 
 
 " Knew him, yes," came the reply. " Sothern and I went to the 
 Derby together once. I was very elaborately got up, and as neat and 
 trim as a new pin. Now, I don't think I was in a frame of mind to 
 get out of temper easily I was in a capital humour, and never in a 
 jollier mood. 
 
 " ' Look here, Sala,' said Sothern, 'I'll bet you a new hat that 
 you'll lose your temper before the Derby is run.' 
 
 " ' Done ! ' I cried, and I felt another twenty-five shillings rattling 
 in my trousers pocket. Away went Sothern. 
 
 " Five minutes after a red-jacketed fellow came up and com- 
 menced brushing me down. I didn't want it, but I gave him a 
 shilling. Then another came up similar process, another shilling. 
 At last, altogether five ' brushes ' had been up, and at the sixth I 
 seized the fellow and brushed him down. 
 
 " ' I'll trouble you for a new hat,' said somebody, quietly tapping 
 me on the shoulder. It was Sothern. 
 
 Then we " remembered " some of the famous men the great 
 journalist has come in contact with during his career. To begin with,
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 AT THE DERBY. 
 
 there was Lord Brougham. It was Brougham who really taught Mr. 
 Sala to speak in public. Before Mr. Sala made his first important 
 public speech, Brougham had him round at his house and walked up 
 and down his dining-room for an hour and more, giving him many 
 a good hint. He wound up his advice by saying : " Always think in 
 semicolons whilst speaking ; by adhering to this rule you will never 
 come to a full stop unless you wish it." 
 
 Then came Cruikshank dear old George Cruikshank. 
 
 " I knew him well," said Mr. Sala, " and was one of the pall- 
 bearers at his funeral. When the old fellow was hard up he would go 
 and sit in his publisher's office with a card round his neck on which 
 was written : ' I am starving ! ' With such a suggestive appeal he 
 never had to wait long without a cheque, but he always kept the card 
 handy ! Once Prince Albert the Prince Consort sent for him for 
 the purpose of seeing his drawings. He arrived at Buckingham 
 Palace, and was marched down countless corridors by a couple of 
 footmen bearing long wands, Cruikshank following them in the rear, 
 imitating them in a very exaggerated style. On they went wand 
 and imitation, imitation and wand. Suddenly a door opened from 
 behind them, and a voice cried out : ' This is the room, Mr. Cruik- 
 shank.'
 
 MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SAL A, 
 
 '97 
 
 " Prince Consort had been watching Cruikshank's performance 
 
 in infinite appreciation." 
 
 Mr. Sala has a great admiration for the genius, and a love for the 
 
 memory, of Thackeray. 
 
 He first saw Thackeray at a small club held on the first floor of a 
 
 little old-fashioned tavern in Dean Street, Soho, kept by one Dicky 
 
 Moreland, supposed to have been the last landlord in London who 
 
 wore a pigtail and 
 top-boots. Thac- 
 keray that night 
 sang " The Mahog- 
 any Tree." His 
 hair was not white 
 then, but he wore 
 the gold - rimmed 
 spectacles, and 
 stood as he always 
 did with his hands 
 in his pockets. 
 
 A M. Alexis 
 Soyer had con- 
 structed a place 
 he called " The 
 Symposium," on 
 the site of the 
 Albert Hall, where 
 Mr. Sala was, for a 
 short period, secre- 
 tary. Soyer was 
 very proud of the 
 huge dining-tent he 
 had put up, capable 
 of dining 300 
 persons. It was 
 made of blue and 
 white canvas. 
 
 When taking 
 Thackeray round 
 the grounds one 
 tent: "This, Mr. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 [Le Lieure, Rome. 
 
 day, Soyer remarked, pointing out the huge 
 Thackeray, is the baronial hall." 
 
 " Oh ! Baronial hall, is it ? " said Thackeray ; " it's more like a 
 marquee ! " 
 
 " And your photo, Mr. Sala ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh ! yes certainly. Had it specially taken in Rome for you. 
 Notice the smile ? " Then he added, in a whisper, as he followed me 
 on to the stairs, " The Roman photographer specially turned on a 
 young man to tell me funny stories in Italian to make me laugh. 
 That's the secret of it ! "
 
 XIL 
 
 THE LATE SIR MORELL MACKENZIE, M.D. 
 
 OU could not readily escape noticing the residence of 
 the famous specialist in Har-ley Street, Cavendish 
 Square. Irrespective of the brass plate on the door, 
 the somewhat gloomy appearance of the exterior is 
 relieved by trailing ivy round the windows, the clinging 
 tendrils of which hang over the balcony. But the 
 distinctly dismal impression created by " outside appearances " dis- 
 appears when once the door has been opened and opportunities are 
 afforded of exploring the " interior." Interest is gathered round 
 every object one meets. Sir Morell's whole life has been a veritable 
 run of professional adventure, and, much of his work being really 
 historical, one expects to find about the place many reminiscences 
 of his brilliant career a career rendered more striking from the 
 indisputable fact that incessant work and purpose not to be turned 
 aside have had as much to do in winning him the position he held in 
 the world of medicine as the marvellous skill he has shown in the 
 
 From a Photo. by\ 
 
 THE CORRIDOK. 
 
 lElliott Fry.
 
 SIR MORELL MACKENZIE. 
 
 199 
 
 diagnosis of the various forms of disease to which he has given his 
 particular attention. 
 
 Immediately on entering, just opposite a convenient weather- 
 dial, is a portrait of the Empress Frederick. She has written an 
 inscription on it in pencil " To Sir Morell Mackenzie, the faithful 
 and devoted friend and medical attendant of the Emperor Frederick 
 III. of Germany. Victoria, Charlottenburg, May, 1888." The 
 portrait is an excellent photograph of the oil painting by Angeli 
 which hangs in the Royal Academy at Berlin. It was taken soon 
 after our Princess Royal first went to Germany ; but, though painted 
 so many years ago, it is still thought to give the expression of the 
 august personage better than any modern portrait. On passing 
 through another door a long corridor is entered. From this corridor 
 access is obtained to the library, to the dining-room, and two con- 
 sulting-rooms. In a corner of this vestibule is a fine specimen of 
 carving in oak ; the exterior presents a grand cabinet dated 1647, 
 within is a lift communicating with the kitchen. At intervals along 
 the corridor are fine vases and -a number of works of art of import- 
 ance an etching, by Herkomer, of the Earl of Londesborough, a 
 full-length oil painting of the master of the house, whilst the com- 
 panion picture to this is an admirable likeness of Sir Morell's father 
 in old-time black cravat and cutaway coat. A portrait group of 
 the Laryngolo- 
 gical Section of 
 the "Inter- 
 national Medical 
 Congress, Copen- 
 hagen, 1884," 
 shows Sir Mo- 
 rell in the 
 centre, having 
 on either side of 
 him Dr. W. 
 Meyer, of Copen- 
 hagen, and Pro- 
 fessor Schnitzler, 
 of Wein. Close 
 by is Le si i e 
 Ward's famous 
 cartoon of Mr. 
 George Gros- 
 smith and Mr. 
 Corney Grain 
 and near this is a 
 painting by a 
 Royal brush a 
 group of fruit 
 and antique 
 flagon. The in- 
 
 FRUIT PIECE. 
 
 [Frederick cf Germany.
 
 20O 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 scription reads : " Her Majesty the Empress of Germany, Princess 
 Royal of England. Presented by Her Majesty to Sir Morcll 
 Mackenzie." 
 
 Just as I am entering the dining-room a fine dachshund of rich 
 
 From a Pl.o'.t. by] 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 t-lltott d- J'ry. 
 
 brown colour comes dashing along the passage. It answers to the 
 name of " Moritz," and follows us into the room, where it perches on 
 its hind legs on one of the chairs as soon as the repast is brought in. 
 " Moritz " is a twin. " Max " was its birth-mate. They both belonged 
 to the late Emperor Frederick. " Moritz " was sent as a present from 
 the late Emperor to Sir Morell, whilst " Max " found a home on the 
 Royal hearthrug of the Princess Victoria of Prussia. The dining- 
 room is very spacious, and at one end the ceiling is supported by two 
 massive red granite pillars. The mantelpiece is of marble exquisitely 
 carved, over which is an oil painting, by the late George Chapman, of 
 one of Sir Morell's daughters Mrs. McKenna as a child in a white 
 frock tied up with a great red sash, romping with a black retriever. 
 Excellent pictures are also here of Sir Morell and Lady Mackenzie. 
 The furniture is of oak, and there are some grand cabinets, on which 
 are many beautiful bronzes. The outlook from the dining-room is not 
 calculated to inspire one with rural thoughts chimney-pots and ugly, 
 far-from-interesting brick walls abound ; for which reason the glass in 
 the window is embossed and the view is lost. 
 
 Ascending the staircase which is decorated in Pompeiian style, 
 the centre of each plaque containing beautifully drawn and delicately
 
 SIR MORELL MACKENZIE. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 LAMiott el' Fry. 
 
 coloured figures the drawing-room is reached. This is really two 
 apartments thrown into one. Immense vases of everlasting grass, with 
 ivy playing about the wall, are everywhere bowls and baskets, dishes 
 
 From a Photo, by] THE DRAWING-ROOM (FROM THE CONSERVATORY). [Elliott & try.
 
 202 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 and trays, are full of flowers, for Sir Morell is fond of this form of 
 natural decoration. The cabinets are filled with Chinese ware. On 
 one is a case of curios silver daggers, crosses, Japanese wings, snuff- 
 boxes, goblets, and, if I mistake not, a tiny model in silver of" Moritz." 
 Just by stands an equally tiny silver chariot drawn by diminutive 
 oxen. Many tokens of Royal favour are here in the form of portraits. 
 Pictures of members of Sir Morell's family are scattered about. The 
 hoof of a horse, used as a matchbox, has an engraved plate upon it 
 which reads: "Beauty January, 1878." "Beauty" was a great 
 favourite of its master, and a family pet. His memory is thus preserved. 
 I am reminded that Sir Morell breaks-in all his own harness horses, 
 and that he never drives animals under six years of age. 
 
 At the far end of the drawing-room is a rockery, where the 
 greenest of ferns and indoor plants are thriving in abundance. 
 A heavy Sevres vase is pointed out to me near the windows which 
 overlook Harley Street. " It was a present," said Sir Morell, " from 
 a lady who was suffering from cancer. I only saw her once. When 
 she died I received a note from her executors saying that she had 
 bequeathed me a vase, and if I would send down to Sydenham I 
 might have it. I sent down a man for this purpose. He returned 
 empty-handed he could not move it. Finally I dispatched three 
 men, who brought it up." 
 
 Prom a Photo. l>y\ 
 
 THE CONSULTING-ROOM. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry.
 
 SIR MORELL MACKENZIE. 203 
 
 Curiosity is inseparable from an eminent doctor's consulting-room, 
 and, seeing that Sir Morell has two such apartments, it is probable 
 that my curiosity was two-fold as I hurried down the stairs into the 
 long corridor again. Both of these rooms are as distinctly different 
 as possible. 
 
 The first one I entered is probably the most frequently used. It 
 was in this room that the late Emperor Frederick used to sit when 
 engaged with Sir Morell. Although a remarkably foggy day, the 
 room was fragrant with the perfume of roses ; blossoms from Nice 
 were in vases on the writing-table, and in many an odd corner ; 
 flowers were even mingled with the shiny instruments neatly set out 
 on another table. By this table I stood for a moment, and looked at 
 a high-backed oaken chair upholstered in brown leather. It was the 
 chair in which the Emperor Frederick used to sit. 
 
 The portraits are countless. On the mantel-board where, by 
 the fireplace, a pair of fine young foxes are ingeniously utilized for the 
 purpose of supporting a waste-paper basket are autographed pictures 
 of Her Majesty the Queen, the Empress Frederick, and the Mar- 
 chioness of Lome. Hanging on the walls and on various supports 
 are etchings of Mr. Irving, Miss Ellen Terry as Marguerite and Portia, 
 Mr. George Lewis, Mr. Edmund Yates, M. Jean de Reszke, Madame 
 Patti, Madame Albani, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal in " The Ironmaster," 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, and Lady Monckton, all of whom at some 
 time or another have entered this room. On a single shelf running 
 round the apartment are books. Many are the curios to be seen 
 quaint old watches, old-fashioned china, and other much-sought-after 
 knick-knacks. Here is a silent clock, of which never a single tick is 
 heard, and which requires winding but once a year. The inscription 
 on an immense silver bowl mounted on an oak pedestal says : 
 " To Sir Morell Mackenzie, M.D., a grateful tribute of admiration and 
 regard from those whose names are inscribed in this bowl. July 6, 
 1869." Inside the bowl are exact facsimile signatures of the sub- 
 scribers, and amongst those which glisten I notice autographs of Ellen 
 Terry, Henry Irving, John Hare, Tom Thorne, Henry Neville, W. H. 
 Kendal, Wilson Barrett, Brandon Thomas, John Billington, and 
 Edward Terry. Inside this case are a number of presents from 
 patients, whilst a portrait of one of Sir Morell's daughters finds a 
 place on the glass top. 
 
 Possibly, however, the most interesting part of the room is that 
 nearest the historical chair already referred to. Just beneath a large 
 picture of Madame Pauline Lucca is a crimson plush frame, containing 
 a portrait of the late Emperor Frederick in the same uniform as he 
 wore on the occasion of Her Majesty's Jubilee. Another portrait of 
 him bears date of 1863, and shows him in Highland dress, whilst close 
 by are portraits, taken some years ago, of his three daughters, in plain 
 white muslin dresses. 
 
 Two important letters are framed here in gilt supports, surmounted 
 with Royal coronets. One is in German, written on buff note-paper, 
 with a deep black edging. It was from the Queen to her late son-in-
 
 2O4 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 from a Photo, ly] 
 
 THE ACTORS TESTIMONIAL. 
 
 [Elliott d' F,-j. 
 
 law. Although I am not permitted to give the contents of it, I may 
 say that it is to the purport that Her Majesty intends conferring a 
 knighthood upon Sir Morell, whilst the other matter impressively 
 shows the love Her Majesty had for the late Emperor. The other 
 letter part of which only is shown is from the Emperor to Sir 
 Morell. The Emperor used very large-sized note, edged with black, 
 and wrote a remarkably bold, clear hand. It reads : 
 
 " Charlottenburg, April 10, 1888. 
 
 "MY DEAR SIR MORELL, You were called to me by the 
 unanimous wish of my German medical attendants. Not knowing 
 you myself, I had confidence in you in consequence of their recom- 
 mendation. But I soon learnt to appreciate you from personal 
 experience." 
 
 The second consulting-room is reached by passing'through a small 
 dispensary. On the white walls of this substantial medicine cabinet
 
 SIJK MORELL MACKENZIE. 
 
 205 
 
 are rough notes by Sir Morell pencil reminders to see such and such 
 patients. This second apartment is known as " The Gothic Room " 
 
 From a Plwto. 
 
 THE GOTHIC-ROOM. 
 
 (Elliott & Fry. 
 
 every article of furniture in it is of that period. It is almost like 
 entering a small chapel there is an air of quietude about the place 
 almost approaching sanctity which is most impressive. The pictures 
 on the walls are Scriptural, principally of the Italian School. At the 
 far end is a stained-glass window, at the foot of which is a lappet with 
 embroidered lace hangings. Gilt vases and candles are set out on the 
 various shelves. By the side of the bookcase is a huge wrought iron 
 cross, an excellent specimen of sixteenth century work. In the centre 
 of the cross is a little cabinet containing a statue of the Virgin Mary, 
 before which a light is kept continually burning. This cross was 
 " picked up " with several others in the Austrian Tyrol by the 
 Empress Frederick, who gave it to Sir Morell in 1888. She has also 
 one hanging over her bed in her palace in Berlin. This apartment 
 is lit with the electric light as indeed are all the rooms and it may 
 be interesting to many to know that the picture of the Gothic Room 
 in these pages was obtained with this artificial light. 
 
 It was in the first-mentioned consulting-room that Sir Morell and 
 I sat down by the fire and talked together. The eminent physician 
 is of medium height, clean shaven, and has an expression of great 
 kindness and sympathy. He talks in measured tones, and in many 
 ways our conversation resembled a consultation every word was 
 uttered with remarkable discretion and care. A patient puts as much 
 trust in his doctor as a client in his lawyer. The medical w r orld and
 
 206 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE \VS. 
 
 the legal community do not betray confidences hence the demeanour 
 of Sir Morell on some points displays the utmost caution. At other 
 times he talked with freedom and gaiety there was not a tinge of 
 " the profession " about him. 
 
 Sir Morell was born at Leytonstone in 1837, and comes of a 
 
 distinguished medical 
 
 family. He was educated 
 at a private school at 
 Walthamstow, under the 
 care of Dr. Greig, where 
 he remained until he was 
 sixteen years of age. He 
 was always passionately 
 fond of natural history, 
 and this possibly had 
 something to do with 
 turning his thoughts 
 towards medicine. He 
 always wanted to enter 
 the medical profession, 
 but the cost of the 
 necessary education was 
 too great for his mother 
 his father being dead at 
 this time so that it 
 seemed probable that a 
 commercial career was to 
 fall to his lot. While 
 the majority of his school- 
 fellows went to India, he, 
 on saying " Good-bye" to 
 Dr. Greig, started life as a 
 junior clerk in the Union 
 
 Assurance Company, where he remained for two years. However, in 
 1856 a relation came forward, and the young clerk was sent to the 
 London Hospital. Here he greatly distinguished himself, winning 
 the senior gold medal for surgery and the senior gold medal for 
 clinical medicine. 
 
 " In 1858 I went to Paris after passing my exams. where I 
 spent a useful year," said Sir Morell, " and from there to Vienna and 
 Pesth. It was at the latter city that I met Professor Czermak, who 
 was just then devoting much time and 'labour to the laryngoscope. 
 I really went to see the city, but I came across an instrument which 
 c.t once claimed my every thought. I saw what a future there was 
 for it, and a great friendship sprang up between Czermak and myself. 
 On my return to England, I brought the instrument back with me, 
 and directed my whole attention to it. I was then appointed 
 resident medical officer at the London Hospital. Immediately cases 
 came pouring in from all parts, and we would publish those of the 
 
 m a Photo, by] SIR MORELL MACKENZIE. ILUiatt <t Fry.
 
 SIR MORELL MACKENZIE. 2D7 
 
 deepest interest which had been examined with the aid of the 
 laryngoscope. Let me describe this instrument in a few simple 
 words. It consists of a mirror put at the back of the throat which 
 conveys a light into the windpipe, at the same time receiving the 
 image of the illuminated part upon the surface. An ordtnary 
 optician could make one. It is very difficult to use on young 
 children, though really I have succeeded in operating on little ones 
 of three and four years of age. 
 
 " I look back on those days at the London Hospital with infinite 
 pleasure. Many, many poor people were seen, and often I would 
 
 " EARLY DAYS IN THE EAST-END. 
 
 visit some of the most wretched abodes. But the poorer class are 
 impressively appreciative. Their appreciation runs the length of 
 their pockets, and some of the little tokens of thankfulness I received, 
 though small in value, bore much meaning. Apples, oranges, packets 
 of sweets, and small bags of nuts would come, accompanied by a 
 letter." And then I learnt of a very happy custom of Sir Morell's, of 
 assuring his smaller East-end patients that it was " all right," and 
 they " would soon be well." H e would take toys into these squalid 
 dwellings, and, putting a horse and cart, or a doll, at the foot of the 
 bedside, so that the little sufferer could see it easily, and look upon it
 
 208 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS, 
 
 as something worth winning, he would promise it to the child as soon 
 as its throat had been examined. In many ways he became a friend 
 to dwellers in the East It meant hard work for the young doctor. 
 In the daytime he was seeing patients, whilst every moment of 
 leisure was devoted to inventing all sorts of instruments to be used 
 in conjunction with the laryngoscope. On his leaving the hospital 
 as resident medical officer he was appointed visiting physician, which 
 meant he had to visit there twice a week to see out-patients. 
 
 His course was now fully decided he would make a speciality 
 of throat diseases. In 1863 he established the Throat Hospital in 
 Golden Square. It began as a small dispensary, with a couple of 
 
 From a Photo, b 
 
 rooms, but it grew and grew until it assumed the proportions of a 
 great building, affording relief to thousands of people, and Sir Morell 
 still remained its consulting physician. 
 
 " About this time," resumed Sir Morell, " I was lecturing very 
 frequently on physiology. I soon got into a large private practice. 
 I took a house in George Street, Hanover Square, thence removed to 
 Weymouth Street, and finally, in 1870, to my present abode. You 
 ask me for a typical day's work. From 9 a.m. to 10 a.m. I visit bad 
 cases. From 10 to 2 I am being consulted here. In the afternoon 
 I am out again. In the evening I take notes of my cases, and when 
 a spare hour for recreation comes to me, I find relief in a game of 
 chess my favourite amusement. I can get through fifty or sixty 
 cases in a day. Old patients can be seen very quickly five minutes ; 
 new cases twenty minutes or half an hour. They come from all
 
 MORELL MACKENZIE. 
 
 parts of the world New Zealand, Australia, India. It was from 
 America Milwaukee that I received the offer of my largest fee. I 
 was offered .5,000 to go out and see one individual case, but I was 
 unable to accept it, for at that time I was attending the late Emperor. 
 
 " One very curious fee I once received came about as follows. 
 An old man came to see me here. I examined his throat, and at 
 once saw it was in a terribly bad state. I asked him why he had not 
 come to see me sooner. His reply amused me very much. 
 
 " ' You see, sir,' he said, ' I hadn't got a guinea. I always thought 
 a physician wouldn't see anybody without a spade guinea, and at last 
 I've got one. Here it is, and thank you very much.' " 
 
 HERE IT is, AND THANK YOU VERY MUCH." 
 
 It is as interesting as it is gratifying to hear Sir Morell give favour- 
 able accounts of the throats of some famous actors and singers. He 
 is often called upon to restore the voices of vocalists just for the night 
 a medical feat which he performs with the utmost skill. For years 
 Madame Albani never consulted any doctor about her throat. She 
 was always afraid of being made worse. Finally she went to Sir 
 Morell. Madame Albani has a fine, well-developed throat Sir 
 Morell assured me that an examination of Madame Patti's throat 
 gave him the secret of the creation of her beautiful notes. The great 
 singer cares for it so well that to-day it absolutely shows no sign of 
 wear, and resembles the throat of a young girl. Madame Pauline 
 Lucca has a grand throat, and one is not surprised to hear that Sims
 
 2io ILLUSTRATED -INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Reeves takes more care of his throat than any vocalist living. Mr. 
 Irving has a very sound throat. As his intimates know, the eminent 
 actor's stage voice is entirely different from his natural voice, but the 
 constant employment of his theatrical- -tones has -done no harm. 
 Referring to. Mr. Toole, Sir Morell -simply said in a very happy way, 
 'VI had great difficulty in e^aminmg him." Those who know the 
 cbmediarLwill readily understand this..--- 
 
 " The great thing," prescribed Sir Morell, " is to try and harden 
 the throat ; do not. wrap it -up too mudh. Endeavour to-make the 
 neck as capable of exposure as the face. We do not -cover up. our 
 faces, and they are practically the hardiest part of our Bodies.. Of 
 course, when a person gets to a certain age it is too late for this. 
 Keep the throat free from wrappings. The throat is the entrance to 
 the lungs a very vital part, narrow and tender. The great feather 
 boas and Medici collars which ladies wear round the neck, and the 
 stifling mufflers which men put on, are calculated to do harm. I 
 recommend turn-down collars. Gargling with cold salt water in the 
 morning is a very excellent thing, also bathing the throat, first with 
 very hot water, and then with very cold. The throat gets the effect 
 of a sudden shock." 
 
 Then our conversation briefly reverted to Sir Morell's memorable 
 ccnnection with the late Emperor of Germany. 
 
 " It was in the May of 1887," the physician said, "that I received 
 a summons to go immediately to Berlin. The telegram came at nine 
 o'clock one evening, and I was away by the first train next morning. 
 On my arrival, I at once saw the Crown Prince. My examination 
 cnly lasted a few minutes. I felt it was a very doubtful case, and I 
 told all the Crown Prince's regular doctors, who were in the room, 
 frankly what I thought. The Crown Prince seemed' to be possessed 
 of much sang froid; he was quite happy. His extreme courtesy 
 impressed me most. He thanked me most heartily for coming. I 
 saw him again the next day, and was more than ever convinced of 
 my previous impressions." 
 
 All the world knows the course of events which followed. Sir 
 Morell assured me that his illustrious . patient never once asked what 
 he (the physician) thought of his case ; never once said, " Do you 
 think I shall recover?" The Royal personage was very fond of 
 talking about England, and particularly Scotland. When Sir Morell 
 was out walking or driving with' him, the late Emperor was never 
 happier than when telling stories of Frederick the Great. He pointed 
 out the mill at Potsdam- famous for the historical dispute between 
 the miller and his noble ancestor. 
 
 " There's :the mill," he cried 'to SirMVTorell. "It was : a great 
 eyesore to the Great Frederick, and he wanted the miller to give it up. 
 The miller was immovable, so the ruler of a kingdom and the owner 
 of a mill .went into court. The millowner won, and when the King 
 found his cause was hopeless, he became good friends with the miller 
 by way of atonement." 
 
 Sir Morell was by the Emperors bedside during the last hours.
 
 SIX MORELL MA CKENZIE. 
 
 211 
 
 from a Photo. l>y\ 
 
 Writing materials 
 were laid out on 
 the bed, and the 
 Emperor used to 
 write on these to 
 Sir Morell when 
 he- required : 
 moving from one '" 
 bed to another, on < 
 slips of paper 
 about five inches - 
 long by three 
 inches wide, 
 written on in 
 pencil. Sir Morell 
 prolonged one of 
 the most precious 
 lives in Europe 
 for over a year. 
 
 It is of no small moment to learn what Sir Morell Mackenzie 
 considers the effects of over-smoking on the throat. In reply to my 
 question on this highly interesting subject, he referred me to an article 
 he wrote in The New Review. His remedy for getting rid of the same 
 is a very simple one, namely, the discontinuing of the practice which 
 engenders them. 
 
 He strongly objects to a cigarette " as being the worst form of 
 indulgence, from the fact that the very mildness of its action tempts 
 people to smoke nearly all day long, and by inhaling the fumes into 
 their lungs, saturate their blood with the poison. It should be borne 
 in mind that there are two bad qualities contained in the fumes of 
 tobacco. One is poisonous nicotine, the other the high temperature 
 of the burning tobacco. Most people, however, can smoke in modera- 
 tion without injury ; to many tobacco acts as a useful nerve sedative, 
 but, on the other hand, an excessive indulgence in the habit is always 
 injurious, many persons wilfully overstepping the boundary line which 
 separates moderation from abuse. The condition of the, throat. as 
 well as that -of 'the general health varies greatly at* time j s; land'an 1 
 amount of smoking, which at one-time would be attended with no 
 bad effect, might at another produce serious harm. Every smoker 
 knows that when the stomach is out of order the pipe or cigar loses 
 its charm ; but it is not so generally known that at such times the 
 tongue (which to the experienced eye is a mirror of the invisible 
 stomach) and the throat are more vulnerable than usual to tobacco. 
 If Nature's warnings on these points are disregarded, as they generally 
 are, the smoker will bring on himself much unnecessary discomfort, 
 and even suffering. In connection with the variation in susceptibility 
 just referred to, it may be mentioned that persons leading an out-door 
 life can, as a rule, smoke with much greater impunity than those who 
 spend most of their time indoors. It is further worthy of remark that
 
 212 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 the inhabitants of warm climates suffer less than the dwellers in what 
 is, probably on the lucus a non lucendo principle, called the temperate 
 climate of England. This is doubtless due to the greater resisting 
 power of throats less harassed by fogs and east winds, and partly, 
 perhaps, to the use of milder tobacco. 
 
 " To conclude with a little practical advice," said Sir Morell, " I 
 would say to anyone who finds total abstinence too heroic a stretch of 
 virtue, let him smoke only after a substantial meal, and, if he 
 be a singer or a speaker, let him do so after, and never before, 
 using his voice. Let him smoke a mild Havana, or a long- 
 stemmed pipe charged with some cool-smoking tobacco. If the 
 
 charms of the 
 irresistible, let 
 through a mouth- 
 kept clean with 
 dan strictness, 
 from smoking 
 cigarette to the 
 be added, rank 
 Your Turk, who 
 his smoking, and 
 stands the art, 
 away the near 
 ette. Let the 
 to keep in the 
 frain from inha- 
 and let him take 
 that the man in 
 creases the flow 
 marked degree is 
 Nature to smoke, 
 strictly moderate 
 the precise limits 
 settle for himself 
 all the good effect 
 plant without the 
 in it when used to 
 
 cigarette are 
 it be smoked 
 piece which is 
 ultra- Mohamme- 
 Let him refrain 
 pipe, cigar, or 
 bitter and, it may 
 and oily end. 
 is very choice in 
 thoroughly under- 
 always throws 
 half of his cigar- 
 singer who wishes 
 ' perfect way ' re- 
 ling the smoke, 
 it as an axiom 
 whom tobacco in- 
 of saliva to any 
 not intended by 
 Let him be 
 in indulgence 
 each man must 
 and he will get 
 of the soothing 
 bane which lurks 
 excess." 
 
 THE OPERATING CHAIR. 
 
 [From a Photo, by Elliott < fry.]
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE REV. J. E. C. WELLDON (HEAD MASTER 
 OF HARROW). 
 
 THE REV. J. E. C. WELLDON. 
 
 From a Photograph by Elliott & Fry. 
 
 room 
 Only 
 were 
 
 T was on the last Saturday of the term that I made my 
 way to "the top of the Hill "a Saturday as famous as 
 welcome to every boy in Harrow famous, for was not 
 the last house match of the season to be played in the 
 afternoon? whilst in the evening, as the bells chimed 
 half-past six, were not the boys to gather in the speech- 
 and once again sing the dear old songs of Harrow ? Welcome ! 
 a few more hours, and then for home and holidays. Yet there 
 one or two boys with sad and breaking hearts. It was their last
 
 214 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE \VS. 
 
 Saturday at Harrow ! Their faces told of their feelings within. I 
 came across one handsome young fellow in the chapel sitting silently 
 in his accustomed seat. He was crying bitterly. He scarce knew 
 why why his eyes should fill 
 
 At the thought of the Hill, 
 And the wild regret of the last good-bye. 
 
 " They sometimes scarcely know how to leave my study," said 
 Mr. Welldon, in -his kindly way, "when it comes to the last word of 
 advice and a final grip of the hand." 
 
 The sight of these few boys who were leaving, wandering listlessly 
 about the meadows and the school buildings, only substantiated what 
 was to be read on Mr. Welldon's kind and open face. He is a model 
 schoolmaster. He knows every boy in the school. He is a homely 
 teacher. As a Public School-boy himself for he is an old Etonian, 
 and the only living link between Eton and Harrow he seeks not 
 only to pose as the teacher at the table, but as the pupil at the desk. 
 Here lies the secret of scholastic sympathy, the carrying out of 
 which realizes true teaching. Then Mr. Welldon loves fun. I would 
 that you could hear the hearty laugh with which he accompanied the 
 delightful stories he told me. It echoed a " Don't-I-wish-I-was-there- 
 now " sentiment that was unmistakable. 
 
 Before we settled down to talk we made the customary run 
 through his rooms. Mr. Welldon is a bachelor, and his sister presides 
 over his house. Miss Welldon's artistic taste is apparent in the 
 arrangement of " Nature's decorations." You cannot enter a room 
 without finding the freshest and sweetest of flowers. The fire-places 
 in the drawing-room are just great fern banks relieved here and there 
 by peeping blossoms ; the tiny vases look as though the roses were 
 
 From a Photo, 
 
 THE DKAW1MG-KOOM. 
 
 lEUiott < Fry
 
 THE REV. J. E. C, WELLDON. 
 
 2I 5 
 
 growing out of them. The pictures in the drawing-room are 
 principally of the Venetian and Florentine School, though here is an 
 engraving of a portrait of Mr. Gladstone, and another of Holman 
 Hunt's " Shadow of the Cross." Reminiscences of his many travels 
 are also on the walls, as indeed they are everywhere about the house 
 in room and on staircase photographs of Egypt and the Nile, the 
 Yosemite Valley and Niagara, and many others. A dual statuette of 
 Goethe and Schiller rests on a cabinet at the far end of the room. 
 
 Yet another fern bank is found in the dining-room : a bright 
 relief to the solemnly massive oak furniture. 
 
 From a Photo, by. 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 \_miutl <lu Fry. 
 
 The study of the Head Master of Harrow is necessarily a very 
 interesting apartment. If it impresses the visitor, how much more 
 does it affect the boy who timidly taps at the door and knows he is 
 " in for it " ! Yet, at the same time, the study is open to every lad in 
 the school who would seek for advice, or who a thing seldom needed 
 is desirous of lodging a complaint. There are two tables : one is 
 the working table, on which are set out the various papers associated 
 with school life proper. Mr. Welldon assures me that "all the affairs 
 of life go into six divisions""; hence- the box of half-a-dozen pigeon- 
 holes. 
 
 The other table is entirely devoted to Aristotle, of whom Mr. 
 Welldon is la most ardent student. His "Translation of Aristotle's 
 Politics " and " Rhetoric " are standard works, and he has just 
 completed another treatise on the great philosopher. The books in 
 the study are those used in classical teaching ; the two maps are 
 those of Greece and Athens. Two photos, are noteworthy. One is 
 that of Tennyson, on which the Laureate has written : " I prefer the 
 Dirty Monk to the others of me " a remark suggested by a possible
 
 2l6 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 From a Photo, 
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 [Llliott tt Fry. 
 
 resemblance to an untidy monk. The other is an autographed photo, 
 of Mr. Gladstone. 
 
 The Rev. James Edward Cowell Welldon has the same birthday 
 as Oliver Cromwell and John Keble the 25th April. He was born 
 at Tunbridge in 1854, was educated at Eton, and afterwards went to 
 King's College, Cambridge, where he became Bell Scholar in 1874; 
 Browne's Medallist in 1875 and 1876; Craven Scholar in the latter 
 year, and Senior Classic and Senior Chancellor's Medallist in 1877. 
 
 " Then I went abroad," said Mr. Welldon, " and lived in five 
 foreign homes. I was nearly starved abroad. That has made me 
 careful with any of my boys who are going abroad to study languages. 
 When I send them out before the end of the term, I take their 
 tickets, have somebody I know to meet them at the other end, and, 
 above all, see that the food is good. On my return from foreign 
 lands I was appointed Lecturer, and subsequently Tutor, of King's 
 College, Cambridge." 
 
 Mr. Welldon was only twenty-nine when he became Master of 
 Dulwich College, and two years later, in 1883, he was made Head 
 Master of Harrow School, succeeding Dr. Butler to that important 
 and much-coveted post. 
 
 " Schoolmastering is a narrowing profession," he said ; " you are 
 always dealing with inferiors, telling people what to do that is what 
 makes schoolmasters so disagreeable in old age. When any of my 
 teaching colleagues come here I always advise them to do something 
 outside school-work travel or write books. A good schoolmaster is 
 a man who uses his holidays well. When Dr. Arnold was at Rugby 
 it was difficult to get sufficient subjects to teach now it is a hard
 
 THE REV. J. E. C. WELLDON. 217 
 
 matter to find time to teach them in. Educational subjects are 
 increasing in number every day they advance, whilst the capacity of 
 the boy remains stationary. The only way to deal with the educa- 
 tional problem is to find out just what the boy loves and cares for, 
 and let him learn it. I don't believe in cramming. Every subject 
 requires teaching, and time to teach it in. Schoolmasters must 
 learn to appreciate time as well as system. Are schoolmasters plenti- 
 ful ? Well, I have forty here, a splendidly energetic band ask the 
 boys and with strong opinions of their own. Yet, if the whole of 
 my staff resigned to-day, I could fill up the vacancies to-morrow." 
 
 Then Mr. Welldon spoke very frankly on the subject of corporal 
 punishment. He assured me that the only people in English society 
 who do not object to having their boys flogged are the upper classes. 
 
 " Why," he said, merrily, " seeing that flogging is abolished in 
 the Board schools and forbidden in the middle-class schools, soon we 
 shall only be able to flog the son of a duke ! Boys in their hearts 
 like being kept in order the masters they don't like are those who 
 won't punish. Still, I don't believe in corporal punishment it may 
 be useful, but I assure you it is not often necessary at Harrow. I 
 have heard some curious little stories on this subject. Lord Lawrence 
 admitted that he was flogged once every day except one, when he 
 was flogged twice in one day. Here are two remarkable examples 
 that the birch does not ruin a boy's love for the master who 
 administers it. 
 
 " When Dr. South, as a boy, went to Westminster, Busby said, 
 * I see wits in that ugly little boy ; my cane shall bring them out ' ; 
 and it did. Yet when South was lying on his death-bed he expressed 
 the wish to be buried next to Busby. They lie beside each other at 
 Westminster. It is said that Dr. Keate at Eton flogged every day, 
 and on one occasion kept at it all night. Yet Mr. Gladstone told me 
 that the most enthusiastic reception he was ever at was Keate's 
 farewell dinner given by his old pupils. 
 
 " A certain well-known head master of Harrow used to say to a 
 boy after he birched him, ' I forgive you ! ' and he accompanied every 
 stroke on the delinquent's body with such expressions as ' Now, be a 
 man ! ' 'Be brave ! ' ' I'm so sorry ! ' And he meant it. The reason 
 for his taking to birching the boys was an amusing one. He was 
 humanity itself, and he got another master to do the thrashing. But 
 the other master was even more humane than he, and in his pity for 
 the boy laid across the form, would hit out so enthusiastically as only 
 to birch the form and not the delinquent. Hence the head master 
 held the birch aftenvards. 
 
 " When this same head master was appointed," said Mr. Welldon, 
 " he caused a servant, who had been with his predecessor, to go 
 through the house and take an inventory. The fanlight over the 
 door had a huge hole in it, as though a stone had broken it. The 
 servant did not include this in his list. 
 
 . " ' You missed this,' said the worthy 'head,' pointing to the broken 
 fanlight.
 
 2l8 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 from a Photo. 
 
 HARROW SCHOOL THE ENTRANCE. 
 
 {.Elliott & Fry. 
 
 " ' Oh ! that is always left with a hole in it, sir ! ' was the servant's 
 significant reply. 
 
 " He had a way essentially his own of getting rid of little boys 
 whom he invited to breakfast. You know, little boys have a peculiar 
 habit of becoming inconveniently glued to a chair. The hospitable 
 ' head ' would quietly go up to the youngster -who was perhaps in 
 the middle of another muffin and say very gently, and with paternal 
 kindness, ' And must you really go ? ' The little boy invariably 
 went." 
 
 The name of Archbishop Longley is one to conjure with. Many 
 a merry anecdote is associated with this estimable guide of youth. 
 
 There are no boys on earth more fond of a joke than Harrovians, 
 and no lads more clannish. It seems two boys were out very late one 
 night, and the worthy Longley was also enjoying a midnight ramble. 
 The Harrow boys, by-the-bye, wear tail coats a la the old English 
 gentleman. Longley saw the two lads, and gave chase, He caught 
 up one, and just got hold of one of his coat tails. The tail came off 
 in the master's hands. " Ha, ha ! " thought Longley, " I'll catch him
 
 THE REV. J. E. C. WELLDON. 213 
 
 to-morrow he'll only have one tail to his coat." But he had reckoned 
 without his host. In the morning every boy turned up with a single 
 tail to his coat ! 
 
 Longley's nickname at Harrow was Jacob. About this time a very 
 popular game was played at the school called " Jack o' Lantern," but 
 the neighbouring farmers complained that indulging in it injured their 
 crops and field produce, as the boys must needs have a free run across 
 country. It was therefore forbidden. A few lads, however, still 
 managed to get out at night, and the boys in the Head Master's house 
 Longley's abode used to let themselves down from a room on the 
 first floor by a rope. One night the boys had safely got inside, when 
 Longley, in passing, caught sight of the suspended rope. 
 
 " I'll surprise them," thought he, and with commendable intention 
 gave a pull at the cord. The boys evidently thought one of their 
 number was still out, and began " hauling in." Up went Longley 
 higher and higher, until his face got level with the window. Then his 
 stern countenance appeared. 
 
 " Jacob, by Jingo," cried the boys, and the Head Master was 
 dropped into his own laurel bush. He never asked any questions ! 
 
 Mr. Welldon, too, has experienced what may be aptly termed 
 school "surprises." 
 
 Some time ago a not altogether comforting spectacle met his view. 
 It seems the boys in a certain form pretended they wanted a window 
 in the roof of their room shut. The obliging master had a ladder 
 brought, mounted it, and endeavoured to shut the window. Some 
 enterprising youth removed the ladder, and when the Head Master of 
 Harrow entered there was the unfortunate master clinging for dear life 
 to the frame-work. 
 
 Just as we were in the midst of happily enjoying these little 
 reminiscences a servant brought in a letter. 
 
 " Excuse me one moment," said Mr. Welldon. But the next 
 instant the letter was in my hands. It was a letter written by Lord 
 Palmerston to the Honble. Elizabeth Temple, Hanover Square, when 
 a schoolboy at Harrow ; and sent now to the Head Master. Here are 
 the contents : 
 
 " Harrow, Friday, June 13, 1800. 
 
 " MY DEAR LILLY, At Last I begin my long promised letter to 
 let you know that various things have happened since I saw you Last. 
 Last week we were entertained for about two hours by a conjuror, 
 Mr. Magoni by name. I send you enclosed his bill of fare, and 
 curious one it is. He really performed his tricks with great Dexterity, 
 and one in particular. He put a handfull of tow in his mouth, and 
 after having chewed it for some time he pulled out, not the tow, but 
 several yards of different coloured ribbons. 
 
 " The Day before yesterday we had a Poney race, one poney 
 belonged to Forster, the man who keeps the Inn, where we dined on 
 the Speech Day, and the other was the property of a farmer's son in 
 the neighbourhood. The race course was along the London road from 
 the bottom of the hill to the House at the end of the Common, just
 
 220 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 one mile, for two 
 guineas. The Farmer's 
 Poney came down in 
 good time, butForster's, 
 not liking the sport, 
 set off from the Stable 
 with his jockey on his 
 back, and run clown 
 quite the contrary way 
 from the race ground, 
 came to a common 
 where he Leaped over 
 a ditch, threw his 
 Jockey, and dragged 
 him a hundred yards, 
 however, Luckily did 
 not hurt him, though 
 he kicked at him, and 
 as soon as the boy was 
 disengaged from his 
 Stirrup he ran into a 
 pond, where he was 
 caught : and then he 
 and his Jockey came 
 very Quietly to the 
 course. He ran very 
 well half-way, but when 
 he came to the avenue 
 of Elms about a quarter 
 of a mile from the 
 house, which served 
 instead of a winning 
 post, he turned Sharp 
 up it, and would not 
 go on so that the 
 
 other poney came in ten minutes before him. Forster, however, said he 
 would run him back again for a guinea, which he lost also, his poney 
 being compleatly distanced. I wish you would send to Dale's Musick 
 Shop in Oxford Street for six or eight yards of catgut like the piece 
 I enclose, and send it me as soon as you can. I will pay you when I 
 see you. I do not believe it will be more than two shillings. I wish 
 you would send to Mr. Watkin and Phipps for a box of the ointment 
 he said I was to use for my eyes, as I have had two or three boxes, but 
 have always squashed them in my pocket as soon as I bought them. 
 I am glad to hear Betzy is better, and that everything is settled with 
 Mrs. Rush who seems to be one of those unfortunate people, who do 
 not know their own mind five minutes together. My Love to all, and 
 believe me ever your most affectionate Brother, 
 
 "H. TEMPLE."
 
 THE REV. / E. C. WELLDON. 
 
 221 
 
 Previous to starting out with Mr. Welldon for a walk round the 
 school buildings, and a visit to the swimming bath and cricket field, 
 I saw some of the boys' rooms in the Head Master's house. The 
 head boy of the house has a library in his apartment. You can 
 read the boys' inclinations in the decorations they have in their 
 respective sanctums. One boy leans towards sport look at the cups 
 and athletic trophies ; another is partial to cattle in general, and 
 horses in particular. All of them have family portraits the son of 
 the Bishop of Ripon has his father's picture in a most prominent 
 position and many lads are evidently admirers of beautiful women. 
 
 From a Photo. by\ 
 
 THE HEAD BOY S STUDY. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 It was with a merry smile that Mr. Welldon told me of the only 
 case of school love that had ever come under his notice. 
 
 " I was at Dulwich at the time," he said, " and a lady came to me 
 with the request to punish her boy only seventeen who had pro- 
 posed marriage to some charming young damsel in the neighbourhood 
 who had captured his heart I was successful in breaking off the 
 engagement ! " 
 
 Then, as we walked across the fields together, followed by Scamp, 
 a remarkably handsome collie, through the meadow path past the fine 
 football field, towards the swimming bath, we discussed a number of 
 matters, which it is to be hoped will prove interesting to the general 
 reader, and particularly so to any Harrow boy present or past who 
 may peruse this little paper. 
 
 Most boys have two shillings a week pocket-money, and the 
 Harrow confectioners' shops their name is legion thrive on it. The 
 shops live on the school. Mr. Welldon deliberately declared that 
 confectioners were amongst his worst enemies. Sometimes a boy 
 returns from his holidays with three or four sovereigns. It is gone 
 in a fortnight. The sons of great bankers have been at Harrow, and,
 
 222 
 
 ILL US1RA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 owing to the captivating confectioner, have not had sufficient mcney to 
 pay their fare to London. No credit is allowed. If a shop is " put 
 out of bounds " by the Head Master, the shopkeeper has to go no 
 boy dare patronize it. Still, your young Harrovian comes in fcr 
 occasional pleasant presents from ill-advised people. A short time ago 
 
 -THE BATHING PLACE. 
 
 a Harrow boy 
 showed a stranger ; - 
 round the town. 
 A few days after- 
 wards the youngster 
 received a dozen of 
 champagne. 
 
 Just as we were 
 nearing the gate which 
 leads from the meadow 
 to the road, where stands the cottage of Mr. Gibbs, the swimming 
 master, Mr. Welldon again referred to the clannishness of the Harrow 
 boys, -and told me a remarkable story of their patriotic feeling towards 
 their school,, and the enthusiasm .with which they regarded everything 
 that happened in connection with it. 
 
 " You asked me just now if ever a Harrow boy had been expelled. 
 After Dr. Wordsworth left only some sixty-eight boys remained the 
 school had gone down terribly, principally owing to a difference of 
 opinion which : existed between Wordsworth and Sir Robert Peel. 
 This led, it is said, to the elder sons of Sir Robert alone being sent 
 to Harrow', and the younger ones including the present Speaker 
 of the House of Commons going to Eton. Dr. Heath was the 
 last Etonian Head Master of Harrow previous to my appointment. 
 The elder brother of the Duke of Wellington the Marquis Wellesley, 
 a boy of ten years of age was at Harrow at the time, and he, with 
 other boys, strongly resented this action. In token of their strong
 
 THE REV. J. E. C. WELLDON. 
 
 223 
 
 feelings on the matter, they dragged the carriage of one of the 
 governors down to Roxeth Common, near here, and broke it to 
 pieces. One of the ringleaders was the Marquis Wellesley. He was 
 brought up, rebuked, and asked to apologize. Instead of doing so, 
 he pulled out a piece of -wood which he had brought from the broken 
 carriage and cried, ' Victory ! Victory ! ' He was expelled. He was 
 sent to Eton. Strange to tell, he became the most devoted 
 Etonian^ was always desirous of being buried there, and his wishes 
 wer& fulfilled: But for that occurrence Harrow could perhaps have 
 numbered amongst its old boys a Duke of Wellington." 
 
 We talked very little about sermons, though Mr. Welldon is 
 Chaplain to the Queen, and one of the finest preachers in the country. 
 Mr. Welldon happily remarked that the last token of appreciation 
 of his sermons was from one of his old boys, who had taken a book 
 of his discourses out with him to South Africa. 
 
 " He wrote to say that he read one of my sermons every Sunday, 
 as he was far away from all churches. He wanted to know if, after 
 having done his duty as he put it by reading a sermon, he might 
 shoot afterwards." 
 
 " And did you give him permission ? " I asked. 
 
 " Certainly. I told him I thought he might," was the answer, 
 
 From a Photo, 
 
 THE VAUGHAN LIBRARY! 
 
 [EUiott & Fry.
 
 22 4 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 We had reached the swimming bath, and many of the boys were 
 enjoying a plunge. It is certainly the finest open-air bath in the 
 kingdom, being 5Ooft long, with a maximum width of 6oft. Its depth 
 varies from 3ft. Sin. to 6ft. lin. Three hundred and fifty thousand 
 gallons of water come daily from the Harrow Waterworks, 
 covering almost three-quarters of an acre. The whole place is 
 delightfully sheltered, and surrounded with trees and huge banks of 
 shrubs and evergreens. Some of the best swimmers and divers 
 amongst the Harrow boys willingly lent themselves to the camera. 
 
 On our returning to Harrow there was much to see, previous to 
 going to the cricket ground, and Mr. Welldon w r as most enthusiastic 
 in pointing out the many objects of interest. The chapel is full of 
 memorial tablets, and close by is the Vaughan Library, a very hand- 
 some erection. Immediately on entering are seen two fine marble 
 busts of Lord Palmerston and Byron ; many portraits of old 
 Harrovians hang round the walls. Here " Young Harrow " can come 
 and look upon many precious relics of those who sat on the forms 
 before them. They can sit in the alcove by the window and look out 
 upon the glorious landscape in front of them, the richness and beauty 
 of which must tempt many a lad to dream and hope that one day his 
 name may live "on the Hill." Byron's -sword is here, and Lord 
 Palmerston's inkstand. Just by the alcove is a crayon drawing of the 
 late Cardinal Manning. I remembered how his eyes lit up when, 
 some time before he died, I spoke to him about his Harrow days. 
 In the letter which hangs framed beneath his picture the last he 
 wrote to Mr. Welldon dated 2ist June, 1880, the great prelate says : 
 " As I grow older and older, the days of my boyhood seem brighter." 
 
 " I once took lunch with Cardinal Manning in the morning," said 
 Mr. Welldon, " tea in the afternoon with Mr. Spurgeon ; and dined in 
 the evening with the Bishop of Winchester ! " 
 
 In a glass case is Byron's " Euripides' Hecuba " ; some Latin 
 exercises written by Sir Robert Peel when at Harrow in 1804, and 
 letters from Wellington, Faraday, Landseer, and Sydney Smith. An 
 archer's dress of white satin and silver lace worn at Harrow on the 
 day of shooting for the silver arrow is preserved, together with a 
 couple of the arrows competed for. 
 
 We cross the road, up the steep stony incline to the church, and 
 stand for a moment by the tomb now railed in on which Byron 
 used to sit and dream. From the place of poetry to the spot of 
 pugilism is but a few steps. The latter is the old milling ground 
 where Byron fought his battles. 
 
 The streams where we swam and the fields where we fought. 
 
 " At Harrow I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but one 
 battle out of seven," Byron wrote to a friend. But the place of milling 
 is no more. The courtyard is no longer used as a grand stand by 
 the boys ; the masters no longer have to shut their eyes to a pugilistic 
 encounter. The days of fights are o'er, and the patch of once famous 
 land now grows very long grass and is used as a practice ground for 
 the Morris tube.
 
 THE REV, J. E. C. WELLDON. 225 
 
 All that remains of the old school stands 
 here. Here is the old 
 fourth form, with its 
 oaken benches and panels, 
 
 Ml 
 
 BYRON'S SEAT TOMB IN HARROW CHURCHYARD. 
 
 tiny windows, and huge Elizabethan mantel- 
 piece its quaint old desks and chairs. It 
 
 forms the Harrow scroll of fame, for on the walls and benches, on the 
 doors aye, everywhere the penknife of many a famous man has 
 cut into the wood. Here is " Byron," and in the next panel to the 
 poet is " H. Temple, 1 800." " R. Peel " is in big letters near the 
 Head Master's seat ; " Haddo " (Lord 
 Aberdeen), " R. B. Sheridan " until very 
 recently a direct descendant of Sheridan 
 was in the school and near the floor, 
 in very small letters, 
 "H. E. Manning, 1824." 
 
 From a Photo. by] 
 
 THE OLD MILLING GROUND.
 
 226 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 No walls were ever so famously decorated as these. The old fourth 
 form is now cnly used for prayers and birching. A little door is 
 opened near the ancient desk where the Head Master once sat, and 
 six birches rest against the wall in an impressive row. Passing up- 
 stairsthe doors and walls are covered with names we reach the 
 Head Master's class-room. It contains a number of tablets on which 
 are printed in gold the names of Harrow prize-winners. It is a close, 
 uncomfortable room, but tradition is strong at Harrow, and the boys 
 
 From a Photo, but 
 
 THE FOURTH FORM ROOM. 
 
 tt d: try. 
 
 would not leave it for the most perfectly ventilated and sumptuously 
 furnished apartment in the land. 
 
 There is just time to look in at the speech-room, with its fine oak 
 roof and numberless chairs ranged tier upon tier, before we hurry away 
 down the Hill the Hill upon which Lord Shaftesbury conceived his 
 idea of philanthropy when seeing a funeral passing by. We are on 
 our way to the cricket ground. What a sight it is ! Seated on the 
 grass and benches is " Young Harrow," eagerly watching and waiting 
 for every ball that leaves the bowler's hand, and every hit that comes 
 from the striker's bat. But go on a little farther and you 
 reach the pavilion. Here sit the two houses that are fighting with 
 bat and ball to-day. You can easily tell the supporters of the two
 
 THE REV. J. E. C. M'ELLDON. 
 
 t'l'om a. Pluitv. 
 
 HEAD MASTERS CLASS-ROOM. 
 
 I Elliott <k try. 
 
 sides. Let the bowler deliver a good ball, and fifty voices at the 
 pavilion go up in one great shout ; but let the batsman make a grand 
 drive, and the same fifty voices are silent, while the other half hundred 
 take up the shout. If you want to hear a real, unadulterated English 
 shout, ask a Harrow boy to cheer ; if you want a practical definition 
 of enthusiasm, go to a Saturday afternoon match at Harrow. 
 
 Mr. Welldon and I sat down on one of the seats, whilst Scamp 
 lay at his master's feet. 
 
 " We have fifteen clubs here," said Mr. Welldon, " and in a couple 
 of years' time I venture to prophesy a score. The cricket at Harrow is 
 practically looked after by friends, though the masters play their part as 
 well. Lord Bessborough has trained young Harrovians to bat for the last 
 fifty years ; the late Mr. Grimston was seldom absent from the field, 
 and to-day Mr. I. D. Walker is most enthusiastic in his batting and 
 bowling lessons. I often have requests from the parents of boys to 
 * let them play cricket to their hearts' content,' and when the House 
 of Commons is sitting, the ground is alive with M.P.'s on a Saturday 
 afternoon probably to see if I am carrying out their instructions. 
 The big match at Lord's is systematically trained for. I always make 
 a point of keeping the boys in school till eight o'clock on the morning 
 of the Eton and Harrow match. It steadies them. You have only 
 to look at that pavilion to know what the Harrow boys love. Hark 
 at them now ! Well hit ! well hit ! " 
 
 Mr. Welldon himself had caught the spirit of enthusiasm, and his 
 sudden shout told that the Head Master's love ran in the same 
 direction as the boys'. 
 
 "In the old days at Lord's, on the occasion of the annual battle
 
 223 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE SI'EECH-ROOM. 
 
 {Elliott & Fry. 
 
 between the two great schools," he said, after watching a good four 
 run out, " there were no ropes round the pitch to keep it clear. Once, 
 one of our youngsters got a ball in the face, and his nose began to 
 bleed. His mother, who was on the ground, rushed from her seat to 
 her boy. The captain, with the utmost gravity and courtesy, turned 
 to the lady, saying, as he ordered her off the ground : ' Are you not 
 aware, madam, that every Harrow boy should be ready to shed his 
 last drop of blood in the service of his school ? ' 
 
 " One of the most tragic deaths I ever heard of happened in this 
 very cricket field," the Head Master said, very quietly. " A boy was 
 umpiring. A ball was hit to short leg ; he was unable to stop it, and 
 it hit him behind the ear. There was just time to take him off the 
 field before he died. It only wanted a fortnight to the match at 
 Lord's, and he was to have played in the eleven. The captain of the 
 eleven sent the cricket cap he would have worn to the poor boy's 
 mother, and it was buried with him." 
 
 Being left alone for a few minutes, I met the captain of the school 
 eleven Mr. M. Y. Barlow, a most enthusiastic fellow, needless to say 
 brimming over with " cricket," and possessing a keen knowledge of a 
 good team. Mr. B. N. Bosworth-Smith, son of the biographer of Lord 
 Lawrence, and the head boy of the school, stood to the artist, and a
 
 THE REV. J E C WELLDON. 
 
 229 
 
 IN THE PLAYING FIELD. 
 
 group of Harrow boys willingly submitted. In this group is a Har- 
 rovian a great favourite at the school who should be peculiarly 
 interesting to the readers of THE STRAND MAGAZINE. In the white 
 lining of his straw hat is a familiar name written in ink. It was put 
 there by a companion owing to his remarkable resemblance to a very 
 eminent detective. The name is Sherlock Holmes. 
 
 Suddenly the batsmen throw down their bats, the boys leave 
 the pavilion, and the seats are quickly emptied. They are all 
 hurrying towards an adjoining meadow. Mr. Welldon has returned, 
 and he invites me to come and see five hundred boys called over 
 in a minute ! I timed this very economical and time-saving process 
 of seeing that every boy is in Harrow, and found that the whole 
 thing was got through in fifty-eight seconds. 
 
 The lads are arranged in groups, each group presided over by 
 a boy known as the shepherd. A bell rings, and Mr. Edward Bowen, 
 whose idea it was, starts, with pencil and paper in hand, and pays a 
 hurried visit to the first group. 
 
 " Eight here one absent," says the shepherd of the first division. 
 Away goes Mr. Bowen to the next batch and so on, until five 
 hundred boys are similarly called. The shepherd of every group along 
 the line cries out how many are present in his party, and how many 
 are away. Possibly, were not Mr. Bowen an excellent pedestrian 
 did he not, thirty years ago, walk from Cambridge to Oxford in a day ?
 
 230 
 
 and get down the lines at 
 splendid speed, the process 
 would take very much 
 longer. 
 
 Away we went to the 
 cricket field once more, 
 where a couple of hours 
 soon went by. x At length 
 the match was -over, and 
 masters, boys, and friends 
 were on their way to the 
 speech-room. At half-past 
 six the sweet voices of the 
 school twelve would once 
 again sing the cver-to-be- 
 remembered songs of Har- 
 row, while the whole school 
 would " chorus," with lusty 
 voices and hearts brimming 
 over, so that you might 
 hear the music at the 
 bottom of the Hill, The 
 
 A GROUP OF HARROW BOYS.
 
 THE REV. J. E. C. WELLDON. 
 
 231 
 
 speech-room presented a picture not to be forgotten these Harrow 
 boys singing with not a thought of the life before them. As they 
 sang, many an old Harrovian sat there silent and listened earnestly, 
 thinking of the days when their ages were the same as those who 
 were merrily shouting : 
 
 Lyon of Preston, yeoman John, 
 
 Many a year ago 
 Built on the Hill that I live on 
 
 A school, that you all may know. 
 
 How well " The Niner " a capital cricketing song, written by Mr. 
 Bowen was rattled through ! It told of the champion of the field 
 Of cricketers never a finer, 
 From Nottinghamshire to China, 
 But he never could manage a niner ! 
 However, one day 
 he struck a majestical 
 blow, and ran the nine. 
 Unfortunately he came 
 to grief in the last 
 verse : 
 
 And just as the niner was 
 done and entire 
 
 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 He threw himself down to rejoice 
 
 (and perspire) 
 " One short? said the fair and impartial umpire ! 
 
 Boo-hoo ! 
 So he gave up and went and ate ices 
 Of various colours and sizes, 
 And died of pulmonary phthisis, 
 
 Boo-hoo ! Boo-hoo ! Boo-hoo ! 
 Mr. Welldon turned to me. 
 
 " One of our youngest boys in the school," he said, as a little 
 fellow came forward, " is about to sing a song written by one of my 
 colleagues Mr. E. W. Howson. Listen to the words he will sing he 
 tells of what is in his heart to-day, and the whole school will reply 
 with what he may feel in the days to come." 
 
 And the little boy sang, and the school replied : 
 Five hundred faces, and all so strange ! 
 Life in front of me home behind, 
 I felt like a waif before the wind 
 Tossed on an ocean of shock and change.
 
 23 2 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Chortis. Yet the time may come, as the years go by, 
 When your heart will thrill 
 At the thought of the Hill, 
 
 And the day that you came, so strange and shy. 
 A quarter to seven ! there goes the bell ! 
 The sleet is driving against the pane ; 
 But woe to the sluggard who turns again 
 And sleeps not wisely but all too well ! 
 Chorus. Yet the time may come, as the years roll by, 
 When your heart will thrill 
 At the thought of the Hill, 
 And the pitiless bell, with its piercing cry. 
 Nothing but proses and reps and con ! 
 O for the future when I'm a man, 
 With no more Virgil to learn and scan, 
 And no one to say to me, " Please, go on ! " 
 Chorus. Yet the .time may come, as the years go by, 
 When your heart wi;l thrill 
 At the thought of the Hill, 
 And the proses so long and the cons so dry. 
 " Raining in torrents again," they .say : 
 The field is a slippery, miry marsh ; 
 But duty is duty, though sometimes harsh, 
 And "footer" is "footer," whatever the day. 
 Chorus. Yet the time may come, as the years go by, 
 When your heart will thrill 
 At the thought of the Hill, 
 And the slippery fields and the raining sky. 
 Five hundred faces alive with glee.! 
 Trials are over ; the term is done, 
 With all its glory and tdij and fun ; 
 And boyhood's a dream of the past for me ! 
 Chorus. Yet the time may come, though you scarce know why, 
 When your eyes will fill 
 At the thought of the Hill, 
 And the wild regret of the last good-bye. 
 
 THE HEAD MASTERS HOUSE.
 
 XIV. 
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 
 
 R. MARKS lives in one of the quietest corners of St. 
 John's Wood, his house being in Hamilton Terrace a 
 place of abode which goes a long way to substantiate the 
 maxim not to put trust in outward appearances. The 
 exterior bears a positively solemn aspect, and in the 
 winter, when all the bright green leaves have dis- 
 appeared, must be even funereal. But what a transformation when 
 you have once passed through the door ! True, there is nothing that 
 I am inclined to call extravagantly artistic. It is the home of a man 
 who wants to work. There is not a room in the place that is not 
 characteristic of the man who uses it. The studios are sensible 
 painters' workshops. The drawing-room suggests excellent company 
 and merry entertainment, while the dining-room has a distinctly
 
 234 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 family air about it. Mr. Marks has not obtained his present position 
 and who does not know him as the most brilliant painter of bird 
 life we have ? without many a struggle. Probably his own kind dis- 
 position to listen to the young aspirant seeking after glories with 
 brush and palette has been wrought out of his own early troubles. 
 
 Mr. Marks has been referred to as the light comedian of the 
 brush. He says himself that if he had not been an artist he would 
 have been an actor. If you saw him holding forth in the studio occa- 
 sionally, or heard him rattling off a good song, or telling an anecdote 
 with all the point and crispness of experience, you would at once 
 admit that the stage has lost a good man. However, our feathered 
 friends have found a faithful chronicler of every feather they possess, 
 from the tufts on their heads to the tips of their tails. Mr. Marks has 
 promised me to unburden himself of his past life. He has got a diary 
 upstairs, and a little account-book with the most curious little sketches 
 one could possibly imagine little sketches which have been made by 
 the R.A. in embryo. 
 
 " You must not notice the carpet," said Mr. Marks. " I told my 
 wife that she ought to see that something smarter was put down this 
 morning, because I was afraid that it was a lady who was coming to 
 see me. However, come along. 
 
 " What is that ? Oh, I have all those arranged near the door. 
 They are my diplomas. You see the Royal Academy one is signed 
 . by the Queen. There is another there from Melbourne ; another 
 there signed by Leighton. You see, when the tradespeople catch 
 sight of those things, when the door is open, it inspires their 
 confidence. Not a bad idea, is it ? " 
 
 Mr. Marks's weakness for birds is 'everywhere visible. He has 
 painted storks over the opening of the letter-box ; birds of beautiful 
 plumage on the door-plates ; and birds worthy of being honoured by 
 a better position in all kinds of out-of-the-way places ; some of them 
 almost hidden from view. 
 
 The first room I looked into was a dressing-room remarkable 
 for its washstand. It is most curiously made, with fish painted at 
 the back of it on fluted glass, which gives the idea that they are 
 swimming about in water. Th2 bowl is made of copper, and would 
 hold several gallons of water ; while, in order to match, the ewer is 
 shaped like a huge measure similar to those used for measuring 
 spirits. Here Mr. Marks comes every night for half an hour and 
 reads before going to bed. His boys' bedroom is near ; partly fitted 
 up as a workshop, with a lathe and other things, for all his children 
 have hobbies. Just outside this room is a little black frame containing 
 six very realistic sketches by Mr. Marks done at an early age. 
 Even then he had a weakness for birds a weakness which was 
 to become his very strength. Three of them were done as far 
 back as fifty-four years ago, and portray various representatives of the 
 feathered creation ; while the other three are the bear-pit at the Zoo, 
 with Bruin at the top of his ragged pole being fed by a keeper, to the 
 great delight of the children gathered around ; Mr. Pickwick on the
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 
 
 235 
 
 ice which the young artist was conscientious enough to add was 
 " After Phiz " ; and a representation of a certain gentleman generally 
 associated with the Fifth of November. 
 
 Passing downstairs again and walking along the entrance-hall in 
 the direction of the dining-room, I noticed arranged along the walls 
 reproductions in black and white of various pictures which have helped 
 to make him famous. Here is " The Ornithologist " ; here again that 
 charming little work representing an old man with tape and skull in 
 hand, taking a measurement of it, and called " Science is Measure- 
 ment." This latter he painted when he was made R.A., it being 
 customary on such occasions to present a picture to the Academy 
 worth not less than ^100. Here again is a study of his mother's head, 
 and in close proximity a capital work entitled " An Episcopal Visita- 
 tion," which may be familiar to many. 
 
 The dining-room is a sort of family portrait gallery. Over the 
 chiffonnier is a portrait of Mr. Marks himself probably the best one 
 painted by Ouless. Also a 
 pretty little picture of his 
 eldest daughter when she was 
 ten years old, painted by Cal- 
 deron ; and another a highly- 
 prized one by the same artist, 
 showing Mr. Marks in the 
 blouse he wore in Paris when 
 he was studying with Calderon 
 in the gay city. In the window 
 of the dining-room is an elegant 
 aviary containing some de- 
 lightful specimens of Java 
 sparrows frisking about in 
 company with bullfinches and 
 canaries. Russ, the dog, named 
 after Ruskin, is running about ; 
 and the smallest of monkeys, a 
 marmoset, nicknamed Jack, is 
 extra frisky this morning, and 
 has just climbed up the lace 
 curtains at the windows. 
 Nothing will satisfy Jack until 
 the artist has allowed him to 
 
 perch for a few moments on his shoulder and put one of his arms 
 around his neck. 
 
 In the morning-room are many artistic treasures. The furniture 
 is all black, relieved with red, and there are some fine Chippendale 
 chairs and an old Dutch cabinet ; while in front of the fender is a 
 huge Chinese umbrella, on which Mr. Marks has painted a number of 
 great black fishes, apparently swimming round and round. The 
 piano, too, is a curiosity, being beautifully painted by the artist to 
 represent the orchestra of the Muses. The pictures here are exceed- 
 
 MR. MARKS AT 21. 
 
 After the Painting by P. H. CaUeron, R.A.
 
 236 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 ingly interesting. Here is a study of the back of Mr. Marks's head, 
 done by his drawing-master in 1856. Here, too, is the only thing 
 which the artist has ever had the luck to win in a raffle. It was in 
 1865, at which time a number of artists in St. John's Wood had 
 formed themselves into a little society known as " The Gridiron," for 
 the purpose of criticising one another's pictures. The little sketch 
 a pictorial skit hits off very happily the members of the Gridiron 
 Society. Mr. Fred Walker is taking a walk on a cliff, surrounded by 
 
 From a Photo by 
 
 numbers of ghosts. Mr. Yeames, who had just got married, is shown 
 with a wedding ring in his hand. Mr. J. E. Hodson, eminent for his 
 Elizabethan pictures, is shown with a huge ruff around his neck ; and 
 Mr. Marks is with his old friend, Mr. Calderon, floating along together, 
 each with a gridiron on his breast. The picture is signed " F. W., 
 Torquay Asylum, 1865." It was raffled for at Mr. Walker's house, 
 and Mr. Marks won the treasure. 
 
 There is just time to peep into the drawing-room, which is a very
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 
 
 237 
 
 artistic apartment. It opens out on to the garden, and the walls are 
 painted a delicat2 sage green, with a pale warm blue dado. Water- 
 colours are plentiful, and some exquisite Chippendale furniture adds 
 to the beauty of the room. What strikes me as the curiosity of the 
 room is a map worked on silk, showing the Eastern World and Africa, 
 marked " Negroland." The artist frankly declared that he picked it 
 up for five shillings in Wardour Street, though he believes it to be a 
 hundred years old. 
 
 We are now in the principal studio a fine, square, spacious rccrn 
 with three entrances. A bust of the artist by Ingram is over the 
 mantel-board, while around the walls on great shelves are arranged 
 many an artistic " prop " which has from time to time figured in his 
 pictures among them an old drum of a hundred years ago ; lanterns, 
 goblets, and many other things. On the mantelshelf is a perpetual 
 calendar, on the back of which is written, " This is the copy of one 
 that belonged to Charles Kean." Here also is his wardrobe, contained 
 within a fine bit of furniture of massive oak, which Mr. Marks was 
 fortunate enough to pick up for three guineas whilst going his rounds 
 in search of curios. The various drawers are labelled " Jingle," 
 " Sheridan," " Footman," " Dr. Johnson," " Robespierre," " Stockings," 
 " Collars," " Shirts," etc. There are also a number of stilettos and 
 daggers, and an old umbrella, all huddled together. A ten-and- 
 sixpenny old Dutch clock is in a corner, worth many pounds now, for 
 the case has been decorated by Mr. Marks with many artistic designs. 
 Stuffed birds, too, are hanging about Here is one which Mr. Marks 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE WARDROBE CABINET. 
 
 tt <- Fry.
 
 238- ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 takes from a little case. It is a specimen sent to him by Mr. Fred 
 Barnard a little sparrow, labelled " A Common Gutter-percher." Mr. 
 Marks has also a fine collection of old watches ; and amongst his 
 curios is a brass tobacco-box, on putting a penny into which it opens, 
 and you can take a pipeful of the weed. It is similar to one which 
 has written on it : 
 
 " A halfpenny drop into the til! ; 
 
 Turn the handle, you may fill ; 
 
 When you have filled, without delay 
 
 Shut down the lid, or sixpence pay." 
 
 Not the least highly prized curio which the artist possesses is one 
 stamped " J. R. to H. S. M., 1880." It is a little carving of a heron in 
 opal intended for a breast-pin, given to him by Mr. Ruskin. Mr. 
 Marks had it fitted up and placed in a little silver casket. He has 
 also one of the tiniest paint-boxes in existence. There were only 
 three made. One is in the possession of the Princess Louise ; another 
 is owned by Mr. Arthur Severn, R.I., who made them ; and the third 
 is this of Mr. Marks'. It is in the shape of a charm for a watch-chain, 
 but, on opening it, it is found to contain all the necessary colours in 
 miniature for painting a picture. 
 
 " Now sit down," said Mr. Marks, taking out a huge cherry-wood 
 pipe, and commencing to light up. " Oh, yes, I am a big smoker, and 
 generally enjoy the weed all the morning during painting. I have got 
 quite a small collection of pipes. Now I will give you a few extracts 
 from my diary." 
 
 While he is turning to the page I note down a little picture of 
 himself. 
 
 He wears a brown velvet jacket ; his hair is growing grey ; he is 
 stoutly built, full of energy, has a keen appreciation for a joke, and 
 his eyes have ever a merry twinkle in them. 
 
 " Now are you ready ? " said he. " Well, my father had a large 
 carriage repository. It was on the site of the Langham Bazaar. He 
 early set me my first lessons in drawing. You see, we needed to have a 
 number of heraldic signs for the doors of the coaches. He would 
 sketch these in a book, and give them to me to copy. I fear, however, 
 I did not copy many in the book that he gave me. There's the book ; 
 just glance over it." 
 
 I did so, and found that he had copied a boar's head and a stag's 
 head ; a crown, and unicorn, and a lion ; but the boar had a ring 
 through the nose, which distinctly differed from his father's copy 
 above. There were others which showed that the youthful artist had 
 indulged his original fancy, for in turning over the pages I came across 
 ships, fish, elephants, a dead donkey being carried home, and a horse of 
 somewhat lively temperament kicking out at its master, who had fallen 
 from its back, with the suggestive words underneath, " Woe ! woe ! " 
 Even at that early date Mr. Marks had given a rough sketch of the 
 building where he was afterwards to study, and which is labelled 
 " Academy." There was also " John Gilpin on his ride to Edmonton," 
 and a very fanciful idea of Sindbad the Sailor. The sea is shown, with
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 
 
 Sindbad's vessel above, floating on the water ; while down below 
 two or three men are walking about engaged in pushing a 
 tremendously big whale five times the size of the vessel above. " Jim 
 Crow's Palace " is a very neat little drawing. One of the Knights of 
 France, with the word " Brave " scratched out, is a sketch of a man 
 with small moustache, and a single small eyeball. Altogether, the 
 book contains something like three hundred pencil sketches. 
 
 " Not bad, are they ? " continued Mr. Marks. " Well, let me give 
 you a few notes of my career. My mother was a great help to me in 
 every way. She helped me to go to an evening school, to Leigh's 
 Evening School of Art, although my father encouraged me very 
 little. I remained there some time, going to the school before 
 breakfast and again in the evening, filling up my time by making 
 occasional diagrams for lectures and copying a picture now and again. 
 In June, 1850, I was a rejected probationer at the Royal Academy. I 
 was then twenty-one. My father offered to allow me fifty guineas to 
 start on my own account, but somehow I did not get them. In the 
 fall of the year I got into the Royal Academy School, and my father 
 allowed me three days a week to draw. I worked and worked away 
 with all my heart, and determined to succeed in the profession that I 
 had chosen. I am afraid my father did not think much of my artistic 
 capabilities, for he got me a position as check-taker to a panorama of 
 the Ganges, painted by Dibdin, and exhibited in Regent Street 
 Dibdin is now over eighty years of age, and has lost his sight. It 
 
 was not very hard work 
 four hours a day for which 
 I was to receive thirty shil- 
 lings per week. The engage- 
 ment, however, proved a 
 failure, for it ended in a 
 week and I never got my 
 wages. 
 
 " On the 3Oth January, 
 1852, at seven o'clock in the 
 morning, I bade my mother 
 good-bye, and Calderon and 
 I started from London 
 Bridge, bound for Paris. It 
 was a bitterly cold morn- 
 ing ; the wind was enough 
 to cut you in two. At Paris 
 we got a room together ; 
 slept, worked, ate, drank, and 
 thought together. After six 
 months we found our money 
 had gone, so we returned to 
 England. Then I found 
 that my father had gone to 
 
 SKETCH OF DOGBERRY EXAMINING CONRADE AND BORACHIO. Alictt-olid cr> T i<~1 
 
 (Made specially for this article by Mr. Marks J -tt.Ublld.iid., su i jui
 
 240 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 School of Art again. Then my first bit of luck came. At the end of 
 the year I finished a single figure of ' Dogberry Examining Conrade 
 and Borachio.' This was accepted at the Academy in 1853. I have a 
 very pretty story to tell you about this. I had made up my mind 
 that, after all my mother had done for me, she should have the money 
 that I realized for my first picture. I had an offer of .10 for my 
 picture, but I wanted 25. My customer was willing to go as far as 
 15. I almost hesitated then, but I wanted the money, so I agreed 
 to take it. I went off to Mr. Christie, stockbroker, of Copthall 
 Chambers, drew the cheque, and got it cashed. He took me to 
 lunch with him, afterwards to the Victoria Theatre, and then 
 to supper at a well-known house. On reaching home that 
 night I did not hesitate what to do. Although I could have 
 managed with the money very well, I slipped quietly into a room 
 where I knew my mother would come, and, taking the fifteen golden 
 sovereigns out of my pocket, I laid them on the edge of the table in 
 such a position that when she entered the room she could not fail to 
 see them. I never enjoyed a sale so much. 
 
 " I got married in 1856 on the strength of my picture, ' Toothache 
 in the Middle Ages,' which, I suppose, was the first one which 
 
 FIRST EARNINGS,
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 241 
 
 brought me into anything like notoriety. It was bought by Mr. 
 Mudie, the librarian, who died recently, and who was a good friend 
 to me. Landseer noticed this picture. I have a very funny anec- 
 dote to tell you about this. While I was painting this work in a 
 small room, there was a dentist living a few doors off, who had 
 outside his shop a head which used to open and shut and show 
 teeth and no teeth. Well, I received a letter, purporting to come 
 from him, saying that he had heard that I was painting a picture 
 which he thought was an exceedingly witty idea ; he wanted it 
 and would pay for it. But I should have to paint a companion 
 picture to it, entitled ' No Toothache Since M. Andrew Fresco Has 
 Lived in Modern Times.' He would sit as the model. This letter 
 was dated April I. I replied that I was exceedingly flattered by his 
 kind offer, but before sending in the picture, as it was nearly finished, 
 I should like him to call and see it. To this I got a reply contain- 
 ing the simple words : ' M. Andrew Fresco knows nothing at all 
 about the matter.' The whole thing was the hoax of a young 
 cousin of mine, and, since he perpetrated it, I will give his name to 
 the world. It was Dr. D. Buchanan. 
 
 " In 1859 I was doing a good bit of work on wood blocks, and 
 also stained glass. It was in this year that I sold a picture for 
 1 50 guineas, ' Dogberry's Charge to the Watch ' ; I also decorated a 
 church at Halifax. In 1860 Mr. Mudie took me and another artist 
 for a trip up the Rhine. What I then saw of the glorious scenery 
 settled my mind altogether. I would give up all the other odd work 
 I was doing, and devote my whole time to painting ; nothing but 
 starvation should stop it. That same year I painted a monk carving 
 a model, \yhich was accepted in 1861 ; and that marked an epoch in 
 my life. This was a commission from Colonel Akroyd, and I asked 
 300 guineas. He said : ' Send it to the Academy, and I will be there 
 at the private view and see what it is like.' He was there, but it 
 was bought during the first hour, previous to his arrival, for 300 
 guineas, by Mr. Agnew. With that money I opened an account at 
 the London and Westminster Bank, Bloomsbury, and I have kept 
 it there tO;this date. 
 
 " I was elected A. R.A. in 1871. I think that was principally 
 owing to the painting of my picture, ' St. Francis Preaching to the 
 Birds.' I _got 450 for that work ; it was accepted in 1870. Exactly 
 ten years before I had asked Mr. Knight, the secretary, to put down 
 my name; so that I had waited ten years. On December 19, 1878, 
 I was elected a full-blown R.A. in place of Sir Francis Grant, and I 
 was the first Royal Academician made under the presidency of Sir 
 Frederick Leighton. I have only been absent from the walls of the 
 Royal Academy two years since 1853. 
 
 " I must tell you a little anecdote about my ' St. Francis.' It was 
 sold some time afterwards for ,1,155. I used to borrow from an old 
 gentleman a number of stuffed birds. Soon after the sale he came 
 to me, and I said to him, T want some bird skins, if you have got 
 any.' And he said, ' Yes, I can let you have some. How many do 
 
 17
 
 242 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 you want ? I suppose you want them for a picture.' I said, ' Yes, I 
 do.' He said, ' I hope those I sent you for your last picture suited 
 you ? ' ' Yes,' I replied, ' splendidly. It sold the other day for 
 ^1,155.' ' Good gracious !' he said. 'You might have come up to 
 my place, and had the whole lot in my shop for a couple of hundred.' 
 
 " I do not know if I have anything more to say about myself," 
 continued Mr. Marks ; " but anything you say about me as to my 
 personal weaknesses must include that I am a great lover of books. 
 I make all my own book-marks, design them myself, and I do a little 
 poetry. Years ago I used to be a Volunteer. There is something 
 interesting about that, perhaps. I joined the Artists in 1862, and I 
 did not leave until I had a son in the corps. On June 7, 1879, there 
 was an inspection at the Horse Guards, and the remarkable sight was 
 presented, which has probably never been seen before, of an R.A. as a 
 full private in the ranks, and his son as his rear rank man. After 
 that I resigned. 
 
 " Models ? Oh, yes, I have had some strange things in models 
 all sorts and conditions of models. There was a model whom we 
 used to call Gumming. He was extraordinarily slight and thin. All 
 my costumes were too long for him ; all the pairs of tights I had were 
 ' a world too wide for his shrunk shanks.' I am afraid I chaffed him 
 unmercifully about his spareness. I remember showing him once 
 
 ORIGINAL STUDY OF HEAD OF DOGBERRY. 
 
 (Keduced fac-similej
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 243 
 
 some of my children's garments, and asking him, ' Do you think these 
 would fit you? ' He used to say he had been an officer in a cavalry 
 regiment ; but this assertion, I found out afterwards, had no foundation 
 in fact. One day, when sitting to a friend of mine, he was asked to go 
 out and fetch some beer not a very uncommon request among 
 struggling artists. This he was nothing loth to do, but quickly 
 accomplished his task, and placing the foaming pot of stout on the 
 table, said, ' Things have come to a pretty pass when an ex-officer of 
 the I4th Light Dragoons has to fetch his own beer.' But the most 
 unconsciously humorous and characteristic model I ever employed was 
 one Campbell, whom I more than once painted as Dogberry. He 
 had been a shoemaker. Almost the first occasion he came to me he 
 told me the following story : 
 
 " ' I took home a picture to the Dook of Wellington one day, 
 and, as I was taking it up in the hall, he comes by, and says, " Oh, 
 you comes from Messrs. Bennett ?" " Yes, sir," I says. With that he 
 passes on, and out comes at the front door a man dressed all in black, 
 and comes up to me his butler, I suppose. He says, " Do you know 
 who you were a-talking to just now ? " " Yes, sir," I says, " Arthur 
 Wellesley, better known as Dook of Wellington." " Then, why don't 
 you say ' Your Grace ' to him ? " " Grace ? " says I ; " why should I 
 say grace for ? there's no meat here. Where's the viands ? Why, I 
 said ' sir ' to him a common title of respect between man and man." 
 " Well," says he, " you are a rum sort of customer, you are. What do 
 you call the Duke ? " " What do I call him ? " I says ; " a wholesale 
 carcass butcher ! Look at his career. He begins by going to France 
 to learn the art of war, and then he goes to India and kills thousands 
 of natives who were only defending their own country, and at last 
 turns his arms against the country where he first learned the art of 
 war, and murders thousands more. A wholesale carcass butcher ; 
 that's what I call him." ' 
 
 "This man was a great poet, too," continued Mr. Marks. "Some- 
 times when I was giving him a little rest, he would say, ' Would you 
 like a little verse or two, sir ? ' I often used to humour him, and he 
 would recite some really good verses. Here is a specimen : 
 
 ' To grin at our snug little island of fame, 
 The despot of France when to Calais he came, 
 His glass from his pocket beginning to draw, 
 Was struck with amaze when old England he saw. 
 Britannia she sat on the white rocks herself, 
 But she needed no spy-glass to look at that elf. 
 " I wonder," she said, " what that simpleton's doing." 
 Replied Liberty, " Sister, he's plotting your ruin." 
 " Is he so?" said Britannia ; "then let him plot on, 
 I am more than a match for that desperate don. 
 Let him come, if he likes, I will never deceive him. 
 If he tries to get near, we will warmly receive him. 
 Let him talk as he likes ; for his boasting who cares ? 
 Ere he gives us the skins, he must slaughter the bears.' 
 
 " A good many models are addicted to drink, and, after sitting a 
 while, will suddenly go to sleep. Then I have had what I call the
 
 244 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER I IE \ VS. 
 
 ( super ' model. You know the sort of man ; he goes in for theatrical 
 effect ; always has an expression of ' Ha ! ha ! more blood I see 
 wanted,' and that sort of thing." 
 
 Mr. Marks then puts on his hat, and we pass through a smaller 
 studio and glass-house, the former containing a very curious cabinet, 
 which he painted some years ago, depicting a nursery tale, " Sing a 
 
 From a Photo, by 
 
 THE SMALL STUDIO, 
 
 [Elliott <t Fry 
 
 Song of Sixpence " ; and there is the King counting out his money, 
 and the blackbird descending and pecking off the maid's nose, the 
 Queen eating honey, the pie open before the King with the twenty- 
 four blackbirds. This goes round the four sides of the cabinet, which 
 is used for brushes, colours, varnishes, etc. Passing into the garden 
 there is the pet jay, in his cage by the tree ; the fountain is 
 playing ; and Tommy, the tortoise, is crawling quietly round the 
 banks of a small lake in which gold-fish are disporting themselves. In 
 our illustration Jack, the marmoset, is to be seen sunning himself 
 upon his master's shoulder. 
 
 We are now on our way to the Zoo, as Mr. Marks has promised 
 to spend the remainder of the afternoon with me at a spot where he 
 probably knows every bird in the place, and where many of them 
 know him. As soon as we arrived there the artist took me into one 
 of the houses where is a beautiful mynah, from Northern India. It 
 seems that this bird has been here since 1883. Some time ago the 
 keeper had a bad cough, and found that the bird imitated him. This 
 gave him the idea of teaching it to talk ; it will now say almost any- 
 thing. A good story is told of an old gentleman who went up to the 
 bird, and, quite innocently, said, " What a pretty bird ! " "I should 
 think I was," it replied. " Ha, ha ! " laughed the old man. " Ha, ha !" 
 laughed the bird in response, and there were the two laughing at one 
 another for quite five minutes. The bird has been painted twice by
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 
 
 2 45 
 
 Mr. Marks, to whom 
 we arc indebted for 
 the accompanying 
 sketch and verse. 
 
 Then Mr, Marks 
 proceeded to point 
 
 From a Plioto. i;/] 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry. 
 
 out his favourites ; the vultures just getting their summer plumage, 
 the cockatoos and parrots ; and he showed me nearly all the parrots 
 that had posed as models for his great picture in this year's Royal Aca- 
 demy, the " Select 
 Committee," which 
 may be considered 
 one of the most 
 bril lian t bird 
 studies the artist 
 has done. The 
 chairman of the 
 committee, by a 
 long way the most 
 important looking 
 bird, has a beautiful 
 blue plumage ; and 
 the artist spent 
 some two or three 
 months painting it. 
 Then the military 
 macaw, so called 
 because of its tuft, 
 is there, and at the 
 word of command THE MYNAH. 
 
 /Drawn ipeciaUy for thin article 5y Mr. Marks J 
 
 Amevry Mynak 
 No parr0t~evferKhoWn can Vie. 
 Vi^ -me for speech d<ti'nct2^clear 
 T"WI||. ctoyou^oodl ny cou^li to hea 
 
 Ancf as -for \Ai$tlin<f mat of boy 
 
 ' -U. i- *^ 
 
 wif) mine, is odiouj
 
 246 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS, 
 
 will bite his leg, and if you 
 get too near will pull off 
 your cap. Inside the parrot 
 house is a glorious clock- 
 bird, with its tail like a 
 pendulum ; the blue-eyed 
 cockatoo which is in the 
 picture, and the little green 
 parrakeet which says," Pretty 
 Poll ! steady ! " Then here 
 is a big grey parrot, once 
 the best talker of all, but 
 who was so crushed by the 
 continual noise of the others 
 that she never speaks now. 
 
 The two cockatoos in 
 white are familiar friends of 
 the artist Mr. Marks kneels 
 down for a moment, and 
 pretends to draw, and one 
 of the cockatoos comes 
 down and looks over his 
 paper. Whatever part of 
 the cage he goes to, they 
 will follow him round. The 
 eagles are just the same. 
 When we reached the eagle 
 cages the tawny eagle was 
 attracted by the drawing- 
 paper and pencil Mr. Marks 
 carried, and came down to 
 watch. One day the artist 
 
 put his water bottle too near the cage, and the bird came down and 
 knocked it over. 
 
 Then Mr. Marks sees a little ground penguin from New Zealand, 
 which has not been there long. It is hard to get him away from this, 
 but he departs at last, saying, " I must come again and make a sketch 
 of him." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Marks, " I love the Zoo and the inhabitants 
 thereof ; some of my happiest hours have been spent here. I feel at 
 home with the birds, and I am led to believe they feel at home with 
 me. Sketching in the Zoo is very difficult. You start here at nine 
 in the morning, and you can sketch up to eleven quite free from 
 visitors. Then, I can tell you, I do have to pass through something. 
 All the people get round and watch you. For some time past I 
 have tried to assume the character of the testy old gentleman, but it 
 has been a failure. I had one man ask me once whether I hypnotized 
 the birds ; and a very inquisitive little girl who had bothered me for 
 some days once approached me and asked, ' Do they always keep 
 
 IN THE ZOO.
 
 MR. HENRY STACY MARKS, R.A. 
 
 24? 
 
 still ? ' That inquisitive little girl, I am afraid, was rather crushed 
 when I turned to her and said, ' Do you always keep still ? ' ' 
 
 Just then we got to the gates, and I was bidding good-bye to Mr, 
 Marks, when he said, " I had a very nasty knock given me one 
 morning in the Zoo. I must not mention in which house it was, as 
 the old keeper is there still. I had been sketching there one Saturday, 
 and was just packing up my various things thinking of going, when he 
 turned to me, and said, ' You are not going to wait to do any more, 
 then, sir ? ' I said, ' No, I am going to town this afternoon, just for a 
 little trip, you know ! ' ' Oh, yes, sir, of course. I have heard as most 
 tradespeople like to take their half-holiday on Saturday ! ' ' 
 
 MR MARKS BOOKPLATE,
 
 XV. 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON. 
 
 From a PhAo. by] 
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON. 
 
 T was a long, cold journey to Ripon. When I reached the 
 Palace the time of five o'clock tea had long since passed 
 it only wanted half an hour to the first dinner bell. 
 But a cup of deliciously warming tea was ready for me. 
 This kindly thoughtfulness seemed to break down every 
 barrier calculated to make one feel anything but perfectly 
 " at home." Then, when the Bishop returned from a long day's work, 
 the impressions gathered over the refreshing cup with his wife became 
 a reality. It may at once be said that there is very little difference 
 between him who preaches from the pulpit and him who sits down and 
 talks with you in his own house.
 
 2 49 
 
 The Bishop of Ripon is acknowledged to be one of the most 
 eloquent preachers of the day. He is as gentle in his manner as he 
 is convincing in his utterances. He is utterly free from anything 
 suggestive of an over-estimated " I." He seems always to speak 
 from his heart, and continually with the single thought of never 
 giving a hurtful word. In truth, he is as impressive in the home as 
 in the cathedral. Yet, when he is at home, there are his children, 
 young and old. He is heart and soul with them in their play. Little 
 Beatrice whose pet name is Daisy and five-year-old Douglas 
 familiarly known as Chappie already know that there are merry 
 games to be enjoyed in which their father watches over both. 
 
 We spent the evening after dinner in going through the house. 
 The Palace, Ripon, is a semi-modern building, having been built 
 some fifty years ago. The first stone was laid on Monday, ist 
 October, 1838, by Bishop Longley, and its correct entire cost was 
 ^"14,059 is. 8d. Its rooms are large and handsome. The entrance- 
 hall abounds in flowers and ferns, and contains at least two valuable 
 
 THE ENTRANCE-HALL, 
 
 [Elliott it FI-IJ. 
 
 canvases. One is a life-size picture by Grant of Archbishop Longley 
 the first Bishop the other, by Watts, is that of Bishop Bickersteth, 
 the second Bishop. Both of these are heir-looms of the See of 
 Ripon. Just beyond is a second hall, where is the great oak staircase 
 leading to the rooms above. This ccrner is rich in etchings and 
 engravings. Paul Sandby, R.A., is well represented with his 
 " Windsor " ; works by Aumonier, Fred Slocombe, Charles Murray, 
 David Law, Joseph Knight, Meissonier, and a striking etching of 
 Napoleon, by Ruet, are noticeable. There are many quaint old views
 
 25 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 from a I'lutto. by] 
 
 THE INNER HALL. 
 
 of " Ripon Minster," a Soudanese sword which one of the Bishop's 
 sons brought from Egypt, whilst on a table is a very clever model of 
 the Bishop's father's church at Liverpool. It was made by an invalid 
 lady, and her ingenious ringers have handled the cardboard and gum 
 most artistically. 
 
 Immediately opposite to the hall is the Holden Library. A 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE HOLDEN LIBRARY. 
 
 [Elliott <t Fry.
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON. 251 
 
 picture of the Rev. J. Holden, who not only founded it, but left a 
 small endowment to keep it in good order, hangs over the fireplace. 
 Here the clergy of the diocese may come and consult the volumes. 
 It is a fine room, and its outlook upon the rising ground of the garden 
 is pleasantness itself. 
 
 We were just leaving the library when a soft pit-pat, pit-pat at 
 our heels caused me to turn. The quiet, disturbing footfalls were 
 made by a beautiful blue Angora cat, which was accompanied by 
 George, the pug, who had made his presence known at the dinner 
 table. Both Sultan, the cat, and George proved to be the most 
 
 interesting of animals imaginable. Sultan's kittens are sold for 
 charitable purposes, and a little litter realized 10 for the Wakefield 
 Bishopric Fund. George used to worry the sheep he was the death 
 of seven. He saw a St. Bernard causing trouble amongst the 
 universal providers of lamb and mutton, and he could not resist the 
 temptation to imitate his bigger brother. But he has long since been 
 forgiven. 
 
 " Sultan and George," said the Bishop, " were the greatest of 
 rivals when they first came here now they are the best of friends. 
 One bitter cold night George set up a terrible barking. I left my 
 room and went downstairs nothing apparently the matter. But 
 George would not let me go. He barked and ran to the door. Then 
 I heard a low, piteous cry. I opened the door, and in walked Sultan 
 from the snow-covered step, perished with cold ! " 
 
 I gave George a pat on the head I fancy he knew what we had 
 been talking about. Away he cantered with Sultan, and we 
 went into the drawing-room. There are two such apartments at the 
 Palace, each leading into the other. Both look out upon the grounds, 
 the trees in which now bear the golden-tinted reminders of autumn 
 upon their branches, and the grass is plentifully strewn with the 
 chestnuts blown down by the wind. The smaller of the two rooms 
 abounds with dainty water-colours light, bright, and tiny paintings 
 of sea-side views and flowers numberless portraits, and photographic
 
 252 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 reminiscences of travel The curiosity, however, of this apartment is 
 a replica of the bust of Dante at Naples. The Bishop of Ripon is a 
 very earnest and enthusiastic student of the great philosophical poet. 
 Pictures of Dante, indeed, abound throughout the house, and in the 
 study to be visited later are to be found many rare and valuable 
 editions of him who conceived the never- to-be-excelled " Inferno," 
 including Lord Vernon's, the Landino editions of 1481, and the 
 Nidobeato of 1478. 
 
 The large drawing-room affords a distant and picturesque view 
 of the great square tower of the cathedral. The Palace is really on 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 [EUMl ,i /'//. 
 
 a level with it, so great is the rise in the ground. This apartment, 
 like all the rooms indeed, is richly perfumed by flowers ; exquisite 
 china and silver knick-knacks are everywhere, and the Bishop evidently 
 does not believe in the untold troubles associated with the presence of 
 peacocks' feathers. There are several fans made from the " unlucky " 
 stalks. One table seems given up to the congregating of tiny china 
 animals the most diminutive of pigs, kangaroos, rabbits, dogs, and 
 ducks. The pictures are mostly marine subjects : two fine dockyard 
 scenes are by Charles Dixon. Dixon whose father, it will be 
 remembered, painted " The Pride of Battery B " was only sixteen 
 when he painted them. A grand skin from a St. Bernard dog has its 
 story to tell. The Bishop had two such dogs. His lordship changed 
 his coachman and groom. Together with his family the Bishop left 
 the Palace for a time, and the dog pined away. His skin now lies 
 by the window. Alas ! his more callous wife is still alive in the
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON. 
 
 2 53 
 
 from a 1'hitu. by] 
 
 stable. Two of its offspring are in the safe keeping of a well-known 
 clergyman, who, being in doubt as to what name he should bestow 
 upon his newly-purchased pups, out of gratitude for the invigorating 
 influence of the Harrogate waters determined to call them Sulphur 
 and Magnesia ! 
 
 The dining-room need be of goodly size frequently some thirty 
 or forty people sit down at its tables. There are many fine oil- 
 paintings here. Two bear the initials " A. S." " A. S." was Arthur 
 Stocks. When the Bishop of Ripon was vicar of St. James's, Hol- 
 loway, Arthur Stocks was a superintendent in the Sunday-school. 
 He used to travel backwards and forwards twice every Sabbath to the 
 school, and when he died he left a wish that his quondam vicar should 
 have one of his works. It has the best place in the room, though 
 there are several valuable works of the Titian School, and a striking 
 canvas, believed to be a Mazzoni, which was picked up in a general 
 shop in a western town. 
 
 A long corridor runs level with the dining-room outside. Its 
 walls are lined with pictures and photographs, all reviving pleasant 
 memories. A dual picture of Mr. and Mrs. H. M. Stanley is auto- 
 graphed by nearly all who signed the register on the occasion of their 
 marriage such names as W. E. Gladstone, Sir Frederick Leighton, 
 and the Baroness Burdett-Coutts. It was the Bishop of Ripon who 
 officiated at the ceremony probably the first and only Bishop who 
 has conducted a wedding service the whole of which was " received " 
 into phonographs placed in the Abbey. There are excellent portraits 
 of Gerald Welleslcy, Dean of Windsor ; whilst Archbishop Longley
 
 254 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 who surely occupied more ecclesiastical Sees than any previous prelate 
 has signed himself as Ripon, Durham, York, and Canterbury to a 
 -"-"'-' ---'-''- of himself. Henry Irving is not forgotten; but 
 
 striking portrait 
 
 From a Photo, by 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 (Elliott it Fry. 
 
 perhaps the most striking sketch is that of General Gordon just by 
 the side of a map of Khartoum. The inscription reads : " General C. 
 E. Gordon, from an hour's sketch I made of him on 2ist December, 
 1882. Ed. Clifford." Mr. Clifford was the only English artist the 
 Hero of Khartoum ever sat to. Above the frame is ^facsimile of his 
 last message : " I am quite happy, thank God ; and, like Lawrence, I 
 have tried to do my duty." 
 
 A photographic group of his lordship's working men's committee 
 hangs near their willing and kindly work is much valued. The 
 Bishop is a purely practical prelate. This working men's committee 
 has been formed with the aid of the clergy in Leeds. Leeds has some 
 fifty parishes, and five working men are chosen out of each giving a 
 body of 250 strong. They help chiefly at special services such as 
 those held on Good Fridays. 
 
 As we were discussing the peculiar advantages of soliciting the 
 services of the working man to meet his brother workman, the distant 
 sound of the chapel organ was heard. Its echo came very sweetly 
 through the corridor. It was the time of evening service. The dim 
 glow from the lamps lent an air of solemnity to the little chapel, and 
 when the service was over we remained behind for a few moments. 
 I could just distinguish the altar steps of white, black, and red the 
 Dante combination of colours and the peaceful light from the moon 
 streamed through the stained-glass windows on to the oaken stalls,
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIP ON, 255 
 
 showing faintly the outlines of apostles and saints. One of these was 
 put up in 1852, in remembrance of the Rev. Charles Dodgson, 
 examining chaplain to Bishop Longley, and the father of the author 
 of " Alice in Wonderland." It was here in the morning that I 
 witnessed the gathering together of twenty or thirty clerics, who were 
 licensed to new curacies and livings. We left the chapel, and 
 ascending the great oaken staircase entered the study. This is 
 essentially a room for work. The bookshelves contain some thou- 
 sands of volumes the only photo, about the place is that of a family 
 group. In one corner of the room stands a tin box, in which are 
 three volumes of autographs, and the pages of these valuable volumes 
 may be gone through, and the autographs of nearly all the Arch- 
 bishops and Bishops of England for the last 200 years may be seen, 
 including Juxon, Bishop of London, who attended Charles I. on the 
 scaffold. A book containing photographs of the churches in the 
 diocese reveals that Bishop Longley was of a distinctly practical 
 character. He started this ingenious index to the state of his 
 churches. As soon as any alteration is made in a place of worship 
 it is photographed. This shows the Bishop at a glance exactly how 
 his churches are progressing from an architectural point of view. 
 
 The Bishop sat down, and it was whilst listening to much of the 
 deepest interest regarding his work that I noticed the prelate more 
 closely. He is a trifle below the medium height, slightly whiskered, 
 with iron-grey hair curled all about his head and brow. His face is 
 intensely kind, and his every word and action suggestive of true and 
 unaffected humility. Indeed, it is this very humility that has pre- 
 vented his work becoming wider known. He is remarkably simple in 
 his dress. Bishops, we know, have opportunity of seeing the sad, and 
 indeed the seamy, side of clerical life. If a man is a Bishop, he can 
 still remain a brother. The putting on of the lawn lessens not his 
 love for, and interest in, the young curate who only wears the linen 
 surplice. He lives a quiet, homely, simple life, though always 
 hospitable to others. How could he do otherwise, when he hears of 
 cases like that of the poor cleric with a wife and eight children, who, 
 after preaching his Sunday sermon, returns home to a meal of oat- 
 meal gruel, and that meal would have been wanting had not a kindly 
 farmer given it to his shepherd ? 
 
 The Bishop of Ripon has a diocese extending over a million acres 
 and numbering a million people. Between seventy and a hundred 
 changes take place annually. He travels much. He estimates he 
 covers between 10,000 and 12,000 miles every year. 
 
 We spoke about preaching. On this subject the Bishop believes 
 that each man must use the method best suited to himself. There 
 have been effective preachers both of written and extempore 
 sermons. 
 
 The question of memory came up, and the Bishop said : " I learnt 
 something of this from the biography of Chancellor Bird, of Lincoln, 
 who said, ' The memory is very sensitive of distrust ; if you trust it, 
 it seldom fails you.' I have tested this more than once. On one
 
 256 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS 
 
 occasion I was preaching at St. Paul's. When I got into the pulpit I 
 thought I could not remember the number of the verse of my text. 
 I knew the chapter, and opened my Bible there, but could not see it. 
 People began to move about, but I hazarded a guess, and fortunately 
 it was right." 
 
 I learnt yet another example of this whilst in Ripon, though not 
 from the Bishop. He was preaching at Bradford one Sunday morning 
 two years ago. One of his many dramatic movements knocked his 
 book from the pulpit cushion. It was just in the middle of the 
 sermon. He never so much as glanced at the fallen volume, and my 
 informant said he had never heard the Bishop more eloquent. 
 
 " You ask me if I advocate the preaching of other men's sermons," 
 said his lordship, repeating my question. " There is one thing about 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE CORRIDOR. 
 
 uM ,t Fry. 
 
 it. It behoves every man to advocate the simplest honesty. If any 
 cleric exchange his sermon with another, let him say from the pulpit, 
 ' I'm going to give you So-and-so's sermon to-day.'" 
 
 We talked on, being joined by Mr. Harry Carpenter the Bishop's 
 eldest son who frankly declared himself to be a happy, recently- 
 called barrister, and just now lecturing for the University extension 
 movement. \Ve said " Good-night." 
 
 When I reached my room I sat down by the fire and remembered 
 that the Bishop was fond of his joke. He has a name William 
 Boyd Carpenter the latter of which is capable of a very merry 
 conversion. The story is told how, before being appointed to the See
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIP ON. 257 
 
 of Ripon, he once married a young couple with the assurance that he 
 was not only a Carpenter but a Joiner. Only a few months ago he 
 was about to lay the foundation stone of a new vicarage. The 
 architect handed him the trowel, etc., inviting him to become " an 
 operative mason for a few moments." 
 
 " I would rather remain a working Carpenter," was the witty 
 reply. 
 
 I stirred my fire, and amongst the flickering embers I could 
 almost see the faces of a happy pair at Christ Church, Lancaster 
 Gate. The Bishop was officiating. The charming though nervous 
 bride experienced some difficulty in taking off her glove at the right 
 moment to receive the wedding ring. 
 
 And a very soft whisper of kindly assurance came from the 
 clergyman's lips. 
 
 "Don't be flurried," he said, sotto voce ; " there's plenty of time, 
 and they are bound to wait for us ! " 
 
 When I awoke in the morning I looked from my window. It 
 was very early, and the sun was lighting up the tower of Ripon 
 Cathedral as it rose above the tree tops. It was a fair scene. You 
 could count a dozen rabbits hopping about on the grassy lawn leading 
 down to the tennis court, and sitting nervously for a few moments, and 
 glancing anxiously this way, that way, and every way in expectancy 
 of a disturbing footstep. And as I looked out upon the beautiful scene 
 of autumn-tinted trees and grassy mounds, with just a last rose of 
 summer here and there, I could almost distinguish those little Arabs 
 from the by-streets and slums of Leeds. They were running about in 
 tatters, shouting themselves hoarse with delight, and turning unlimited 
 catharine-wheels in their happy delirium. I could hear them distinctly 
 clapping their hands ; I could not hear the patter of their feet, though 
 the poor little fellows were bootless. Then they ceased their play 
 for a moment. Somebody was beckoning to them to follow him. He 
 quietly led them beneath the branches of the very biggest tree in the 
 garden. He pointed his finger upwards. It was a very short sermon 
 a sermon from a text set up by Nature, which the tiniest mite 
 amongst this tattered congregation could understand. 
 
 " Little children," he said, " I want you to grow up like this tree 
 with nothing between you and Heaven, nothing save the branches 
 which you must shoot out branches of help to others." 
 
 And the children went to play again. 
 
 Then I spied from my window a fine piece of level ground. The 
 railway men were playing cricket there. How they seemed to enjoy 
 the huge plum-puddings after throwing down their bats and leaving 
 the wickets ! The toothsome puddings had been contributed by the 
 ladies of the city, and made hot and steaming in the great copper of 
 the Palace kitchen. 
 
 After breakfast, the Bishop and I went for a long walk around 
 the grounds there are sixty or seventy acres of land here, and a small 
 home farm. The Palace which I now saw properly for the first time 
 is built of stone, the monotony of which is relieved by many a climb- 
 
 18
 
 ILL USTKA TED 1N7 'ER VIE Ji'S. 
 
 ing nasturtium and cluster of ivy leaves. The chapel stands at right 
 angles to the house. It was added later, and is the gift of the late 
 Archbishop Vernon Harcourt to the See of Ripon. 
 
 There is rather a curious thing about some of the decorative work 
 on the exterior of the Palace. An episcopal diary started by Bishop 
 Longley, and preserved at the Palace, mentions that amongst many 
 carved " heads " on the chapel was that of a Bishop. A strong gust 
 of wind blew it down : all the others, which were decidedly unclerical, 
 remained ! But the most amusing entry in this book refers to two 
 figures of angels at the south-east and south-west corners. Seeing 
 that the Queen and Prince Consort had only been married a few 
 months when the Palace was built, instructions were given to imitate 
 in the carving of the angels the features of Her Majesty and her 
 Consort. But the stone-mason, being possessed of a certain prosaic 
 mind, was not content with the attempt to give the features of the 
 Prince, but represented him as an angel arrayed in a field-marshal's 
 uniform and wearing the ribbon of the Garter ! Of course, it was 
 altered at once. 
 
 We had walked on and stood still for a moment at the end of a 
 long avenue carpeted with fallen leaves. 
 
 " Now you can see Norton Conyers ! It is about four miles from 
 here," said the Bishop. " Charlotte Bronte once had a holiday 
 engagement as governess there, and a room is still shown where it is 
 said the mad woman was confined whose story the gifted authoress 
 
 told in the pages of ' Jane 
 Eyre.'" 
 
 Then as we wended 
 our way across to the farm, 
 down paths lined with 
 hedgerows, and through 
 many wicket gates, we 
 paused at times as the 
 Bishop looked back upon 
 his quiet though useful life. 
 The Right Rev. William 
 Boyd Carpenter was born 
 at Liverpool on March 
 26th, 1841. His father 
 was vicar of St. Michael's 
 there for twenty-seven 
 years. His first schooling 
 was obtained under Dr. 
 Dawson Turner, at the 
 Royal Institution School, 
 and amongst famous boys 
 of the Royal Institution 
 were Bishop Light foot, 
 Canon Duckworth, Pro- 
 fessor Warr, and Mr. Crosse.
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON 
 
 259 
 
 (: Dr. Dawson Turner," said the Bishop, " was a sort of cosmo- 
 politan he tried to teach a little of everything. He was a good- 
 hearted man. He loved to give threepenny-pieces to the boys who 
 pleased him. I well remember one day during prayers we were all 
 assembled in the big hall and the head master was reading them. 
 Suddenly the door opened and a big boy, very nervous and conscience- 
 s.tricken, who thought he ought to be at prayers, crept quietly in. 
 Dr. Turner looked up and said, in the same tone as he was reading, 
 ' Go out go out ! Somebody put that idiot out ! ' Then he went 
 on with his reading exactly in the same voice. 
 
 " The man I learned most from was Albert Glyn, our mathe- 
 matical master one of the best teachers that ever breathed. He would 
 never let you pass a thing unless you thoroughly understood it. It was 
 he who made mathematics an interesting and fascinating study to me." 
 
 We spoke of the time when the Crimean War broke out, when 
 
 Fnm a Pluto, by 
 
 HE PRIVATE CHAPEL. 
 
 {ElliM tb Fry. 
 
 the Bishop was full of the boyish ardour of thirteen years of age. 
 His schoolmaster would not give him a holiday to see the troops 
 going off, but his father did. It was a sight to be remembered when 
 the troops embarked during the war. The news was watched for 
 eagerly, and talked over nightly. The Bishop's family, like so many 
 others, had relatives in the war. Captain John Boyd, the Bishop's 
 uncle, who was in command of the Royal George, planted the only 
 shot in Cronstadt. Later he lost his life in attempting to rescue the 
 crew of a small brig off Kingstown Harbour. His monument is in 
 St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin.
 
 260 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 At this point of our conversation the Bishop alluded to a well- 
 known story and epigram. 
 
 The story on which the epigram is founded is of two Irishmen, 
 one of whom challenged the other to a duel. But when the eventful 
 hour arrived one sat down and wrote that, were it only his honour at 
 stake he would meet his opponent, but his wife depended on him, so 
 he begged to decline. The other individual sent a message to say 
 that if honour were the only consideration he would come, but he had 
 a daughter and, therefore, prayed to be excused. So the epigram 
 read : 
 
 Two brave sons of Erin, intent upon slaughter, 
 
 Improved on the Hebrew's command : 
 One honoured his wife and the other his daughter, 
 That their days might be long in the land. 
 
 " This clever epigram," said the Bishop, " is popularly said to 
 have been written by Flood, but I have always understood that it 
 was written by my mother's mother." 
 
 That the Bishop's pen is occasionally employed in throwing off 
 
 > a Ptiuto. by] 
 
 these epigrams is shown by the following. It will be remembered 
 that at the time of the great storm at Samoa, Captain Kane, 
 with a pluck and judgment which evoked the applause of the 
 American and German crews in the harbour, took his vessel out to 
 sea and so saved her. When questions were asked in Parliament as 
 to what honour would be conferred on Captain Kane in recognition of 
 his services, the First Lord of the Admiralty replied " that Kane had
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIP ON, 261 
 
 only done his duty, and if he had lost his ship he would have been 
 court-martialled." So the Bishop wrote : 
 
 What shall be done for Kane ? 
 
 Who brought his vessel safe through wave 
 
 With skilful hand and heart as brave ; 
 What shall be done for Kane ? 
 
 What shall he have ? " We solve the knot," 
 
 Cries the First Lord, impartial ; 
 " If Kane had failed, he would have got 
 
 Our pickle rod court-martial." 
 
 Then talk no more of praise or gain, 
 Our English principle is plain : 
 When storm winds rise to hurricane, 
 If Kane escape he 'scapes the cane ! 
 
 Here is another example : 
 
 With regard to the recent conference at Grindelwald, which the 
 Bishop had hoped to attend, it would not, it appears, have been his 
 first visit, for at the request of the Bishop of London he acted as his 
 deputy in opening the new English church destroyed in the recent 
 fire. This church was built by the Brothers Boss, who with their 
 family, to the number of seven, keep the adjacent hotel, called " The 
 Bear." The following lines were written by the Bishop in their 
 visitors' book : 
 
 A sign upon the earth, behold ! 
 
 Competes with one in Heaven, 
 The Bear above, the " Bear " below, 
 
 The stars that form them, seven. 
 But when these signs compared are, 
 
 Judge then the heavenly losses ; 
 For all declare the earthly stars 
 Most surely are the Bosses ! 
 
 He won an open scholarship at St. Catharine's College, Cam- 
 bridge, and remained there until he took his degree in 1864. The 
 late Attorney-General was the representative of Cambridge in sports 
 in those days. The late Mr. Parnell was at Cambridge at the same 
 time, and Lord Carrington and Mr. F. C. Burnand were among the 
 most important members of the Cambridge A.D.C., as it was called. 
 The acting in those days was of a 'very high order. The Bishop was 
 cox of his college boat ; not a very enviable position " you've got 
 all the responsibility and none of the kudos." A cox is like a bishop : 
 he can only guide, he cannot give strength. 
 
 His lordship referred to the great improvement in University life 
 to-day compared with thirty years ago. Much less wine is consumed 
 now, and a man can go through the 'Varsity as a teetotaler without 
 any inconvenience. At college the young man began a practical 
 training for the ministry giving lectures, attending district meetings, 
 and teaching in the Sunday-school. 
 
 The Bishop's first curacy was at Maidstone, and, strangely 
 enough, he was ordained by Bishop Longley. My visit to the Palace 
 was in the full tide of the cholera scare, and the Bishop referred to 
 his experiences of it at Maidstone.
 
 262 
 
 ILL US TRA TED IN 1ER VIE WS. 
 
 " I was working there," he said, " when the cholera broke out in 
 1866. My vicar was away. I assisted a little, more especially at a 
 rookery called Pad's Hole, then a den of thieves now a low-lying 
 little spot. I well remember the first case I visited. It was a poor 
 fellow who was a very regular attendant at church. I went in at half- 
 past ten to see him. I went again at half-past one. As I walked up 
 the hill a woman met me and cried, ' He's gone ! ' He had been 
 carried off in four hours. The truth is the people were taken by 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE CHOIR, KITON CATHEDRAL. 
 
 (Elliott^: Fry. 
 
 surprise, and few precautions were taken there was no organized 
 system of nurses then. The women who were sent to attend the 
 cholera-stricken people knew nothing about nursing. They drank the 
 brandy intended for the relief of the sufferers. I went into one house 
 to see a woman. The nurse was intoxicated. Shortly after the poor 
 woman died. At the graveside stood the nurse, still suffering from 
 the effects of drink. 
 
 " Whenever I walk along here I feel indebted to Longley for one 
 great thing," continued the Bishop. " You see these trees ? " pointing 
 to a magnificent belt of trees immediately in front of us. " They 
 keep away the cutting Yorkshire winds. Longley planted these." 
 Some idea of the power of the winds may be gathered from a note in 
 Bishop Longley 's diary already referred to. It was on the nights of 
 the 6th and 7th of January, 1839, and all the north of England was 
 affected by the storm. The Earl of Lonsdale lost 70,000 trees in his 
 young plantation, and the magnificent avenue at Castle Howard was 
 almost destroyed. The whole of the kitchen garden wall was blown
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON, 
 
 down at the Palace. Bishop Longley very wisely put up that grand 
 screen of trees. 
 
 His lordship entertains grateful recollections of his days at Maid- 
 stone under his vicar, the Rev. David Dale Stewart. lie remained 
 there two years, afterwards holding curacies at Clapham, and Lee in 
 Kent. From Lee he went to St. James's, Ilolloway, to assist the Rev. 
 We B. Mackenzie. 
 
 " Mr. Mackenzie/' said the Bishop, " was a remarkable man ; his 
 power in church and pulpit was singularly great. He only had one 
 curacy and one incumbency. I succeeded him as vicar, remaining 
 there from 1870 to 1880. There was no choir there the congregation 
 was the choir. Here, in Yorkshire, choirs arc invaluable. The people 
 enjoy it they will have a choir." 
 
 I asked the Bishop if he thought well of the introduction of 
 orchestras into our churches. His reply was thoroughly frank and 
 real. 
 
 " In the old days," he said, " men used to play in the churches, 
 and never expected to be paid. The condition of life since then has 
 very much changed. 
 If every man will bring 
 his instrument to 
 church as a personal 
 act of homage to the 
 glory of his Maker, by 
 all means let us have 
 it. We are in danger 
 of forgetting that if our 
 acts are not the pfer- 
 sonal I homage of our 
 hearts, such are not 
 acceptable service. I 
 am a little afraid that 
 we are just now pass- 
 ing through such days 
 of activity as will 
 possibly cause us to 
 forget the reality of 
 things. We want, as 
 Lord Mount - Temple 
 said, the Deep Church 
 as well as the High 
 and Low. Yes, let us 
 have orchestras in 
 churches if you will, 
 but I don't want the 
 man to go into a place 
 of worship with his 
 fiddle-case under his 
 arm and the idea in 
 
 i p; i0to . bv] 
 
 RIPON CATHEDRAL, 
 
 [ Elliott & Fry.
 
 264 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 his mind that he is going to take part in a mere per- 
 formance ! " 
 
 At Holloway he founded many excellent institutions classes for 
 French, German, shorthand, etc. The young men had their House of 
 Commons, with their vicar as Speaker. Many of the " M.P.'s " who 
 belonged to the Highbury Parliament have since turned out admir- 
 able speakers and useful citizens. 
 
 After leaving St. James's, the Bishop became vicar of Christ 
 Church, Lancaster Gate. He was Select Preacher at Cambridge in 
 1875 and 1877; Hulsean Lecturer at Cambridge, 1878; Honorary 
 Chaplain to the Queen, 1878 ; Select Preacher at Oxford in 1882, 
 when he was also appointed to a vacant canonry at Windsor ; Bamp- 
 ton Lecturer, 1887 ; and in 1889 he received an honorary D.C.L. from 
 the University of Oxford. 
 
 J'rom a Photo. &j/J 
 
 RIPON CATHEDRAL. 
 
 [Elliott cC Fry. 
 
 On the death of the late Dr. Bickersteth, in 1884, he was conse- 
 crated Bishop of Ripon. His duties at the House of Lords consist of 
 a fortnight or three weeks in each year, for the purpose of reading 
 prayers. This duty, which once devolved entirely upon the junior 
 Bishop, is now undertaken in turns, with the exception of the seniors 
 in rank. 
 
 It was market-day when we took our way through the streets and 
 great square which forms the market-place of the more than a 
 thousand-year-old city. It still keeps up the old-fashioned custom 
 of the blowing of a horn at morning and night near the Mayor's house. 
 
 On the north side of the Cathedral stands the Deanery. The 
 Dean of Ripon, who is eighty-four, was cox in the Oxford crew of 
 the first 'Varsity race, and he acted as page at the coronation of 
 William IV. His picturesque and venerable figure is one of the best
 
 THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON, 
 
 265 
 
 THE PALACE, RIPON. 
 From a Photo, by Elliott ,t Fry. 
 
 known in Ripon. Dean Fremantle has made 
 Ripon his home in the truest sense, ever since 
 
 his appointment to the Deanery, now sixteen years ago. He 
 has thrown himself with vigour and devotion into every good 
 work in the city and neighbourhood. In the Millenary year he 
 presented a magnificent silver-mounted horn to the Mayor and Cor- 
 poration, as guardians of the city. More recently he presented a 
 pleasant bathing shed and offices to the neighbourhood. He believes 
 in the healthy exercise of swimming and boating and cricket. He 
 still preaches with energy and impressiveness, and large congregations 
 gather at the nave services in the Cathedral, where his voice is heard 
 throughout the building. It is said that his portrait is to be hung up 
 among the city worthies in the Town Hall. His sterling goodness, 
 his generosity, his unfailing courtesy and kindness have endeared him 
 to everyone ; and all would readily allow that he is the best loved 
 citizen of the comely little Yorkshire town. 
 
 The near view of Ripon Cathedral is not particularly striking ; 
 its beauty is more impressive at a distance. Inside, however, though 
 at first appearance somewhat bare-looking, there is much that is 
 beautiful in architectural design. One is struck with its really 
 magnificent width particularly, and the curious and sudden breaking 
 up of the Norman arch, near the nave, by a Gothic pillar. The 
 carving, however, of the stalls is very fine, and in many instances of 
 great rarity. Beneath the stalls are many quaint specimens of the 
 carver's handiwork. Beneath the Bishop's throne are the two spies of 
 Joshua carrying the grapes, and a couple of giants are represented on 
 either side, one all head and no body, the other all body with his head 
 in the middle. Another stall shows Jonah being thrown overboard, 
 with a whale waiting with open mouth to receive him, and near at
 
 2 66 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 hand is a carving of Pontius Pilate wheeling away Judas in a wheel- 
 barrow with his bag of silver. 
 
 Yet amongst all that is interesting in and about the cathedral 
 nothing is more so than the Saxon chapel under the crypt. It is the 
 earliest known place of worship in the kingdom, its architecture being 
 about the seventh century. We light our candles and follow the 
 verger down the stone steps. The descent is a trifle treacherous. 
 There are little niches in the wall where candles are placed. Then 
 we enter the chapel. It is perfectly dark, and smells very earthy. A 
 hole in one side of the wall is pointed out. Tradition says that in the 
 old days, when people had anything suspicious against them, they 
 were brought to this spot. If they succeeded in crawling through to 
 the other side they were blameless ; if they could not they were 
 unquestionably guilty. It is also said that the young damsel who 
 creeps through is sure to get married within the year. Be this as it 
 may, I was assured that very recently a Yorkshire farmer brought his 
 three daughters and sought permission for them to crawl through the 
 lucky hole. Another daughter who had been through succeeded in 
 getting married, and the father of the remaining trio was anxious for 
 them to see whether a journey through the wall might not help him 
 to more readily dispose of his daughters ! 
 
 From a Photo, by] THE DEAN OF RIPON. [Elliutt < Fry.
 
 XVI. 
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 
 
 UK. RUSSELL. \_UiuzsiKncerdu Co., ValiKiraiso. 
 
 T may be fairly said that Dr. Russell is the accredited 
 father of a professional family which, though necessarily 
 limited in the number of its sons, possesses the world as 
 its debtors. The dodging of bullets and shells, the 
 cornering of ourselves in some haven of refuge from the 
 ferocious charging of maddened horses and men in 
 short, the participation in all " the pomp and circumstance of glorious 
 war," is not run after by the average man. Dr. Russell was the first 
 of our known war correspondents. The remembrance of this as I 
 ascended in the lift which delivered me at the door of his flat in
 
 268 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 Victoria Street was suggestive of the probable unfolding of a life of 
 the deepest interest. Nor was I disappointed. I spent some hours 
 with Dr. Russell, and when it came to " Good-bye," he asked : " Have 
 you got what you want ? " 
 
 I was in earnest when I asked him if he could cut out ten or 
 twenty years of his life, for my load of delightful information was so 
 great that I feared the space at my disposal could not hold it all. 
 His reply was : " Ah ! willingly, willingly if I could. The burden 
 of my years is heavier than the load of incidents you are carrying 
 away with you." 
 
 Dr. Russell is of medium height, strongly built, wearing a 
 white moustache, and possessing a head of wavy, silver hair. He is 
 now lame from injuries received by his horse falling on him in the 
 Transvaal. He took me from room to room, and as he narrated the 
 little incidents associated with his treasures, it was all done quietly, 
 impressively free from any boastfulness. For he wished me to under- 
 stand that though his life had often been in danger, in scenes where 
 men won great names for heroic deeds and gave up their lives for 
 their country, he was only a camp follower and nothing more in the nine 
 campaigns which he has seen he chronicled history, he did not make it. 
 I hope this little article will prove a courteous contradiction to this. 
 
 You pass by many articles of rarity in the corridor on your way 
 to the dining-room cabinets of battle-field relics, jade bowls, Indian 
 and Egyptian ware, a great Hindu deity, once the property of Bainee 
 Mahdo, the Oude Tlookdar, an Indian chief; recreation and sport are 
 represented by gun-cases and a huge bundle of fishing rods in the corner. 
 
 t it try
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 
 
 269 
 
 Here on a table are half-a-dozen cigar cases, one of which, with silver 
 clasps, is from the Prince of Wales, as a souvenir of the visit to 
 India in 1875-6, in which Dr. Russell acted as Honorary Private 
 Secretary to H.R.H. ; some exquisite cups and bowls of bedrcc 
 work from Lucknow ; and over one of the doors is Landscer's 
 " Horseman and Hounds," \vhich, curiously enough, was reproduced 
 in an article I wrote for THE STRAND MAGAZINE entitled " Pictures 
 with Histories," in April, 1891. The cosy, small dining-room over- 
 looks Victoria Street, and contains some excellent pictures one of 
 Dr. Russell's mother, another of the artist, J. G. Russell, A.R.A., who 
 also painted the portrait of Mr. Russell's paternal grandfather opposite 
 that of his uncle, and several depicting scenes in the hunting-field. 
 
 Two big canvases, however, are particularly interesting. One dated 
 Lucknow, March, 1858, is "The Death of Cleopatra," painted by 
 Beechey. 
 
 " Beechey visited India long before the Mutiny, and was enter- 
 tained by the King of Oude," explained Dr. Russell. " He painted 
 this portrait, probably of a Circassian, for the King. During the 
 looting of the Kaiserbagh of Lucknow at the time of the Indian 
 Mutiny, when we were leaving the palace, I remarked to an officer 
 that it was a pity to leave it hanging there. 
 
 " ' Cut it out of the frame,' was his advice. I did so, and a soldier 
 wrapped it round his rifle barrel, and so we got it away." 
 
 The other canvas, painted by a native artist, is of the King of
 
 270 JILVSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Oude himself, surrounded by his Court and attired in all his Oriental 
 splendour. 
 
 " That was one of Thackeray's favourite pictures," said Dr. Russell. 
 " He would look at it for an hour at a time, saying softly, ' Poor old 
 thing ! poor old dear ! how fine and how silly he looks.' Dear 
 Thackeray ! he was one of my dearest and warmest friends. He 
 lived in Onslow Square, very near to my house in Sumner Place, for 
 several years. He was very fond of my wife, and I well remember 
 how, when she was laid low with a serious illness and was not 
 expected to live, Thackeray would stand every morning opposite my 
 house, waiting for me to appear at the window. If I nodded, it was a 
 sign that my wife was a little better, and he came in for a few words ; 
 if I shook my head, he went quietly and dolefully away. We often 
 dined at the Garrick Club. One night I met him in Pall Mall on my 
 way home to dinner. 
 
 " ' Let us dine at the Garrick to-night,' he said. 
 
 " I told him I could not, as I had promised to dine at home. 
 
 "'Oh!' said he, Til write to Mrs. Russell, and I know she will 
 excuse you. It is important, you know.' 
 
 " I consented. I sent a messenger home with the letter of excuse 
 and a request for the latch-key. It came, with this little note in my 
 wife's handwriting attached to it: 'Go it, my boy! you are killing 
 poor Thackeray and Johnny Deane ! ' Thackeray was delighted and 
 put the note in his pocket. Deane was a neighbour of ours." 
 
 You may count the ink-pots and paper-weights made out of 
 shells and bullets on the tables by the score. But examine these two 
 great boards or shields, covered with red cloth, on either side of the 
 fine sideboard. Picturesquely arranged are muskets from the Crimean 
 battle-fields, Alma, Inkerman, etc., matchlocks and tulwars from 
 India, spears, Zulu assegais, swords, fencing foils, revolvers, and old- 
 fashioned pistols. Here is a beautiful dagger from the Rajah of Mundi, 
 near it is the key of one of the magazines of the Great Redan at 
 Sebastopol, which the present owner took out himself on pth Sep- 
 tember, 1855, the day of the fall of the place. Handle this remnant 
 of a scabbard thoughtfully : it once belonged to a poor fellow in the 
 Crimea the remainder of it was driven by a shell splinter into his 
 side. Examine this curious old blunderbuss, and listen to its story. 
 
 " It comes from India," said Dr. Russell. " A pile of arms were 
 brought in to headquarters at Lucknow to be surrendered. I was ex- 
 amining this article when Lord Clyde who was standing by my side 
 asked : ' Is it loaded ? ' 
 
 " ' No,' I answered, immediately pulling the trigger. But it was ! 
 The charge tore up the ground at Lord Clyde's feet, and his escape 
 was miraculous. His anger was considerable. No wonder I did not 
 know it was loaded, for the steel ramrod hopped up when I tried it, 
 but the piece was fully charged with telegraph wire cut into small 
 pieces ! " 
 
 The drawing-room contains objects of great interest. An auto- 
 graphed picture of the Princess of Wales fondling a kitten rests on the
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 Fry 
 
 mantel-board with other souvenirs. Just near the piano which is 
 covered with some fine Japanese tapestry is Meissonier's " 1807." 
 This beautiful plateau and coffee set of Sevres was bought at Versailles 
 in 1871, when the people were starving, for a trifle. A tiger's skin a 
 trophy from India lies in front of a shelf over which rises a fine mirror. 
 The knick-knacks are countless. This exquisite jade vase once 
 studded with rubies was given to its possessor by the Maharajah of 
 Puttiala. It is one of many here. The medals, one " in memoriam " 
 of the coronation of the Czar at Moscow, 1856, and silver trinkets are 
 numerous an immense " turnip " watch, the property of a great- 
 great-grandfather, was said to be 150 years old when he first had it. 
 
 An idol from a Japanese temple, and a chobdar of rare beauty, 
 composed of various stones of different lengths, all with some mystic 
 meaning, are here. A hundred photographs of celebrities are set out 
 on a screen near the door Sir Collingwood Dixon amongst them. 
 
 "The bravest and coolest man I ever knew," said Dr. Russell. 
 " He practically won the battle of Inkerman with his two eighteen- 
 pounders." 
 
 The portrait of Dr. Russell's second son now Vice-Consul at 
 the Dardanelles reminds him to tell me that he is now the only 
 survivor of the original party who went with Gordon up to Khartoum 
 when he was first appointed Governor. Gordon made him Governor 
 of Farschodah a bad place for a white man at present. 
 
 " I can see Gordon now," Dr. Russell said, quietly, " fighting in 
 the trenches at Sebastopol. I can just recall a very striking incident 
 I heard one night. There was a sortie, and the Russians got into our
 
 272 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 parallel. The trench guards were encouraged to drive them out by 
 Gordon, who stood on the parapet, in imminent danger of his life, 
 prepared to meet death with nothing save his stick in his hand. 
 
 " ' Gordon Gordon ! come down ! you'll be killed/ they cried. 
 But he paid no heed to them. 
 
 " A soldier said, ' He's all right. He don't mind being killed. 
 He's one of those blessed Christians ! ' ' 
 
 A large portrait of Dr. Russell is on the wall amongst others, 
 taken in Chili, in all his medals and decorations. These are many, 
 for he is a Knight of the Iron Cross, an Officer of the Legion of 
 Honour, has the Turkish War Medal of 1854-6, the Indian War Medal 
 of 1857-8, with the clasp for Lucknow, the South African War Medal 
 of 1879, the Medjidieh (3rd and 4th class), the Osmanieh (3rd and 4th 
 class), the St. Sauveur of Greece. He is a Chevalier of the Order of 
 Franz Josef of Austria the Redeemer of Portugal etc. 
 
 We looked through a book of literary and pictorial reminiscences 
 of the Crimea. Many of the sketches, the majority by Colonel 
 Colville, now Equerry to the Duke of Edinburgh, are highly humorous. 
 The gallant colonel has certainly depicted the chroniclers of war's 
 alarms under very trying circumstances, and Captain Swaeby of the 
 4ist, who was killed at Inkerman, presents the landing of the famous 
 war correspondent and the total annihilation of the rival pressmen of 
 the Involute Russe and the Soldaten Freund in a boldly dramatic way, 
 Here is a photograph by Robertson. It shows Balaclava " The 
 Valley of Death." On the opposite page is a cartoon from Punch. 
 A mother and her children are sitting with open ears and excited, 
 tearful faces listening to Paterfamilias by the fireplace, reading a 
 description of the cavalry fight of Balaclava from the Times, and 
 flourishing a poker over his head. That account was written by Dr. 
 Russell, and there is little reason to doubt that the word picture 
 penned by him inspired Lord Tennyson to write the " Charge of the 
 Light Brigade." 
 
 We turn over the pages of the album. This slip of blue paper is 
 a delivery note from the Quartermaster-General for a box from 
 England, which Dr. Russell got up with great difficulty at Balaclava. 
 It created great joy, as the label on it of " Medical Comforts " 
 suggested to the hungry warriors something good from the old 
 country. They gathered round in anxious expectation. Alas ! the 
 box contained wooden legs, splints, and such useful supports in life ! 
 The letters from generals commanding are numerous a passport to 
 the interior after the war, a portrait of Catharine of Russia, and 
 one of the Czar Nicholas, torn down from a wall at Buljanak, and 
 many other mementos. The reading of a letter from the famous 
 French chef Soyer reminds Dr. Russell of an anecdote. 
 
 Soyer was arrested one night in the Crimea as a spy. 
 
 " Who and what are you ? " asked the officer into whose presence 
 he was brought. 
 
 " I am an officer," was the reply. 
 
 " What rank ? "
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 273 
 
 I am chief of a battery." 
 
 " Of what battery ? " 
 
 " Of the Batterie de Cuisine de 1'Armee Anglaise, monsieur ! " 
 was the witty answer. 
 
 " M. Soyer," continued Dr. Russell, " was very eccentric, but very 
 original as a cook, supreme. He erected a handsome monument to 
 his wife's memory at Kensal Green, and was on the look-out for an 
 inscription. At last he made known his wish to Lord Palmerston. 
 
 " ' Well,' said the great statesman, ' I don't think you can do 
 better than put on it : Soyez tranqnille ! ' ' 
 
 From the drawing-room, the carpet of which was a wedding 
 present from the suite of the Prince of Wales on Dr. Russell's 
 marriage to Countess Malvezzi in 1884, we went into the study, the 
 writing table in which was a personal present from the Prince of 
 Wales on the same occasion. Boxes, full to their lids with diaries 
 and papers, are scattered about ; the portraits on the walls are mostly 
 family ones, though here and there hang a few outside the immediate 
 family circle. Dickens and Thackeray are not forgotten ; and the 
 head of a little dog is here, under which Landseer has written 
 '' Brutus." It was his own dog. 
 
 " The most faithful friend I ever had," the great artist said, as he 
 put the picture in Dr. Russell's hands one day. 
 
 Over the mantel-board is a picture of the Scrapis, the vessel in 
 which Dr. Russell accompanied the Prince to India, and photos of the 
 Prince's parties in India and Turkey. A huge paper-weight and an 
 inkstand are not without a history. The inkstand is formed from a 
 
 From a Phuto. by]
 
 274 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 piece of a shell which is embedded in a stone from the Palais de St. 
 Cloud. It was fired by the French from Valerien at their own palace 
 the day it was burned, just as General, then Colonel, Fraser arrived 
 from Versailles. The paper-weight is also a very formidable bit of a 
 shell which was fired from Vanvres at the staff of the Crown Prince 
 on the 1 9th September, when they obtained their first view of Paris 
 from the heights of Chatillon after the battle of that day. A very few 
 inches nearer, and the probability is that Ur. Russell would not have 
 been sitting in his chair in the cosy study at Victoria Street. 
 
 William Howard Russell was born at Lilyvalc, co. Dublin, on 
 March 28th, 1821. He really belongs to a Limerick family, and to 
 this day there is just the faintest and happiest tinge of the dear old 
 brogue on the tip of his tongue. He exemplifies in a way the 
 " distractions " of the " distressful country " in politics and religion, for 
 he had a great-grand-uncle hanged on Wexford Bridge in 1798, as a 
 rebel during the war ; whilst his grandfather was engaged on the side 
 of Government, and was a valiant member of a Yeomanry corps. He 
 went to the Rev. Dr. Wall's, who used to flog severely, and to the Rev. 
 Dr. Geoghegan's, where he was a " day boy " for six or seven 
 years. Amongst his schoolfellows were General Waddy (Alma, 
 Inkerman, etc.), R. V. Boyle who defended Arrah in the Mutiny- 
 General Sir Henry de Bathe, Colonel Willans, and Dion Boucicault, 
 who was then called Boursiquot. 
 
 " Boucicault was a very cantankerous boy," said Dr. Russell, 
 " though unquestionably plucky. I remember he fought a big fellow 
 named Barton who, by-the-bye, became a famous advocate in India, 
 and died not long ago a J.P. in Essex with one arm tied behind his 
 back, and took a licking gallantly. He was always considered a clever 
 fellow ; but, oh ! how he used to romance ! St. Stephen's Green was 
 the great battle-field of the schools Wall's, Huddart's, Geoghegan's, 
 etc. in those days. Black eyes were as plentiful as blackberries, 
 and I had my share. I was always very fond of soldiering, 
 and used to get up early and set off from our house in Baggot Street 
 to watch the drills in the mornings at the Biggar's Bush Barracks. I 
 used to get cartridges from the soldiers, which caused my people much 
 annoyance. Yet not so much as they did the old watchman in his 
 box at the corner of Baggot Street. We found him asleep one night, 
 discharged a shot or two inside, and pitched him and his box over 
 into the canal. He escaped, but we did not, for we caught it severely, 
 and deserved it. When the Spanish Legion was raised I made frantic 
 appeals to join officer, private, anything and was only prevented 
 from running away with De Lacy Evans' heroes by the strong arm of 
 authority. 
 
 " I entered Trinity College in 1838 at seventeen. Only the other 
 day I was present at the tercentenary, and found myself in the 
 identical place I used to occupy at examinations \vhen a student. 
 There I again met an old class-fellow Rawdon Macnamara, President 
 of the College of Physicians, Dublin. There were glorious doings 
 during election times, when the Trinity College students who were
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 275 
 
 mostly Orangemen met the Roman Catholics and engaged them in 
 battle ; but, alas ! they were tyrannous and strong. The coal porters 
 were there ' the descendants of the Irish Kings from the coal quay,' 
 as Dan O'Connell called them, and sometimes we had to seek safety 
 at the college gates. Sometimes we had it all our own way, and made 
 the most of it. Away we would go to King William's statue on 
 College Green, shouting, ' Down with the Pope ! Down with the 
 Pope ! ' During one election there was an exhibition in the arcade of 
 the 'wonderful spotted lady' and 'the Hungarian giant.' We made 
 a charge, overturned the pay box, dismissed the proprietor, made ' the 
 Hungarian giant ' run for his life, to say nothing of seeing ' the 
 spotted lady ' going off into hysterics. The Dublin coal porters used 
 to be called in to disperse us. We frequently parted with broken 
 heads. We were often triumphant, though." 
 
 Dr. Russell left college for a couple of years, during part of 
 which he was mathematical master at Kensington Grammar School. 
 He returned to Trinity, and with the elections of 1841 came his first 
 real literary effort, though he is very proud of a sketch and account 
 
 PASS FOR THE BRITISH TRENCHES, FOIlTmc P 
 
 GENERAL'S OKFICB, 
 HEAD QUARTERS 
 
 Has permission to pass through the Trenches. 
 
 of an alauda cristata, or crested lark, which appeared in the Dublin 
 Penny Journal when he was fifteen years of age the bird was of his 
 own shooting. A cousin, Mr. R. Russell, employed on the Times, 
 came over to " do " the elections, and suggested the earning of a few 
 guineas to the young collegian by going to the Longford election and 
 writing an account of it. He accepted the suggestion, and not only 
 penned a vivid description of the scene in the hospital where the 
 wounded voters lay with bruised bodies and cracked craniums, but 
 entered heartily into the political campaign, and spoke and fought in 
 it con amore. His description delighted the Times people. He 
 received bank-notes and praise, both acceptable and novel ; he con- 
 tinued to write more descriptive accounts of the meetings of the day, 
 and Delane, the editor, told him to expect constant employment. 
 
 O'Connell ? Dr. Russell knew him well. No orator has impressed 
 him more, before or since. 
 
 " O'Connell was really an uncrowned king," he said, 
 a green velvet cap with a gold band round it, and a green coat with 
 brass buttons. Still, we had a crossing of swords occasionally. The
 
 276 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Times commissioner, Campbell Foster, characterized a village on 
 
 Connell's estate, at Derrynane, in a letter on the state of Ireland, as 
 a squalid, miserable settlement of cabins, not possessing a pane of 
 glass in any of the houses. O'Connell declared this to be a lie. I 
 was requested by the Times to repair to the spot with Maurice 
 O'Connell to see for myself, and to deny or corroborate Foster's 
 assertion. I could not but corroborate it. On entering a crowded 
 meeting one night at Conciliation Hall, O'Connell rose up and shouted; 
 ' So this contemptible Russell says there is not a pane of glass in 
 Derrynane ! I wish he had as many pains in his stomach ! ' 
 
 " Yet O'Connell was always personally kind to me. Once my 
 carriage broke down on the road to Dublin from a monster meeting. 
 O'Connell's was passing at the time. He turned out poor Tom 
 Steele, gave me his place, and a good dinner into the bargain. ' Honest 
 Tom Steele,' as they all called him. He was devoted to O'Connell, 
 and after his death became disconsolate, and eventually threw himself 
 off Waterloo Bridge." 
 
 It was just before the arrest of O'Connell that Dr. Russell saw 
 Lord Cardigan for the first time. He was with his regiment of hussars, 
 near Clontarf, where there was a great display of the military who had 
 been sent to prevent the great agitator from holding a meeting, which 
 had been declared illegal by proclamation. Cardigan was quite 
 magnificent. The next time Dr. Russell met him was in a transport 
 going to Varna. The third time he saw him crestfallen and wounded 
 not quite in front after Balaclava. But O'Connell and the head 
 pacificator, Tom Steele, wore great bunches of shamrock in their 
 coats, and a great posse of priests begged the people to disperse 
 quietly. Then commenced the memorable Irish State trials. 
 
 " Both the Times for which I wrote the descriptive portion of the 
 trials and the Morning Herald had chartered special steamers to 
 carry the news and the results of the Government prosecutions to 
 London," said Dr. Russell. " The great day came. The trial of 
 O'Connell and the traversers lasted long, but at last it was over. It 
 was very late on a Saturday night when the jury retired ; the judge 
 waited in court for some time, but went away after an hour's expect- 
 ancy, and the other newspaper correspondents left to get refreshments. 
 
 1 was sitting outside the court, wondering whether I should go to 
 bed. Suddenly my boy rushed up to me. 
 
 " 'Jury just coming in,' he said. 
 
 " And they brought in a verdict of guilty. The moment I heard it 
 I flew from the court, jumped on a car drove to the station, where I 
 had ordered a special train to be in readiness got to Kingston 
 hailed the Iron Duke, the steamer chartered by the Times got up 
 steam in half an hour, and left with the consolation that the steamer 
 of the Morning Herald was lying peacefully in harbour ! Arrived at 
 Holyhead sped away special to London tried to sleep, couldn't 
 tight boots took them off. Reached Euston, man waiting with cab, 
 struggled to get on boots, only managed the left foot, and when I 
 reached the Times office it was with one boot under my arm.
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 
 
 277 
 
 "As I got out of the cab in Printing House Square, a man in shirt- 
 sleeves whom I took to be a printer came up to me. 
 
 " ' So glad to see you safe over, sir ! ' he cried. ' So they've found 
 him guilty ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes guilty, my friend,' I replied. 
 
 " The Morning Herald came out next day with the news of the 
 fact the bare fact as well as the Times ! The gentleman in the 
 shirt-sleeves was an emissary from their office ! " 
 
 In 1846 Dr. Russell married the daughter of Mr. Peter Burrowes, 
 and severed, for a short period, his connection with the Times, in the 
 same year becoming " Potato Rot Commissioner," as it was termed, 
 to the Morning Chronicle, for which he wrote letters from the famine- 
 stricken districts in the West of Ireland. In 1848 he was special 
 constable on the occasion of Fergus O'Connor's abortive Chartist 
 demonstration at Kennington, and in 1849 he accompanied the Queen's 
 flotilla on a visit to Ireland. He also described for the Times the first 
 review at Spithead by the Queen, as well as the first review of the 
 French fleet at Cherbourg by Napoleon, after the coup d'etat. He 
 was summoned home from Switzerland in the same year to attend the 
 
 BALACLAVA.
 
 278 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 Duke of Wellington's funeral. At this ceremony Dr. Russell saw the 
 late Cardinal Howard, then a cornet, riding at the head of a detach- 
 ment of the Life Guards. 
 
 " I was at his funeral only a week or two ago, at Arundel," he 
 said. " A Roman Catholic bishop spoke to me at the Castle, after 
 the cermony was over. Did I remember him ? No, I did not He 
 introduced himself as Dr. Butt, Bishop of Southwark, who, thirty-six 
 years ago, was Catholic chaplain in the Crimea, and presently I met 
 his venerable colleague, Bishop Virtue, who had also been a chaplain 
 in the army before Sebastopol. I had not seen either of them since. 
 At lunch I sat next Father Bowden, chief of the Brompton Oratory, 
 who had been in the Guards, and who was a fellow-member of the 
 Garrick Club." 
 
 We hurried over events. The first battle he saw was that between 
 the Danes and Prussians at Idstedt in 1852, where he was put in a 
 place of safety, which half an hour afterwards became the centre of 
 action ! He was wounded under the arm by a bullet. In February, 
 1854, he went to Malta with the advanced guard of the army. He 
 scarcely wanted to go. He pleaded his business at the Bar, and other 
 matters, to the editor of the Times ; besides, how could he leave his 
 young wife and two little ones ? 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Delane. " It'll be a pleasant excursion. When 
 the Guards get to Malta, and the Czar hears of it, he won't be mad 
 enough to continue his adventure. You'll be back before Easter term 
 begins, depend on it " ; for Dr. Russell at this time was in practice in 
 election and Parliamentary cases, having been called to the Bar 
 in 1850. 
 
 " Well," added Dr. Russell, smilingly, " I got back in 1856 ! " 
 
 His descriptive writing from the Crimea of the dreadful winter 
 roused England and turned out the Government. 
 
 What terrible pictures his pen was forced to paint ! It was one 
 long story of suffering, from the beginning to the end. The war 
 correspondent paid 5 for a ham, 1 55. for a small tin of meat, 55. for 
 a little pot of marmalade, 6 for a pair of common seaman's boots, 
 and ,$ for a turkey ; and he fattened up that turkey for days. The 
 turkey was kept under a gabion. It wanted three days to Christmas. 
 Dr. Russell, accompanied by a friend, went, forth to look at the bird 
 that was to be killed for the banquet. They looked through the 
 wickerwork and could see the feathers, but the bird did not move. 
 They raised the gabion. Alas ! some villain had stolen the turkey, 
 leaving nothing but the claws, head, and wings ! 
 
 " That was a very miserable Christmas Day," added Dr. Russell. 
 " Inkerman had just been fought, the army was practically dying out. 
 Then consider the terrible knowledge we possessed. We spent that 
 Christmas Day knowing that there was no hope of entering Sebastopol 
 for weeks to come." 
 
 Dr. Russell wrote his account of the battle of the Alma in the 
 leaves of a dead Russian's note-book upon a plank laid across a 
 couple of barrels, under a scorching sun.
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 279 
 
 Dr. Russell put a little brass eagle in my hand. 
 
 " That is from the shako of a Russian soldier," he said. " I never 
 saw such gallantry. The fellow rushed out of the column that came 
 down on the Light Division, and which had thrown the Scots Fusiliers 
 into confusion, and made straight for the standard of the Guards. He 
 clutched the staff swords and bayonets cut and pierced him, but he 
 fought on ; and Lindsay and others had to fight for it too. At last 
 he dropped, and I brought this brass eagle, which Xorcott's sergeant 
 gave me, as a memento of one of the most persistent examples of 
 hopeless bravery I ever witnessed." 
 
 When peace was declared he returned to England in the spring 
 
 RETURNING FROM PICKET. 
 
 /Sketched by Cul. ColuitteJ 
 
 of 1856. He reached home late at night, and his wife led him quietly 
 upstairs to a bedroom. She opened the door, and there stood his 
 little ones in their night-gowns at the foot of the bed, singing : " Oh ! 
 Willie, we have miss'd you, Welcome ! welcome home ! " 
 
 " I had never heard the song before," said Dr. Russell, " and I 
 thought it was some little ditty of their mother's teaching for my 
 welcome. Imagine my disgust next morning, when sitting at break- 
 fast, to hear a band of Ethiopian melodists strike up ' Oh ! Willie, 
 we have miss'd you ! ' ' 
 
 Now, Dr. Russell's baptismal appellation is William. 
 
 He had not long been home ere he was asked to go out again to 
 Russia to describe the coronation of the Czar, the account of which he 
 considers his best bit of writing.
 
 280 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 " Whilst at one of the receptions at Moscow," he said, " I met a 
 Russian officer, who spoke excellent English, who had been at 
 Balaclava, and was much interested in the details of the day. In the 
 course of conversation he said : 
 
 " ' I laid the first gun of my battery against a troop of your 
 artillery so true, that when the shell burst, it blew the officer, who was 
 riding in front, into pieces.' 
 
 " ' Pardon me ! You are mistaken,' I said. ' Permit me to tell 
 you that Captain Maude, who was the officer who rode in front of that 
 troop, is now standing close behind you ! ' Major, now General, Maude 
 was, indeed, badly wounded by that shell, but he is now alive and well, 
 I hope, and at the head of the Queen's stable. 
 
 " Returning home again, Thackeray and others suggested that I 
 should lecture on the war. I did so, with Willert Beale as my impre- 
 
 (A Sketch by the late Captain Simeby. t 
 
 sario. I used to rehearse my lecture before a select audience Mark 
 Lemon, Shirley Brooks, John Leech, Thackeray, Delane, Douglas 
 Jerrold, and half the Garrick Club, who used to introduce ' Hear ! 
 hear ! cheers and laughter ' at appropriate places. At last the event- 
 ful night of the debut as lecturer came. The scene was Willis's Rooms. 
 I peeped into the vast room. Great heavens ! The hall was filled 
 with Crimean officers. I recognised Lord Lucan, Lord Rokeby, Airey, 
 etc., etc., all grimly expectant in front, and many familiar faces behind. 
 
 " ' I can't go on,' I said. 
 
 ' Nonsense,' said Thackeray. ' I've lectured, so can you.' 
 ' I can't do it, I tell you go on, somebody, and say I'm ill. 
 The money will be returned ! ' 
 
 ' ' Just then Deane came up with a bumper of champagne. I 
 couldn't drink it. I peeped through the doorway again, when sud-
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 281 
 
 denly I was seized and run on to the platform by Thackeray and Co. 
 So I unwillingly made my first appearance as a lecturer in rather an 
 undignified manner. 
 
 " I visited many towns in England, Scotland, and Ireland, and 
 made money by my tour, but it was distasteful to me ; I was glad 
 when my engagements were over, and have never lectured since, 
 though often asked to do so. When the Indian Mutiny broke out I 
 was abroad, but I was sent for, and after a short holiday, I was asked 
 by Delane very urgently to go out and join the army preparing to 
 relieve Lucknow, under Colin Campbell. That was in 1857. The 
 very day I arrived at Calcutta, the news came that Havelock was 
 dead, and that Colin Campbell had got the garrison and the women 
 and children out of Lucknow, but that he was unable to take the 
 place. I went up country to join Sir Colin Campbell's headquarters 
 at Cawnpore, with Pat Stewart. 
 
 " Sir Colin said to me : ' Now, Mr. Russell, you're welcome. You 
 have seen something of war. I am going to tell you everything. 
 But only on one condition. That when dining with headquarters 
 mess you don't blab what you hear. There are native servants 
 behind every chair watching, and what is said inside the tent is 
 known outside five minutes afterwards. I want to show you my 
 plans for attack on Lucknow. Go with Colonel Napier. He will let 
 you see what we are going to do.' The officer to whom Sir Colin 
 introduced me, afterwards Field-Marshal Lord Napier of Magdala, 
 took me across to his tent. ' Now,' said he, ' here are our plans ask 
 me anything you please. Mind ! You must keep my purdah down.' 
 
 " Now, though I had not been long in India, I knew that a 
 ' purdah ' meant a curtain. I rose and let down the flap over the 
 entrance of the tent, shutting out all the light 
 
 " Napier smiled. 
 
 "' No, no,' he cried; ' what I mean is, you must keep my plans to 
 yourself!' ' 
 
 Dr. Russell was present at the siege of Lucknow, and also served 
 in the campaigns of Oude, Rohilcund, etc. Whilst on one of the 
 many night marches Sir Colin made in India, he received a kick from 
 a horse which nearly led to the loss of his life. 
 
 " A horse broke loose and commenced to attack my little stallion," 
 he said. " I went to its assistance, when the brute, which belonged to 
 Donald Stewart, an Indian officer on the staff, let fly at me, catching 
 me on my right thigh. The kick bent the scabbard of a sword I was 
 wearing, and fairly drove it into my right thigh. We were just on 
 the move, hoping to come into action with some Oude rebels, and I 
 was in agony unable to move a step so I was placed in a litter and 
 carried along with the sick of the headquarters' staff into Rohilcund. 
 Small-pox broke out at Lucknow, and clung to us on the march, and 
 among the sick were Sir W. Peel (he died at Cawnpore), Sir David 
 Baird, and Major Alison. On the 25th March, 1858, the battle of 
 Bareilly was fought. Our coolie bearers had carried the sick litters into 
 a shady tope or grove of trees the sun was fierce. There I la}*, help-
 
 282 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 less, listening to the sound of battle close at hand. My only clothing 
 consisted of a shirt. Suddenly a cry burst from the camp followers : 
 
 " ' The Sowars are coming ! The Sowars are coming ! ' 
 
 " Our Syces ran up with the chargers. How I did it, I do not 
 know. But I hopped out of my litter and scrambled up into the 
 saddle the flaps felt like molten iron, and the blister on my leg rolled 
 up against the leather roasted by the sun outside the tope on my 
 horse. My servant a very brave fellow held on by the stirrup 
 leather, flogging the horse, for I had only bare feet and bare legs. 
 Suddenly he let go. He saw a Sowar making for us, and he released 
 his hold so as not to impede my flight. He was cut down, I presume, 
 for I never saw him again and his wages were due. I struggled on, 
 but the sun was more powerful than I. I had only proceeded a few 
 yards when I fell off my horse insensible with sunstroke. 
 
 " Then I heard a voice. 
 
 " ' Look a white man ! ' 
 
 " It was some of our people, thank God ! They thought I had 
 been killed, and that the Sowars had stripped off my clothing, for I 
 
 DR. RUSSELL : OR, THE TROUBLES OF A WAR CORRESPONDENT. 
 
 (A Sketch by Col, Colville.) 
 
 was naked, all save my shirt, and it was bloody. They bent over me. 
 ' He's warm,' cried one of the men it was Tomb's battery that had 
 come up. I got back to camp, but I was very near the point of 
 death ; and, indeed, I had the unique and unpleasant trial of listening 
 to my good friends and physicians, Ticc and Mackinnon, discussing 
 the question of my burial at the foot of the charpoy, on which I was 
 stretched, apparently dead." 
 
 Such is one of the experiences of Dr. Russell during the Indian 
 Mutiny. 
 
 Yet another Christmas Day (1858) was spent in India on the 
 borders of Nepaul. The day dawned upon an anxious people, but it
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 283 
 
 was Christmas, and the war correspondent, with a party of friends, 
 meant to keep it up. They gathered for dinner in a large mess tent, from 
 the ridge pole of which hung a huge lamp. A well-known Scutch 
 enthusiast's presence suggested a Highland fling as an appropriate 
 finish. The gallant Highlander got on the table, and his tripping was 
 so vigorous that it shook down the lamp. In two minutes the tent 
 was in flames. So ended another Christmas Day. 
 
 In 1859 Dr. Russell returned to England, and received the Indian 
 War Medal with the Lucknow clasp. In i 860 he started the Army and 
 Navy Gazette, of which he is still part proprietor and editor, and in 1861 
 went to the United States in time to hear Mr. Lincoln deliver the 
 Inaugural Address at Washington, which was accepted as a pro- 
 clamation of war against their " domestic institutions " by the Southern 
 States. He was exceedingly well received, and sat down at Lincoln's 
 first official dinner in the White House, being the only person there 
 who was not a Cabinet Minister. He was unfortunately present at 
 the first battle of Bull Run. Dr. Russell gave it as his opinion that 
 McDowell, the general commander of the Federal troops, may have 
 lost that battle through eating* too much water-melon. He was a 
 
 i 
 
 confirmed vegetarian, and ate too much of that fruit the morning of 
 the action. At all events, brave and capable as he was, McDowell 
 was beaten. The Federals fled in disorder from the field, and Dr. 
 Russell had to describe the fight, which was to him personally a most 
 disagreeable experience. The North, angry and frightened, could not 
 forgive ; and when his account of the battle which the leading 
 journal of New York declared was awaited with as much anxiety as 
 a Presidential message arrived, the vials of wrath were poured out 
 upon him. Dr. Russell was not altogether popular in America. The 
 man who does not fear to speak and write the truth is not always a 
 popular personage. He wrote facts, hard-hitting facts, and the Press 
 nicknamed him " Bull Run Russell," as if he caused the disaster. 
 However, newspaper abuse did not deprive him of the necessary breath 
 to reach Eng'and. 
 
 In 1866 he joined the Austrian army under Benedek, and again, 
 at Koniggratz, had to fly before a victorious enemy ; but he visited 
 Kuhn's headquarters, Custozza, etc., remaining in Vienna some time 
 after as the Times correspondent. 
 
 Now comes a memorable year, 1870, which brought the decla- 
 ration of war between France and Germany. He asked to join the 
 French headquarters, but the Emperor said : " I should be happy to 
 see Mr. Russell at my headquarters, but nothing shall induce me to 
 receive a correspondent of a paper which has shown itself so hostile 
 to me as the Times" The French Government would not allow the 
 presence of any correspondents. Dr. Russell heaped coals of fire on 
 their hsads, so to speak, when, after the battle of Worth, a little later 
 on he assisted in securing the release of two correspondents of the 
 Paris Press from captivity, who had sought refuge in the clock tower 
 of a church. 
 
 Dr. Russell proceeded to Berlin and joined the staff of the
 
 284 
 
 ILL USTRA 2 ED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 MORE TROUBLE. 
 (A Sketch, !) Col. ColMleJ 
 
 Crown Prince. Colonel Pemberton, of the Grenadier Guards a 
 valued friend burning with a desire to see service, joined him, as did 
 also Lord Ronald Gower, who when his mother was Mistress of the 
 Robes had been much with the Queen's children, and who was sure 
 of a warm welcome from the Crown Princess. 
 
 " Our reception," said Dr. Russell, " at the New Palace, Potsdam, 
 was most gracious, but the Crown Princess was in tears. She said : 
 ' You have arrived at a dreadful moment. My husband and his father 
 start for the scene of carnage immediately. You have traversed the 
 Palatinate, and you have seen the peaceful towns and villages which 
 will soon be heaps of ashes, and the harvest ripening in the fields will 
 soon be soaked with blood ; but I feel assured we shall conquer in 
 the end.' 
 
 "In the midst of the preparations for war, I was bidden to the 
 christening of a little princess at the Palace. I was presented to the 
 Emperor by Lord Augustus Loftus, our Ambassador, on the occasion. 
 His Majesty made a very kindly speech and said, 'The Press is a new 
 power, and I accept you as its ambassador.' 
 
 " The day of my arrival at Berlin, Count Bismarck sent to say 
 that he would like to see me early next morning (Morgen friih) at 
 the Foreign Office what ' early ' meant I knew not. I was in the 
 Wilhelmstrasse before the doorkeeper was awake. It was long after 
 eight o'clock before I was introduced to the Great Chancellor, who 
 offered me a cigar, and as soon as I was seated launched into serious 
 business. I was much impressed with his estimate of the Emperor 
 of the French. ' He is a dreamer a mere dreamer,' he said. ' I went 
 to see him at Biarritz in order to come to some understanding about 
 our relations, and, if possible, to clear the sky. I had practical 
 questions to propose and settle, but I could not get him to grapple 
 with a single one. He wished to entertain me with his theories for 
 the removal of the causes of poverty, and for meeting the dangers of
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 285 
 
 an educated proletariat. I was only anxious to lay the way for 
 peace ; but, no ! he would have none of it. Now see what we have 
 come to ! ' 
 
 " My interview with Count Bismarck lasted two hours, during 
 which he spoke almost uninterruptedly, with great vivacity, generally 
 in French, frequently breaking out into English, and he quoted 
 Shakespeare at least twice. 
 
 "At the close of the interview I asked him to procure me a 
 Legitimation, without which I could not accompany the arm}-. ' I am 
 not the man for that. General von Roon is your man.' ' But 
 I do not know him, sir.' ' Well, perhaps he will do it for me 
 we will see' 
 
 " The Legitimation business detained us several days in Berlin. 
 In the meanwhile, the mobilization of the army was rapidly going on. 
 It was almost impossible to obtain horses, and we could get no 
 vehicles. I will tell you how we managed to get one. One day we 
 saw a Berlin egg-cart, a sort of flat van on wheels. An idea struck 
 us. Why not buy an egg-cart, get a light frame to go over the top, 
 and cover it with canvas ? Excellent. So we bought a cart and 
 rigged it up. But how to distinguish it ? Another happy thought. 
 My crest is a goat, so we painted a big black goat on the canvas. All 
 through the campaign vulgar boys and people would point at it and 
 cry ' Ba-a-a ! Ba-a-a ! ' to the great annoyance of my servant. One 
 curious thing occurred in connection with my waggon. An English 
 officer attached to the French army as one of the Geneva Cross 
 Association saw this cart in the French lines, and inferred that the 
 German Army had been defeated and my cart captured. I lost my 
 egg-cart on the march to Versailles." 
 
 At last Dr. Russell got away from Berlin with Lord R. Gower 
 and Colonel Pemberton. His military railway ticket the number of 
 the train and the time-table of the stations were printed on it was 
 dated some time before war was declared ! At Worms they left the 
 train and took a carriage for Landau. Their coachman was not a 
 man to be sought after. At one spot he refused to go any farther 
 with the pair of horses, which had been obtained after much trouble, 
 and they only got to Wissembourg the night after the battle, 
 in rear of the Crown Prince's staff. The result was that Dr. Russell 
 and Lord Ronald Gower were arrested as spies, and sentries placed 
 over them, with orders to shoot them if they stirred. 
 
 " A false alarm roused the sentries," the old war correspondent 
 explained. " They left us. We made good our escape into the inn, 
 where a good Samaritan gave us some delicious hot coffee. Years 
 afterwards I came across the landlord's son who had so befriended us, 
 as a waiter at the Salthill Hotel, Dublin." 
 
 Dr. Russell was at the battle of Worth. The Crown Prince's 
 dinner was very simple, consisting of soup served in metal cups, and 
 boiled ration-meat, bread, cheese, and beer. There was silver on the 
 table, however. It belonged to the camp equipment of Frederick the 
 Great, and was, and is always, carried at the Royal headquarters in
 
 286 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 war time. He spoke of the great anguish of the Crown Prince as he 
 read the names of his fallen officers. 
 
 Dr. Russell was at the siege and fall of Paris, which he entered 
 with the Crown Prince, and took a cartload of fresh meat and vege- 
 tables over the bridge into Paris, the first day it opened, to the British 
 Embassy. There he found Sir Richard Wallace in his shirt-sleeves, 
 serving out horse-flesh to the starving English grooms, tutors, and 
 governesses. He remained in Paris till the massacre by the Commun- 
 ists in the Place Vendome, and returned the night after the Commune 
 expired in ashes and blood. He looked on at the gay city in flames. 
 
 " As I watched millions of fiery tongues leaping towards the sky," 
 continued Dr. Russell, " my mind went back to the extravagant 
 splendour of the year in which the Great Exhibition was held, when I 
 served on the jury in the arms department. There, on the grand- 
 stand of the racecourse, I saw the Emperor. With him were two 
 Emperors and several Kings. He was reviewing part of the great 
 army which in a few years was to be swept into captivity. What an 
 inconceivable change ! I stood behind the Emperor of Germany on 
 the same grand-stand from which he reviewed the German army 
 previous to its triumph- 
 ant march into Paris. J 
 I could scarcely believe 
 the evidence of my senses 
 when I rode under the 
 Arc de Triomphe in the 
 train of the conqueror 
 down the Avenue of the 
 Champs Elysees. That 
 afternoon, after incurring 
 many dangers indeed, 
 imminent peril I man- 
 aged to get from the 
 Prussian lines, and make 
 my way to the railway 
 station. There a special 
 train arranged to take 
 me to Calais, whence I 
 sent my account to the 
 Times of the entry of 
 the German army into 
 Paris." 
 
 Dr. Russell took 
 from one of his great 
 despatch boxes a number 
 of volumes. Among them 
 were the diaries of his 
 trip to India when he 
 accompanied the Prince 
 of Wales as honorary M sketch i>y CM. coiuie.)
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 287 
 
 private secretary. The Times asked Dr. Russell to act as their 
 correspondent. Then trouble arose. Other correspondents wanted 
 to go in the Serapis, but this was objected to. At last a compromise 
 was arrived at. 
 
 " It was," said Dr. Russell, " to the effect that I could not write 
 letters from the Serapis as the Times correspondent, and that the 
 other newspaper correspondents might go to India on their own 
 responsibility. Still, letters did appear in the columns of the Times 
 during the voyage out. I used to write to the editor personally, and 
 he would put in my communication with the heading : ' We have 
 received the following from a friend on board the Serapis' It is 
 impossible to describe all the rejoicings and festivities. I saw in 
 Nepaul an army of 900 elephants for the hunting party, arranged by 
 Jung Bahadur surely the biggest elephantine gathering on record ! 
 And such sport as there was. The Prince is a very steady rifle shot," 
 and together we looked through the record of a day's shooting as 
 chronicled in the diary : 
 
 " H.R.H. Prince of Wales : One tiger, /ft. 6in. ; one pig, two hares, 
 one partridge. 
 
 " Lord Suffield : One tiger, 7ft. 9in. ; one tiger's cub, three cheetahs. 
 
 " Prince Louis of Battenberg : One cheetah. 
 
 " Captain Rose : One tiger, Qft. 6in. ; which charged the Prince 
 of Wales, wounding his elephant. 
 
 " Russell : One cheetah. 
 
 " Col. Fitz-George : One pig." 
 
 And so forth. " Ellis, Prinsep, Sam Browne, Fayrer, various 
 heads." 
 
 " One day we killed six tigers," said Dr. Russell, " of which the 
 Prince shot five. The best work in this direction on the part of the 
 Prince was a couple of tigers shot in an hour one was killed with the 
 first shot, the other creature took a long time to come out of its lair. 
 We threw every soda-water bottle we had got with us at him, until he 
 was roused by one thrown by Jung Bahadur, which burst on a stone 
 near his head. We left Bombay in the March of 1876, bringing home 
 a grand menagerie and an infinite wealth of presents for the Prince. 
 We arrived at Portsmouth on the nth of May after visiting many of 
 the principal cities homewards and the following day made a State 
 entry into London." 
 
 Dr. Russell's last campaigning experience was in 1879, when he 
 accompanied Lord Wolseley to South Africa, and was at the taking 
 of Sekukuni's stronghold. The close of the pleasant hours spent w r ith 
 the famous war correspondent was nearing, and lighting up our cigars, 
 he looked back upon that well-remembered day when he met with the 
 regrettable accident which resulted in his lameness. 
 
 " We had arrived within ten or twelve miles of Pretoria," he said, 
 " and halted for the day. I said I would go on to Pretoria and get my 
 despatches off. I left the camp alone. Sir Baker Russell suggested 
 my taking an orderly. But I wouldn't. Whenever I meet Sir Baker 
 now he always says : ' Ah ! you should have taken that orderly.' I
 
 288 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 rode six miles from the camp over a sprint, reaching a road which led 
 down a steep hill to a ford. The threatening sky told me to look out 
 for a Cape storm. They rush down upon you with scarcely a 
 warning. I knew the river at the bottom of the road would swell 
 rapidly, so I urged my horse forward down the hill. I got in^o the 
 middle of the ford just as the storm burst on us in all its fury. 
 A flash of lightning struck the water, my horse reared violently, lost 
 his footing, threw me over his shoulder, and I fell under him. My 
 right leg was caught by the stirrup ; my left leg was under the horse's 
 shoulder; his neck lay over my chest, preventing me from rising. 
 There was I on my back, with my head just up, supporting myself 
 with my right hand on the bottom of the river, and with my left 
 jogging the reins to make the poor beast rise the water slowly 
 rising with the pouring torrents I was drowning. I could feel the 
 water getting higher and higher it reached my neck, my chin 
 when, with almost a dying effort, as my horse struggled up a little, I 
 made an attempt to move my leg, but down he went again. 
 However, the strap of my spur gave way my right leg was 
 liberated I was able to raise myself on it and to pull at the 
 horse's head. My horse got up ; I managed to lean on him, and he 
 just carried me to the bank. I tried to get on his back, and down he 
 went again, so with my leg doubled under me I put one hand on his 
 shoulder, and so I crawled on to the house of an old Scotch farmer 
 named Gray. He put me into bed, and rubbed me with ' Cape 
 smoke,' and I found that I had not only lost my helmet, note-books 
 and despatches, but that my leg was useless, with a chance of being 
 lame for the remainder of my days. 
 
 " In the morning the headquarters staff rode across the ford, 
 amongst them Lord Wolseley. He called at the farm ; Gray told 
 him of my plight, and he came to my side. 
 
 " ' I thought my last day had come, and that my body would 
 never be found, ' I said to him. 
 
 " ' My dear fellow,' was his characteristic reply, ' I would never 
 have left the country until I had found you, and I would have given 
 you a jolly good burial ! ' ' 
 
 I knocked the ash off my cigar and rose to go. 
 
 " But what, Dr. Russell," I asked, " do you consider the most 
 unenviable position in which you were ever placed in what 
 battle ? " 
 
 " It wasn't in a battle," he answered, merrily, and laughing 
 happily. " Oh, no ! it wasn't in a battle. It was in a bed ! When I 
 was accompanying the Prince to India, we stayed at the Palace at 
 Athens. One night the King said to me, ' Do you get up early, Mr. 
 Russell ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' I replied ; ' I generally rise at six o'clock.' 
 
 " ' Very well, we'll say half-past six to-morrow morning. I want 
 to walk with you in the garden and talk over one or two things.' 
 
 " I went upstairs to bed. I couldn't sleep. The mosquitoes bit 
 me to their hearts' content, particularly about the hands and arms. I
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. 
 
 289 
 
 happened to have a pair of long white kid gloves in my bag. I got 
 up and put them on. 
 
 " I awoke in the morning with the knowledge ~of having some- 
 body by my bedside. It was the King, accompanied by his big dog. 
 It was half-past six ! I sat up in bed. 
 
 " ' In half an hour, Mr. Russell,' said the King, smiling, as he left 
 the room, ' I shall come back for you.' 
 
 ' At breakfast that morning, during a moment of silence, the 
 King, addressing the Queen, with a sly glance in my direction, said : 
 
 " ' Well, I've met a great many dandies in my time, but Mr. 
 Russell beats them all. He actually sleeps in white kid gloves ! ' ' 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 A HINDU DEITY. 
 
 [Elliott & Fry, 
 
 20
 
 XViL 
 MR. HARRY FURN1SS. 
 
 " INTERVIEWED ! " 
 
 T is the proud boast of every married man, and more 
 particularly so when his quiver is fairly full, that he 
 presides over the happiest home in the land. But there 
 is a corner of Regent's Park where stands a house whose 
 four walls contain an amount of fun and unadulterated 
 merriment, happiness, and downright pleasure that would 
 want a lot of beating. The fact is that Mr. Harry Furniss is not alone 
 a merry man with his pencil. Humour with him may mean a very 
 profitable thing it unquestionably does ; fun and frolic as depicted 
 on paper by " Lika Joko " brings in, as Digby Grant would put it, 
 many "a little cheque." But I venture to think that the clever 
 caricaturist would not have half as many merry ideas running frcm 
 the mind to the pencil if he sold all his humour outside and forgot to 
 scatter a goodly proportion of it amongst his quartette of children.
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 291 
 
 I had not been in the house five minutes before they made their 
 presence known. I had not been there a quarter of an hour before 
 the discovery was made that they were small but impressive editions 
 of their father. Have you heard of Harry Furniss's little model 
 " My Little Model " ? She is Dorothy, who sits for all the little 
 in her father's pic- 
 tures. A clever, bright 
 young woman of 
 thirteen, with glorious 
 auburn tresses. For 
 two or three years 
 past she has not for- 
 gotten to write her 
 father a story, illus- 
 trated it herself, and 
 duly presented it on 
 his birthday. "Buzzy," 
 for that is her pet 
 name, is retained as 
 a model at a modest 
 honorarium per sit- 
 ting. Should she be 
 indisposed, she must 
 find a substitute! 
 
 Then there is Frank, MY LITTLE MODEL.- 
 
 the eldest, home for 
 
 his holidays just now from Cheltenham ; young Lawrence, who 
 also draws capitally ; and little Guy, the youngest, who creeps 
 into the pictures occasionally. Guy is a very fidgety model. " I 
 have drawn him in twenty different moves, when trying to bribe 
 him with a penny to sit ! " said Mr. Furniss. And it seemed to 
 me and one had an excellent opportunity of judging during a 
 too-quickly-pissed day spent at Regent's Park that not a small 
 amount of Mr. Furniss's humour was caught from the children. He 
 has brought them up to live a laughing life, he ignores the standing- 
 in-the-corner theory, and bslieves that a penny discreetly bestowed on 
 a youngster during a troubled moment will teach him a better lesson 
 than a shilling's worth of stick. It is also evident that the brightness 
 and jollity of the children are inherited, not only from the father, but 
 mother as well ; and it was easy to discern, from the remarks that 
 fell from the subject of my interview, that the touches of artistic 
 taste to be seen about the place were due to the. " best of wives and 
 mothers" immaculate housewife and capital hostess Mrs. Furniss. 
 And, as Mr. Furniss himself acknowledges, half the battle is overcome 
 for a hard- worked professional man by the possession of a sympathetic 
 and careful wife. 
 
 Just run through this budget of letters from father to children. 
 When I arrived at Regent's Park ten minutes before my time, 
 by-the-bye Mr. Furniss was out riding, a very favourite exercise
 
 292 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 OUfO* 
 
 WJiflrir / J 
 
 P'* ,-- it ..fS^M 
 
 ^^x , v U "/" iK \V'CL 
 
 ^ V^ ,A' 
 
 f V*" "^ "^ /- :'?*( 
 
 ^\f.^-^ '/A> ^0 
 
 "LITTLE GUY OR, A FIDGETY MODEL." 
 
 with him. " Buzzy " and Frank and Lawrence and Guy brought out 
 their treasured missives. When " Lika Joko " gets a pen or pencil 
 in his hand he can't help caricaturing. These juvenile missives were 
 decorated with sketches in every corner. Here is a particularly 
 merry one. Frank writes from Cheltenham for some fretwork 
 patterns. Patterns are sent by return of post the whole family is 
 sent in fretwork. Mr. Furniss goes away to Hastings, suffering from 
 overwork. He has to diet himself. Then comes a letter illustrated 
 at the top with a certain gentleman greatly reduced in face and figure 
 through following Dr. Robson Roose's admirable advice. There are 
 scores of them all neatly and carefully kept with their envelopes in 
 scrap-books. 
 
 Some few days afterwards I discovered that Mr. Furniss delights 
 in " illustrating " his letters to others besides his children. My photo 
 was needed by Mr. Furniss for the purpose of making a sketch. I
 
 MR. HARR\ PURNJSS. 
 
 293 
 
 sold him a recent one. He wanted a " profile " too. The " profile " 
 was taken when I was sadly in need of the application of the scissors 
 of the tonsorial artist. I posted the " profile " with a request that 
 perhaps Mr. Furniss would kindly apply his artistic shears and cut off 
 a little of the surplus hair. By return comes an illustrated missive. 
 I am sitting in a barber's chair, cloth round neck ; the artist is behind
 
 294 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE IVS. 
 
 me with the customary weapon, and laying low the locks. The whole 
 thing probably only took a minute or two to do, but it is a capital 
 little bit of drawing. It is reproduced at the end of this article. 
 
 This quarter of an hour spent with the youngsters over their 
 
 paternal letters was not lost. It prepared me for the man himself, it 
 gave me the true clue to his character, and when he rushed into the 
 house riding boots and whip included it was just the one the
 
 MR. HARRY FURXISS. 295 
 
 children had unanimously realized for me. A jolly, heart}', "give us 
 your hand " sort of individual, somewhat below the medium height, 
 with a face as merry as one of his own pages in PuncJi. He is restless 
 he must be always at it. He thinks and talks rapidly : there is no 
 hesitation about him. He gets a happy thought. Out it comes 
 unique and original in its unvarnished state. He is as good and 
 thorough a specimen of an Englishman as one would meet frank 
 and straight-spoken, says what he thinks and thinks what he means. 
 An Englishman, notwithstanding the fact that he was born in Ireland, 
 his mother was a Scotchwoman, and he married a lady of Welsh 
 descent ! But, then, his father was a Yorkshireman ! So much for 
 the man and much more. Of his talents we will speak later. 
 
 We all sat down to lunch, and the children simply did for me 
 what I could not have done for myself. Frank ran his father on 
 funny stories. Then it all came out. Mr. Furniss is an excellent 
 actor had he not been a caricaturist he must have been a comedian. 
 His powers of imitation are unlimited. He will give you an Irish 
 jarvey one moment and Henry Irving the next, and the children led 
 him on. But it all at once dawned upon Mr. Furniss that it was 
 interfering with the proper play of knife and fork, so we dispensed 
 with the mimicry and went on with the mutton. 
 
 " Lika Joko " is suggested at once on entering the hall. Here are 
 a quartette of quaint Japanese heads, which their owner calls his 
 " Fore Fathers ! " His Fellowship of the Zoo is typified by pictures 
 of various animals. A fine etching of St. Mark's, at Venice, is also 
 noticeable, the only two portraits being a Rembrandt and Maroni's 
 " Tailor." 
 
 " I always hold that up as the best portrait he ever painted," said 
 Mr. Furniss, as he glances at Maroni's masterpiece. 
 
 In the dining-room Landseer, Herkomer, Alma Tadema, and 
 Burton Barber are represented little Lawrence was the original study 
 for the child in the latter artist's " Bethgelert." Fred Barnard's work 
 is here, and some quaint old original designs on wood by Boyd 
 Haughton are pointed out as curios. Punch is to the front, notably 
 in Du Maurier, by himself, which cost its possessor thirty guineas ; a 
 portrait group of the staff up the river, some delicate water-colours by 
 C. H. Bennett, and a fine bit of work by Mr. Furniss of the jubilee 
 dinner of the threepenny comic at the Ship Hotel, Greenwich. Up- 
 stairs the children's portraits, and pictures likely to please the 
 youngsters, reappear. The nursery is full of them, though perhaps the 
 most interesting apartment in this part of the house is the principal 
 bedroom. It is full of the original caricatures of M.P.'s and other 
 notabilities, and the occupant of the bed has Bradlaugh and the Baron 
 de Worms on either side of him, whilst from a corner the piercing eye 
 of Mr. George Lewis is constantly on the watch. 
 
 A striking portrait of Mr. F. C. Burnand recalls to Mr. Furniss 
 the first time he sketched him. 
 
 " I was making a chalk drawing of him," said the caricaturist. 
 " He sat with his back to me for half-an-hour writing, and suddenly
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 From a Photo, 
 
 turned round and wanted to know if I had finished ! Perceiving a 
 piece of bread for rubbing-out purposes in my hand, he objected to 
 rny having lunch there ! And finally, when I induced him to turn his 
 head my way and I finished the sketch, he looked at it critically and 
 cried out, ' Splendid likeness, remarkable features, fine head, striking 
 forehead, characteristic eyebrows, splendid likeness ; somebody 1 
 know, but I can't remember who ! ' Encouraging, wasn't it ? 
 
 " But I remembered it. Some years after I gave a dinner at the 
 Garrick Club to the Punch staff and some friends. Burnand sat at 
 the head of a long table. It was understood that there was to be no 
 speaking. Suddenly I saw the editorial eyebrows wriggling. I knew 
 what it meant Burnand was going to make a speech. I hurriedly 
 got about a dozen sheets of note-paper, and tore them in bits. I 
 jumped up very nervous, produced ' notes ' ; terrible anxiety on part 
 of diners suppressed groans. I spoke, got fearfully muddled, con- 
 stantly losing notes, etc. ' Art amongst the Greeks,' I said notes ; 
 'yes, your sculpLors of Athens were, unquestionably' notes again. 
 ' And what of it ? Punch is a Punch is a well, you all know what 
 Punch is ! ' Then it began to dawn upon them that this was a little 
 lark. So I hurriedly threw notes under the table and suggested that 
 on an occasion like the present it was our duty to first propose 
 the health of the Queen ! We did. Then the Prince of Wales, 
 the Army and Navy, the Reserve Forces, the Bishops and 
 Magistrates. All these were replied to, and Burnand didn't get a 
 chance ! "
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 297 
 
 There are many delightful water-colours in the drawing-room, 
 bronzes and quaint Japanese ivories. The first meet of the " Two' 
 Pins Club" at Richmond, June 8th, 1890, gives excellent back views 
 of Sir Charles Russell, F. C. Burnand, Frank Lockwood, Q.C., 
 
 From a Phota. by 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 \_EIUM ik Fry. 
 
 Linley Sambourne, Chas. Matthews, Q.C., and the caricaturist himself. 
 The " Two Pins " is a riding club named after Dick Tur-pin and 
 Johnny Gil-pin. Works by Goodall and Rowlandson are here, a fine 
 Albert Diirer, and a most ingenious bit of painting by a man who 
 never had a chance to get to the front he has used his brush with 
 excellent effect on the back of an old band-box. Mary Anderson 
 has written on the back of a photo, " Better late than never," for the 
 picture was a long time coming ; another excellent example of 
 photographic work being a large head of Mr. Irving as Becket, 
 bearing his autograph. In a corner is a queer-looking wax model of 
 Daniel O'Connell addressing the crowd, and amongst a hundred little 
 odds and ends spring flowers are peeping out. Mr. Furniss finds 
 little time now to use his paint-box. The example an early one, 
 by-the-bye he has contributed to this apartment is by no means 
 prophetic. It is a trifle in water-colours a graveyard of a church 
 with countless tombstones ! Now, who would associate the caricaturist 
 with tombstones ? 
 
 Passing down a glass corridor from the roof of which the grapes 
 hang in great and luscious clusters in the autumn you reach the 
 studio. It is a big, square room. Run your eyes round the walls, try
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 /"ri/tn a Photo, by] 
 
 THE STUDIO. 
 
 to take in its thousand and one quaint treasures. You can see humour 
 in every one of them merriment oozes out of every single item. 
 Stand before this almost colossal statue of Venus. She of the 
 almost faultless waist and fashion-plate divine rests on a coal-box. 
 Sit down on the sofa. It is the stuffed lid of another receptacle for 
 fuel. Golf is one of the artist's hobbies, and he invariably plays with 
 clergymen excellent thing for the character. We light our cigars 
 from a capital little match-stand modelled out of a golf-ball, and the 
 next instant " Lika Joko " is juggling with three or four balls. A 
 clever juggler, forsooth ! And the battledore and shuttlecock ? 
 Excellent exercise. After a long spell of work, the battledore is 
 seized and the shuttlecock bounces up to the glass roof. It went 
 through the other day, hence play has been postponed owing to the 
 numerous engagements of the local glazier. Fencing foils are in a 
 corner ; a quaint arrangement of helmets, masks, and huge weapons 
 a la Waterloo suggests " scalping trophies." The china is curious 
 there is even an empty ginger jar picked up in country places, of a 
 rare and valuable old-fashioned type. He has the finest collection 
 of old tinsel pictures of the Richard III. and Dick Turpin order in 
 the kingdom, and values an old book full of tinsel patterns of the 
 most exquisite design and workmanship. Old glass pictures are 
 scattered about, " Lord Nelson's Funeral Car," and Joey Grimaldi 
 grins at you from the far corner of the room. 
 
 All this and much more is characteristic of the humour of the 
 famous caricaturist We look at " Lika Joko's " skits and laugh ; we 
 take a delight in picking out from his ingenious pictorial mazes our
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 299 
 
 own particular politician or favourite actor ; we roar at " Lika Joko's " 
 comicality, and only know him as a caricaturist. But there is another 
 side to this studio picture Mr. Harry Furniss's pencil is such that it 
 can make you weep ; so realistic, indeed, that when in his early days 
 he was sent to sketch scenes of distress and misery, they were so 
 terribly real and dramatic that the paper in question dared not publish 
 them. No artist appreciates a " situation " better than he. I looked 
 through portfolio after portfolio, drawer after drawer full of character 
 studies and work of a serious character done in all parts of the world. 
 These have never been given to the public. Should they ever be 
 published, Mr. Harry Furniss will at once be voted as serious and 
 dramatic an artist as he is an eminently refined yet outrageously 
 humorous caricaturist. He is a great reader he once collected first 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 SCALPING TROPHIES. 
 
 [Elliott < Fry. 
 
 editions. We begin to talk seriously, when he suddenly closes the 
 portfolio with a bang, shuts up once more his hidden and unknown 
 talents, and hastens to inform you that he is a member of the Thirteen 
 Club Irving and he were elected together and believes in helping 
 other people to salt, dining thirteen on the thirteenth, with thirteen 
 courses, etc. Always passes under ladders, arid swears by peacocks' 
 feathers. 
 
 We stand before the great easel in the middle of the room 
 though not much work is done there. He prefers to work standing at 
 a desk. He draws all his pictures very large ; they are studies from 
 life. It prevents the work from getting cramped. The same model 
 has stood for all his principal people for the last ten years, and he has
 
 300 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 a wardrobe of artistic " props " big enough to fit out every member of 
 the House of Commons. He is a perfect business man. His ledger 
 is a model book. Every one of his pictures is numbered. In this 
 book spaces are ruled off for Subject, Publisher, When delivered, 
 Published, Price, When paid, When drawing returned, Price of 
 original, and What came of it. Humour by no means knocks system 
 out of a man. Look at the score of pigeon-holes round the studio. 
 As we are talking together now his secretary is "typing off" his 
 illustrated weekly letter which finds a place in the St. James's Budget, 
 New York World, Weekly Scotsman, Yorkshire Weekly Post, Liverpool 
 Weekly Post, Nottinghamshire Guardian, South Wales Daily News, 
 East Anglian Times, and in Australia, India, the Cape, etc. He 
 writes children's books and illustrates them. His impressions of 
 America arc in course of preparation. There is his weekly Punch 
 work ; he is dodging about all over the country giving his unique 
 " Humours of Parliament " entertainment, and he found time to make 
 some special sketches for this little article. 
 
 We sat down. Tea was brought in he believes in two big 
 breakfast cups every afternoon and with " Bogie," the Irish deer- 
 hound so called 
 owing to his very 
 solemn - 1 oo k i ng 
 countenance close 
 by, Mr. Furniss 
 went back as far as 
 he could possibly re- 
 member, to March 
 26th, 1854. That is 
 the date of his birth- 
 day. 
 
 " I am always 
 taken for an Irish- 
 man," said Mr. 
 Furniss. " Nothing 
 of the kind. My 
 father was a York- 
 shireman. He was 
 
 in Ireland with my mother, and I believe I arrived at an unexpected 
 moment. Possibly my artistic inclinations came through my mother. 
 Her father was yEneas Mackenzie, a well-known literary man of New- 
 castle-on-Tyne, and proprietor of several newspapers. He founded 
 the Newcastle School of Politics, and Mr. Joseph Cowen as a boy 
 got his first tuition in politics from sitting at the knee of my grand- 
 father. A bust of him is in the Mechanics' Institute which he 
 founded. 
 
 Little Harry was brought up in Wexford. He remembers being 
 held up in his nurse's arms to see the Great Eastern pass on its first 
 voyage, whilst an incident associated with the marriage of the Prince 
 of Wales is vividly impressed upon his mind. He was struck on the 
 
 From a, Drawing by J/r. Fantws.
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 301 
 
 top of his hat by a " fizzing devil " made out of moist powder, which 
 burnt a hole through it. He says that he would rather have this 
 recollection on his mind now, than the " fizzer " on his head at the 
 time. The young artist in embryo was a rare young pugilist at 
 school. He was forced to use his fists, as friction was strong between 
 the Irish and English lads at the school he went to. But he did well 
 in athletic sports, and was never beaten in a hundred yards race. He 
 firmly believes that this early athletic training is responsible for the 
 rapid way in which he does everything to-day -be it walking or talk- 
 ing, eating or work- 
 ing, all is done on 
 the hundred yards 
 principle to get 
 there first. 
 
 He was a spoilt 
 boy first of all 
 because he was sent 
 to a girls' school, but 
 mainly from a very 
 significant incident 
 which happened at 
 the Wesleyan Col- 
 lege School in 
 Dublin a collegi- 
 ate establishment 
 from which pupils 
 (not necessarily 
 Wesleyans, for Mr. 
 Furniss is not of 
 that sect) passed to 
 Trinity College 
 where he obtained 
 all his education. He 
 was not a studious 
 lad. He found the 
 editing, writing, 
 illustrating, publish- 
 ing, and entire 
 bringing - out of a 
 small journal he 
 
 founded far more agreeable to his taste than Latin verbs and 
 algebraical problems. 
 
 " I was in knickerbockers at the time," he said, " and introduced 
 to the schoolboy public The Schoolboy's Punch. It sounds strangely 
 prophetic as I think of it now. The entire make-up of it was a la 
 Punch, and it had its cartoon every week. At that time the Daven- 
 port Cabinet Trick was all the rage, and the very first cartoon I drew 
 was founded on that. Here is the picture : myself as a schoolboy- 
 being tied up with ropes depictive of Greek, Latin, Euclid, and other 
 
 From a Photo, by] 
 
 AT WORK. 
 
 r Elliott & Fry.
 
 302 
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 cutting and disagreeable items. I am placed in the cabinet the 
 school. The head-master, whom I flattered very much in the drawing, 
 opens another cabinet, and out steps the young student covered with 
 glory and scholastic honours thick upon him ! From that moment 
 my school-master spoiled me. I left school and started work. I got 
 a pound for my first drawing. A. M. Sullivan started a paper in Ire- 
 land on very similar lines to Punch, There was a wave in Ireland of 
 better-class journalism at that time which had never existed before or 
 since. I slipped in. For some years I drew on wood and engraved 
 my own work. I was given to understand that all black and white 
 men engraved their own efforts, so I offered myself as an apprentice 
 to an engraver. 
 
 " He said : ' Don't come as an apprentice. If you will undertake 
 to look after my office, I'll teach you the art of engraving.' " 
 
 It meant a hard struggle for young Furniss. He was loaded 
 down with clerical work, but in his own little room, when the day's 
 
 labours were done, he would sit 
 up till two and three in the 
 morning. There was no quench- 
 ing his earnestness. Work then 
 with him was a real desire. It is 
 so to-day. To rest is obnoxious 
 to him. 
 
 He worked away. The feel- 
 ing in Ireland against Englishmen 
 at that time was very strong. 
 Tom Taylor, then the editor of 
 Punch, saw some of his sketches 
 in Dublin, and advised him to 
 go to the West of Ireland to 
 make studies of character. He 
 was in Galway, and he had 
 persuaded a number of Irishmen 
 who were breaking stones to 
 pause in their work and let him 
 sketch them. They consented. 
 The overseer came up. 
 
 " What d'yer mane," he cried, 
 "allowing this hathen Saxon to 
 draw yer ? " 
 
 " I've never been out of 
 Ireland in my life," said the 
 artist ; but the overseer had seized 
 him, and but for the intervention 
 of the men, whom he had paid 
 liberally for the " sitting," he 
 would have thrown him into the 
 
 river. 
 
 STUDY OF AN IRISHMAN. 
 
 Then a great trouble came.
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 33 
 
 His father was stricken with blindness. The young man came to 
 London, but with something more than the proverbial half-crown 
 jn his pocket. He was nineteen years of age when he hurried out of 
 Euston Station one morning and stood for a moment thinking for 
 he did not know a soul in the Metropolis. But he soon found an 
 opportunity. 
 
 " My first work was on London Society ', for Florence Marryat," he 
 said ; " then for the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic Nci^s. The 
 Illustrated London News employed me. I did such things as the Boat 
 Race, Eton and Harrow cricket match, and similar subjects all from 
 a humorous point of view. I have had as many as three full pages in 
 
 From a Photo. 
 
 MK. FURNISS ON " RHODA." 
 
 (EllifM <t Fry. 
 
 one number. Then came that terrible distress in the mining districts. 
 I was married that year. I was sent away to 'do' the Black Country, 
 and well remember eating the first Christmas dinner of my married 
 life alone in a Sheffield hotel. 
 
 " Those sketches were never published. They were too terribly real. 
 The people dying in rooms with scarcely a stick of furniture, the 
 children opening the cupboards and showing them bare, appealed to 
 me, and my pencil refused to depict anything else. It was the same 
 kind of thing that was afterwards made notorious by Sims and Barnard 
 in ' How the Poor Live.' I came back and was selected to do some
 
 X 
 jo4 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 electioneering work for the same paper. This necessitated the putting 
 off of a little dinner party to some friends, and I wired one of the 
 invited to that effect. When I was starting, imagine my surprise to 
 meet a Graphic artist on the platform, and to hear that my friend had 
 unwisely given away the contents of my telegram ! However, we 
 chummed up. He stayed with friends I at an hotel. I sat up all 
 that night working after attending the meetings. At four o'clock I 
 heard a knock at the door. A journalist. I was just" .ibout to put 
 into my picture the large figures. I made him very much at home, 
 and told him I would give him any information I knew as to the 
 previous night's proceedings if he would act as my model. He did. 
 We worked on till breakfast time, and we sat down together. I sent 
 off my page it was in a week before the Graphic! It was a good 
 return. I had started on the Tuesday, got home on the Thursday, 
 and never had my boots off the whole time ! I'd rather keep my boots 
 on for a week than disappoint an editor." 
 
 Punch ! 
 
 I asked Mr. Furniss if Tom Taylor helped him to any consider- 
 able extent. Oh ! dear, no. Tom Taylor wrote a terrible fist, 
 spattered the page all over with ink, and invariably replied on the 
 back of the letter sent him. At least, it was so in Mr. Furniss's case. 
 He would send sketches to Punch; they were acknowledged as 
 " unsuitable." They invariably turned up a week or so later the idea 
 re-drawn by a member of the staff ! He began to despair. But that 
 first cartoon in the schoolboy's periodical was always before him. 
 
 " When Mr. Burnand became editor," continued Mr. Furniss, " I 
 was working on the Illustrated London News. He saw one of the 
 sketches and asked me to call the result was that I have worked for 
 them ever since. I started at very small things ; my first was a small 
 drawing of Temple Bar. Then, when Parliament opened, Mr. H. W. 
 Lucy commenced Toby by-the-bye, Lucy and I both joined the 
 Punch table, the weekly dinner, together and I worked with him. I 
 have special permission at the House ; as a matter of fact, I have the 
 sanction of the Lord Great Chamberlain to sketch anywhere in the 
 precincts of Westminster. My right there is an individual one." 
 
 " But, supposing, Mr. Furniss," I said, " they put a stop to you 
 and your pencil entering ? " 
 
 " I'd go into Parliament ! " came the ready reply. And, indeed, 
 he has been approached on this subject by constituencies two or three 
 times. 
 
 We spoke of some of the eminent statesmen and others Mr. 
 Furniss has caricatured. Mr. John Morley is the most difficult. He 
 is not what an artist would call a black and white man. You must 
 suggest the familiar red tie in your picture, and then you have 
 " caught " him. 
 
 " I have seen Mr. Morley look a boy, a young man, and an old man 
 and all in an hour," said Mr. Furniss. " Mr. Asquith is difficult, 
 too. But I don't think I have ever missed him, as there's a Penley 
 look about his face and a decided low comedian's mouth that helo
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 35 
 
 you immensely. Sir Richard Temple is the easiest. Many members 
 have some characteristic action which assists you materially. For 
 instance, Mr. Joseph Arch always wipes his hands down his coat 
 before shaking hands with you, whilst Mr. Goschen delights to play 
 with his eyc-glacs when speak- 
 ing. Lord Randolph Churchill 
 likes to indulge in a little acro- 
 batic exercise and balance him- 
 self on one foot, whilst Mr. 
 Balfour hangs on persistently 
 to the lapel of his coat when 
 talking. All these little things 
 help to ' mark ' the man for the 
 caricaturist. I invented Glad- 
 stone's collar and made 
 Churchill small. Not because 
 he is small, but because I think 
 it is the caricaturist's art not 
 so much to give an absolutely 
 correct likeness, but rather to 
 convey the character and value 
 of the man through the lines 
 you draw. Gladstone! A 
 wonderful man for the carica- 
 turist, and one of the finest. I 
 have sat and watched the rose 
 in his coat droop and fade, his 
 hair become dishevelled with 
 excitement, and his tie get 
 round to the back of his neck." 
 
 "And what do the wives 
 of our estimable M.P.'s think 
 of all this ? " I hinted. 
 
 " Oh ! I get most abusive 
 letters from both sides. Wives 
 of members write and ask me 
 not to caricature their hus- 
 bands. One lady wrote to me 
 the other day, and said if I 
 would persist in caricaturing 
 her husband, would I put him 
 in a more fashionable coat ? 
 Now, this particular member is 
 noted for the old-fashioned cut 
 of the coats he wears. Another 
 asked me to make the sharer 
 of her joys and sorrows better 
 looking; whilst only last 
 
 Week a lady the Wife Of a <,, a Photo. M THE FURNISS FAMILY. \EllioU * Fry. 
 
 21
 
 ILL USTRA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 particularly well-known M.P. addressed a most plaintive letter to 
 me, saying that since some of the younger members of her family 
 had contrived to see my pictures they had become quite rude to their 
 papa ! 
 
 " Why, members often ask me to caricature them. One member 
 was very kindly disposed to me, and suggested that I should keep 
 my eye on him. I did. Yet he cut me dead when he saw his picture ! 
 It's so discouraging, don't you know, when you are so anxious to 
 oblige." 
 
 I asked Mr. Furniss if he thought there was anything suggestive 
 of cruelty in caricature. 
 
 "Not in this country," he replied ; " in Spain, Italy, and France 
 yes. Caricaturists there score off their cuelty. Listen to this. One 
 night I was in the House. Mr. Gladstone rose to speak. He held 
 his left hand up and referred to it as ' This old Parliamentary hand.' 
 I noticed a fact which men who had sat in that House for years had 
 never seen. On that left hand Mr. Gladstone has only three fingers ! 
 Think of it think of what your caricaturist with an inclination 
 towards cruelty might have made of that fact, coupled with those 
 significant words ! I ask you again think of it ! " 
 
 He spoke in thorough earnestness. He told me that he looked 
 
 forward to the time when 
 he should consign to the 
 rag -basket the famous 
 Gladstone collar and 
 cease to play with Gos- 
 chen's eye-glass. He is 
 striving to accomplish 
 something more he 
 would do it now, but it 
 isn't marketable. Mr. 
 Furniss is a sensible man. 
 He caricatures to live ; 
 and, if the laughs follow, 
 well, so much the better. 
 The afternoon passed 
 rapidly, and the studio 
 became darker and 
 darker. Venus on the 
 coal-box looked quite 
 ghostly, and a lay figure 
 in the far corner was not 
 calculated to comfort the 
 nervously-inclined when 
 amongst the " props " of 
 an artist's studio. 
 " Buzzy " merrily rushed 
 in and announced dinner, 
 
 BALLVHOOLV, M.P., GETS EXC.TED. 
 
 " jumped
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 307 
 
 and barked his raptures at the word. " Bogie " knew it meant scraps. 
 Mrs. Furniss and the children met us at the dining-room door. The 
 youngsters' faces were as solemn as the Court of Queen's Bench. Little 
 Lawrence looked up at me very demurely, the others waiting anxiously. 
 ... " Please could you tell us what a spiral staircase is ? " he asked. 
 
 A dead silence. 
 
 " Oh ! " I answered, anxious to show a superior knowledge of 
 these peculiarly constructed " ups and downs," ' it's it's it's one of 
 those twirley-whirley " here I illustrated my meaning by twirling 
 my finger round and round. 
 
 A shout of laughter went up. If the reader will try this little 
 joke on a score of people, by the time the twentieth is arrived at he 
 will then discover why the happiest quartette of youngsters in the 
 immediate vicinity of Primrose Hill laughed so gaily. 
 
 Then we all went in to dinner. How well the shirt-cuff story 
 went down with the soup. 
 
 " Pelligrini," said the artist, " used to remark somewhat sarcasti- 
 cally to his brother artists : ' Ah, you fellows are always making 
 sketches. I carry all mine here here in my brain ! ' Pelligrini wore 
 very big cuffs. He made his sketches on them. Until this came out 
 we thought his linen always dirty ! " 
 
 Then Burnand came on with the beef. The two fellow-workers 
 on Punch Mr. Burnand and Mr. Furniss run pretty level in their 
 ideas. A happy thought is often suggested to both of them through 
 reading the same paragraph in a newspaper, and they cross in the 
 post. We spoke of Punctts Grand Old Man John Tenniel of 
 clever E. J. Mil liken, whose really wonderful work is yet but little 
 known. Mr. Milliken wrote " Childe Chappie" and is '"Any." Of 
 Linley Sambourne, whom Mr. Furniss once saw walking down Bond 
 Street, and had the strange intuition that he was the artist, connecting 
 his work, and walk, and bearing together. He had never seen or 
 spoken to him before. Charles Keene's name was mentioned. It 
 was always the hardest matter to get Keene to make a speech. He 
 far preferred the famous stump of a pipe to spouting. Mr. Furniss 
 hurt Keene's feelings once with the happiest and kindest of compli- 
 ments. It was at a little dinner party, and Mr. Furniss linked Keene's 
 name with that of Robert Hunter who did so much to provide open 
 spaces for the people. He referred to Keene as " the greatest provider 
 of open spaces ! " Keene said he was never so grossly insulted he 
 never forgave Mr. Furniss. He failed to see the truly charming 
 inference to be drawn from this remark. 
 
 We went into the drawing-room, and together ran through the 
 pages of a huge volume. It contained the facsimiles of the pictures 
 which comprised one. of Mr. Furniss's biggest hits what was in reality 
 an attack on the Royal Academy. His " Artistic Joke " a sub-title 
 given to this exhibition by the Times in a long preliminary notice 
 created a sensation six years ago. He attacked the Royal Academy 
 in a good-natured way, because he was not himself a member of that 
 influential body. But there was a more solid and serious reason. " I
 
 3 o8 
 
 ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEWS. 
 
 saw how cruel they were to younger men," he said ; " the long odds 
 against a painter getting his work exhibited, the indiscriminate selec- 
 tion of canvases." 
 
 This really great effort on the part of Mr. Furniss this idea to 
 caricature the style of the eminent artists of the day kept him at 
 work for more than two years. There were eighty-seven canvases in 
 all. His friends came and went, but they saw nothing of the huge 
 canvases hidden away in his studio. He worked at such a rate that 
 he became nervous of himself. He would go to bed at night ; he 
 would wake to find himself cutting the style of an R.A. to pieces in 
 his studio at early morn in a state of semi-somnambulism. He 
 fired his " Artistic Joke " off, the shot went home, and the effect was a 
 
 DRAWING FROM ' AN ARTISTIC JOKE."
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 39 
 
 startler for many people and in many places. It advanced Mr. 
 Furniss in the world of art in a way he never expected, and did not a 
 little for those he sought to benefit. One of these " jokes " and a 
 very dramatic one is reproduced in these pages. 
 
 The hour or two passed in the little drawing-room after dinner 
 was delightful. We had his unique platform entertainment. Mr. 
 Furniss was induced by the Birmingham and Midland Institute to 
 appear on the platform as a lecturer. This was followed by his 
 lecturing for two seasons all over the country, but finding that the 
 Institutes made 
 huge profits out of 
 his efforts, and that 
 his anecdotes and 
 mimicry were the 
 parts most relished, 
 he abandoned the 
 role of lecturer for 
 that of entertainer 
 with " The Humours 
 of Parliament." As 
 soon as he had 
 crushed the idea 
 that it was a lecture, 
 people flocked to 
 hear his anecdotes 
 and to watch his 
 acting, the result of 
 his first short tour 
 resulting in a clear 
 profit of over 2 ,000. 
 
 So it came 
 about that young 
 Frank closed his 
 foreign stamp book, 
 and " Buzzy " settled 
 down in a corner by 
 her mother's side 
 and looked the little model she is. " Bogie " lay on the hearth- 
 rug. Suddenly we were all in " The House." We heard the 
 young member make his maiden speech ; we watched the mournful 
 procession of the Speaker. Mr. Gladstone appeared upon the scene- 
 he walked the room, and in a merry sort of way played with " Buzzy 's " 
 long curls and took an intense interest in Frank's collection of 
 foreign stamps. " Bogie " was evidently inclined to break out in a 
 loud bark of presumable applause when the Irish member rose to his 
 legs the member for Ballyhooly who had a question to ask the 
 Chief Secretary for Ireland regarding an assassinated scarecrow ! The 
 reply did not satisfy him, and the Ballyhooly M.P. poured forth such 
 a torrent of abuse upon the Chief Secretary's head that " Bogie's " 
 
 "THE ASSASSINATED SCARECROW, SOR!'
 
 3io 
 
 ILL US1RA TED INTER VIE WS. 
 
 bark came forth in boisterous tones just as the Speaker called the 
 Irish representative to order ! 
 
 " What a hissing there was at one of my entertainments at 
 Leicester," said the humorist-caricaturist, looking across at me with 
 twinkling eyes. " A terrible hissing ! I showed Mr. Gladstone on the 
 sheet. Immediately it burst forth like a suddenly alarmed steam- 
 engine. The audience rose in indignation they tried to outdo it with 
 
 BALLYHOOLY, M.P., "WEEPS"! 
 
 frantic applause, but in spite of their lusty 'efforts it continued for 
 several minutes. 
 
 " ' Turn him out turn him out ! ' they cried. But we couldn't find 
 the party who was acting so rudely. 
 
 " Imagine my feelings next morning when I saw in the papers 
 leading articles speaking in strong terms of this occurrence, which, one 
 of them stated in bold type 'was a disgrace to the people of 
 Leicester.' " 
 
 " Bogie " rose from the hearth-rug, wagged his tail, and made his 
 exit.
 
 MR. HARRY FURNISS. 3 u 
 
 " Good night, Buz." 
 
 " Good night, Frank." 
 
 " And did they ever discover this very unseemly person ? ' I 
 asked Mr. Furniss when we were alone. 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot to tell you," he said, " that it was the hissing of 
 the lime in my magic lantern ! " 
 
 LONDON. N.W.. 
 
 GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED, 8, 9, IO, AND II, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, AND EXETER STREET, 
 STRAND, LONDON, W.C.
 
 from which it was borrowed.
 
 A 000474143 5
 
 
 
 'Bill