THE CHURCH AND THE VARSITIES--PARSONS OF MANY CREEDS AND DENOMINATIONS
Dean Wellesley.--Dr. James Sewell.--Canon Ainger.--Lord
Torrington.--Dr. Goodford.--Dr. Welldon.--Dr. Walker.--The
Van Beers' Supper.--The Bishop of Lichfield.--Rev. R. J.
Campbell.--Cardinal Vaughan.--Dr. Benson, Archbishop of
Canterbury.--Dr. Armitage Robinson.--Varsity Athletes.--
Etherington-Smith.--John Loraine Baldwin.--Ranjitsinhji.--
Mr. Muttlebury.--Mr. "Rudy" Lehmann.
Parsons of different creeds and denominations have been represented in
_Vanity Fair_ from time to time--Anglicans, Romans, Wesleyans,
Congregationalists and others. My method with a clerical subject is to
go to his church and watch him in the pulpit, but it is not always
easy to catch a Bishop, because he has not, so to speak, a home of his
own. I remember making an excursion to St. Botolph's to study the
Bishop of Kensington, only to find he was not preaching there that day
but at St. George's, Camden Hill. Back west I went and after the
sermon I waited outside the vestry door. Presently the Bishop came
out, bag in hand, and walked down the hill. I hastened on ahead with
the intention of doubling back and securing a good near view, but he
turned into the Tube Station. I followed and secured a seat opposite
him, and made the mental notes which resulted in the cartoon which was
published very shortly afterwards in _Vanity Fair_.
Now and again I have been put to considerable trouble in stalking my
man. I remember particularly well the peculiar circumstances under
which I studied Dean Wellesley of Windsor, who was rather an eccentric
looking old gentleman. I was staying at Windsor, in the Winchester
Tower, with some friends who were officially connected with the
Castle, and I learned that my best chance of seeing the Dean would be
in the early morning when he was in the habit of taking a
constitutional around the Round Tower about 7.30 a.m. I welcomed the
opportunity, rose early and went out. The Dean was already on the
scene pacing to and fro in the snow, supporting himself by an umbrella
in one hand and a walking-stick in the other. I did not follow him in
an obtrusive manner, but after pacing round two or three times, I must
have attracted his attention, for I feel sure he had never seen any
other individual taking such an odd constitutional at that hour. But
of course he could not suspect my object. As he walked, I looked at
him carefully, and especially observed his hat which, I had been
informed, would be turned down according to the direction of the wind.
On this occasion, it was turned up in front, although I am sure that
in walking round the Tower he must have been kept busy on such a cold
and windy morning. In due time the caricature (which I always regard
as one of my best) was published. Through the medium of my father, who
was a very old friend of the Dean, I heard that he was very annoyed at
the caricature.
Some time after, I was walking with my father in the High Street at
Windsor when we met _the Dean_!
"Let me introduce my son," said my father. "He is the culprit and is
responsible for your caricature in _Vanity Fair_."
"Oh indeed," said the Dean. "I'm very pleased to make his
acquaintance--I shouldn't have been, had any one recognized the
caricature as myself!"
An amusing sequel occurred a few days later when my mother met Mrs.
Wellesley, who told her that, thanks to the cartoon, the Dean had at
last discarded the awful hat she had been vainly trying to get rid of
for a quarter of a century.
I had another early morning experience in pursuit of Dr. James Sewell
(Warden of New College, Oxford). I followed him into the college
chapel and sat near his stall, but I felt I had not sufficiently
impressed his features upon my memory to make a perfectly satisfactory
caricature, so I inquired into his customs in hope of finding him
again. I discovered that he also was in the habit of taking an early
morning walk, and at 8.30 the next day I awaited him at a suitable
distance from his door. After getting tired of waiting what seemed a
very long time, I knocked at his door and asked the servant if Dr.
Sewell was in.
"No," he replied; "the Doctor started a _long_ time ago, but he went
out by the other door this morning."
I felt rather sold, but determined to keep my vigil at an earlier hour
the next morning. Accordingly I watched again, and this time saw him
come out in all the glory of his beautiful white collar and cravat
(which had earned him the nickname of "The Shirt"), and a red
handkerchief, as usual, hanging from the pocket of his coat tail. I
"stalked" him discreetly, and with success. After a final glimpse of
him, walking down one of the paths of the gardens of Oxford, I hurried
home to make a note of my observations.
During my frequent visits there, I usually stayed at "The Mitre," for
I liked the old place. The staircase was crooked with age and the
bedroom floors extremely uneven. On the occasion of one of my sojourns
in that charming town, I recollected with considerable pleasure a
standing invitation from Sir John Stainer, who had invited me, in the
event of my coming to Oxford, to dine with him and taste some
exceptionally fine old port that had been bequeathed him. I dined with
Sir John and tasted the port, and enjoyed a very pleasant evening.
Returning to "The Mitre" I went into the coffee-room before retiring,
and as I was feeling very fit and in excellent spirits, I entered into
conversation with other occupants of the room, one of whom dared me to
place a very ripe cheese that was standing on the table in the crown
of somebody's silk hat. Being under the impression that it was the hat
of my quondam acquaintance, I promptly plunged the cheese into it.
After some joking repartee, I retired to bed but could not help
noticing how much more crooked the staircase seemed than usual and how
the ceiling appeared to be falling. In my bedroom the floor was like
the waves of the sea, and I experienced considerable difficulty in
reaching land, but after the utmost perseverance I arrived at the bed,
where, holding on to the post to ensure my safety, I fell into a
perfect sleep. Imagine my surprise when the next morning I found
myself lying on the floor fully dressed, with one arm firmly
encircling the bed-post. Pulling myself together I realized that it
was eleven o'clock, and that I felt in excellent form and ready to
face anything the day might bring, since the effects of the old port
had worn off. At breakfast the excellence of my appetite was somewhat
marred by a paper with which the waiter presented me, which, on
opening, I found to be a bill from Foster's for a new silk hat. My
acquaintance of the night before had disappeared, and a total stranger
to me proved to be the owner of the damaged hat.
The same day I had the good fortune to meet one of my favourite
subjects, namely, Canon Ainger, at Dr. Warren's (the President of
Magdalen), where I was invited to lunch. I had depicted the famous
preacher in the pulpit after paying many visits to the Temple Church,
where I had divided my attention between his fine sermons and his
interesting personality. He quite entered into the spirit of my
caricature and congratulated me upon it.
About the period when a number of distinguished professors and
schoolmasters had appeared in _Vanity Fair_, I happened to be on a
visit to my people at Windsor, when I met Lord Torrington (a very
courtly old gentleman of the old school), who was calling on them.
Formerly he had been Lord of the Bedchamber to William IV. and
Governor of Ceylon, also a Lord in Waiting to the Queen, and had been
selected to escort the Prince Consort to England.
In the course of conversation my caricatures were referred to, and
Lord Torrington remarked to me, in fun, "You've had such a lot of
schoolmasters and professors in your paper. I do not think they're
particularly interesting. How should I do for a change?"
[Illustration: 1892. CANON AINGER (MASTER OF THE TEMPLE).]
[Illustration: 16TH MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER.
_"(Cap of Maintenance." Premier Marquis.)_]
[Illustration: ARCHDEACON WILBERFORCE. 1909.]
I privately decided that the suggestion was an excellent one, and as
it had not yet occurred to me in those days to ask my subject to sit
to me, I lost no time in observing him as he talked and made a mental
note of every trait and peculiarity. After his departure I immediately
made a caricature and sent it off to _Vanity Fair_.
The next time Lord Torrington came to Windsor he failed to make his
customary call upon my mother, who met him some time afterwards in the
neighbourhood.
"How is it, Lord Torrington," she asked after the usual polite
formalities, "that you have not been to see me?"
"Because, Mrs. Ward," he replied in deeply offended tones, "I
shouldn't be responsible for my actions if your son were in the
house."
"Then," said my mother, reassuringly, "I'll take good care if he is
there next time, that he shall be locked in his room!"
To which he replied, "Even that assurance does not satisfy me!" And
true to his word, he never called again.
I have always considered one of my best early caricatures to be that
of the Rev. Dr. Goodford, Provost of Eton, whom I stalked in the High
Street. I had remembered him, of course, when a small boy at Eton as
Headmaster. When he saw the caricature he protested rather indignantly
against my having depicted him with his umbrella over his shoulder--on
the grounds that it was not his habit to walk in this way. A short
time after the publication of the cartoon he was passing down the High
Street with his wife when his reflection caught his eye in Ingleton
Drake's shop-window, and he stopped suddenly to gaze in astonishment
at what he saw therein. Running after Mrs. Goodford, who had walked
on oblivious of his distraction, he exclaimed, "My dear ... 'Spy' was
quite right after all--I do walk with my umbrella over my shoulder."
In later days when caricatures made way for characteristic portraiture
I frequently met, for the first time, men whom I had "stalked" in
earlier days. On one occasion I called upon a dignitary of the Church
who had arranged to give me sittings. As I commenced to work he gave
his opinions upon artists of the day, and he referred to a caricature
of himself that had appeared in _Vanity Fair_.
"I can't think who did it," he said distastefully, "but it was a
horrid thing. I'll show it to you."
Calling his secretary, he asked that the offending drawing should be
found. The search, however, proved unsuccessful, at which fact I need
not say that I was greatly relieved. I suggested to the reverend
gentleman that I would rather he did _not_ discover it at all! "But
why?" said he. "It is the best I ever saw." It had been intended for a
caricature, and the Bishop's friends had been unanimous in proclaiming
it to be in every way typical, and not over-caricatured.
* * * * *
Some of my subjects had fixed ideas as to their own characteristics. I
remember I was bent on doing Dr. Welldon, then Headmaster of Harrow,
in profile, but he suddenly wheeled round on his heel and remarked, as
if in explanation, "I always look my boys straight in the face." I
endeavoured to persuade him to return to his former position. "You
must imagine your boys over there," I explained, pointing to a
distant spot on a far horizon, and the plan worked well.
[Illustration: REV. J. L. JOYNES
(Lower Master, Eton.)
1887.]
[Illustration: DR WARRE CORNISH
(Vice Provost of Eton)
1901.]
[Illustration: DR GOODFORD
(Provost of Eton)
1876.]
I took the opportunity of informing him that I sketched him in 1874,
whilst studying the game of football at "the wall" at Eton, for a
full-page drawing which the _Graphic_ had commissioned me to execute.
Mr. Frank Tarver refreshed my memory on all the points to enable me to
be accurate, and afterwards at his request the team posed and Welldon
was one of the group. Mr. Frank Tarver also wrote the letterpress
which accompanied the picture.
While Dr. Walker, Headmaster of St. Paul's, was posing to me in cap
and gown, he puffed a huge cigar, and I asked him if he smoked when he
was interviewing his boys.
"Oh yes," he replied, "not in class of course, but always in my study,
even when the boys are there. I smoke when the boys happen to come in;
as you see, a good big one, too!"
For many years, most of my time was employed either in making
portraits, stalking a possible caricature, or travelling to the most
likely or unlikely places to pursue a "wanted" subject for _Vanity
Fair_. My work greatly extended my list of acquaintances, and often I
found business and pleasure strangely bound together in one's daily
life and occupation, and sometimes a little incongruously.
On one occasion I was due to stay with my old friends Mr. and Mrs.
George Fox (now Mrs. Dashwood) in order to study the Bishop of
Lichfield with a view to making a drawing of him. The night before I
was the guest at the never-to-be-forgotten supper given in honour of
Jan Van Beers, the Belgian artist, an exhibition of whose remarkable
work at one of the Bond Street galleries was just then arousing great
interest. Van Beers was a delightful man and a clever artist, but
although he could originate and portray the most extraordinary ideas,
it is not by the weird and eccentric creations, but by his light and
humorous work, that he is still remembered. When I was talking of him
with Sir Alma Tadema, he remarked that it was a pity such unusual
talent should be thrown away on such frivolous and unworthy subjects.
The suggestion of the supper came in the first place, from Sir John
Aird, a patron of Van Beers'; and, as Sir John wished it to be a
unique entertainment, he felt he could not do better than leave its
arrangement to the originality of Van Beers himself.
Van Beers called on me some little time before the date, and asked me
if I could collect a number of both my own and Pellegrini's
caricatures, including those of several of the expected guests, so
that slides might be made from them to throw upon a sheet with the aid
of a lantern; and, after some difficulty, I found the right people to
do the work.
The supper from beginning to end was proved to be a gigantic surprise.
As the midnight hour struck, the very representative gathering, very
hungry and expectant, sat down at the long and charming decorated
tables. Everywhere the eye rested on the most dazzling arrangements.
Exquisite lights illuminated the room, charmingly assorted
glass-flowers diffusing the electricity, which at that period was a
decided novelty and only just becoming popular. Our sense of
expectancy was titillated to the uttermost by the alternating lights
thrown upon the scene from different angles, and the soup, which
seemed somewhat tardy in making its appearance, was welcomed. For a
moment all was in darkness, until suddenly a lurid glow arose in the
weirdest manner from the table, which was discovered to be made
entirely of glass covered with a very transparent table cloth. The
bright light coming up from beneath gave the assembled guests a
ghastly and weird appearance, accentuated no doubt by our increasing
hunger. When the general illumination appeared once more and
normalities were, so to speak, resumed, an excellent menu began to
make things go. Between each course there was a fresh surprise in the
form of a novelty entertainment--principally musical. From one corner
of the room came an angelic voice singing a selection from an opera,
which led to a discussion as to the identity of the singer who proved
to be Melba. Then came Hollman, the 'cellist, followed by Florence St.
John, who gave us a cheerful song from a comic opera. One bright
particular star followed another until by degrees everything glowed.
In the midst of the repast a monster pie was brought in and placed
opposite Alma Tadema (who was in the chair). He cut it, and to our
delighted astonishment countless little birds flew out in all
directions alighting here there and everywhere, as though to complete
the delightful scheme of decoration, whilst with one accord they
seemed to burst into exquisite song. Toasts followed and suitable
speeches, the artists joined the general company and were individually
thanked for the pleasure they had given. It had been arranged that the
caricatures should appear earlier in the evening, but owing to a
mistake on the part of the operator they arrived as the last item of
the evening's entertainment, and after such an excellent supper, in
which the wines were truly worthy of the perfect quality of the fare,
the assembly could hardly be expected to crane their necks very far
back in search of the caricatures of familiar faces thrown by the
lantern-slides upon the ceiling. And in any case, to my mind, the
effect was spoiled by the exaggerated angle at which they were
reflected.
After the coffee the party broke up about three o'clock. I had
arranged to leave London by the five o'clock train for Lichfield, so
had engaged a bedroom at the Euston Hotel in order to lose no time in
changing. I went to bed and slept soundly for over an hour, was duly
aroused, caught my train and arrived at Elmhurst, the residence of Mr.
and Mrs. George Fox, in time for early breakfast.
The Lichfield festival was being held at the time of my visit, and
there was a great gathering of the clergy and their wives. I attended
a very fine service in the Cathedral, after which Mrs. Maclagan (the
Bishop's wife) gave a big luncheon party to which I had been invited.
My main object was to make a cartoon of the Bishop of Lichfield for
Mrs. Maclagan, who was determined that a cartoon of her husband should
appear in _Vanity Fair_. She did her utmost to persuade him to give me
sittings, but he was very reluctant and not to be cajoled, so she gave
me this opportunity to observe him, and placed me near him at the
luncheon table. There were scarcely any laymen present, indeed I
believe that Mr. Fox and I were the only men present not "of the
cloth"; and nearly all the clergymen had come to the festival from a
distance. My name got mixed up with that of a decidedly important
parson who was announced as Mr. Leslie Ward--not altogether to his
satisfaction I fear.
Mrs. Maclagan being a perfect hostess, had chosen me an admirable
companion, a lady who started the conversation by asking me which
plays I had seen in London. I gathered she had been intending to go on
the stage, previous to her marriage, but she had become a Dean's wife
and devoted her talents to charity performances and "drew in the
shekels" for the Church. I had a very enjoyable lunch, a charming _vis
a vis_, and an excellent subject in view.
I prolonged my visit to await the return of the Dean of Lichfield, Dr.
Bickersteth, who was absent. As he did not return at the expected date
I gave up the idea and hope of seeing him for the time being, but on
my return journey, to my great delight, the Dean was on the platform
and _en route_ for some local station. I got into the same carriage,
and was able to take a good look at him. He was a very good subject,
and made an excellent caricature.
When I decided to give my attention to the Rev. R. J. Campbell I
studied him closely at the City Temple. On my return I drew him in
every sort of way but could not satisfy myself, for he had so many
gestures and different attitudes, and when he works himself up and
droops over the pulpit "fearless but intemperate" he looks rather like
a gargoyle. Not long after I had succeeded in caricaturing him to my
satisfaction, I met him at one of Sir Henry Lucy's delightful luncheon
parties, where, after the ladies had left the dining-room, I sat next
him, and in the course of conversation, gathered that he thought I had
hit him rather hard.
"Well, Mr. Campbell, the caricature was done before I met you," I
said, jestingly. "Had I known you I couldn't have done such a cruel
thing." On parting he said, "If you ever caricature me again I shall
expect you to be kind, so I needn't feel frightened of you in future."
When I sketched the Very Rev. Hermann Adler (the Chief Rabbi) I
visited him at his house. While I was engrossed in my subject, his
daughters came to see how the caricature was progressing.
"Oh, father!" they exclaimed, "it's just like you."
"How dare you! I'll cut you both out of my will," threatened the
Rabbi, in mock anger.
Cardinal Vaughan I "stalked" and made many a note of before he sat to
me. He usually wore an Inverness cape, and his finely cut features I
found both attractive and impressive, but I could always see the
making of a caricature in them.
I had stalked and sketched Dr. Benson, Archbishop of Canterbury,
before he sat to me at Lambeth Palace. When I was drawing his son, Mr.
A. C. Benson (then a Master at Eton), I showed him a little portrait
sketch of his father, which pleased him so much that I gave it to him,
but I have always regretted that I did not make an equestrian picture
as he seems most familiar to me on horseback.
On many occasions my subjects have been particularly friendly and
delightful in aiding me in my work, and sometimes extending their
kindness across the boundary of professional moments. I remember a
very delightful hour spent with Dr. Armitage Robinson--a subject in a
thousand--when Dean of Westminster. He was astonishingly well up in
Abbey lore, and together we visited chapels and crypts and strange
hidden places which I feel sure must be practically unknown to the
majority of visitors. When I heard he was leaving Westminster for
Wells I felt an artist's regret that anything less imperative than
death should have been permitted to disturb the impression of this
picturesque Abbot in the peculiarly appropriate setting of old
Westminster.
[Illustration: _Studies from memory._
REV. R. J. CAMPBELL.
1904.]
The finest and handsomest young athlete I ever drew as an
undergraduate was R. B. Etherington-Smith, known to his intimates as
"Ethel." He was rapidly making his mark as a surgeon, and his sad and
untimely death was deplored by every one who knew him.
Among the cricketers I first caricatured F. R. Spofforth--the demon
bowler--followed by W. G. Grace and C. B. Fry, whom I portrayed as a
runner. John Loraine Baldwin, the veteran cricketer, I introduced into
the series in his self-propelling invalid chair; he was a very fine
old man, and the founder of the "Zingari," and also of the Baldwin
Club.
Philipson, the distinguished wicket-keeper, I induced to stand in his
rooms at the Temple as though keeping wicket; and Ranjitsinhji I
closely observed playing cricket at Brighton, after finding it very
difficult to keep him up to the mark with his appointments.
If I were to mention all my subjects in their various professions, I
should fill more space than I am permitted, but among other well-known
cricketers whom I have portrayed and caricatured are G. L. Jessop,
Lord Harris, Ivo Bligh (Lord Darnley), George Hirst, F. S. Jackson,
and Lord Hawke.
But amongst my pleasantest recollections are those of the
university-rowing men with whom I came in close contact, for in every
way possible they extended their hospitality to me, and I shall always
remember with pleasure my visits to Oxford and Cambridge especially
during the rowing season.
When studying Muttlebury, known as "Muttle," while instructing his
eight on horseback from the bank, he provided me with a mount at the
same time, to enable me to watch him in the capacity of a coach. I had
a final glimpse of him, however, practising rowing on the floor of his
room. My visits were usually referred to in the _Granta_, and a
considerable amount of chaff was indulged in at my expense. On this
particular visit when I went down to draw Mr. Muttlebury the following
appeared under the heading of "Motty Notes!"
"Mr. Leslie Ward ('Spy' of _Vanity Fair_) came up on Monday to take
Mr. Muttlebury's portrait, which is to appear in _Vanity Fair_ just
before the Boat Race. The question how to make it most characteristic
will be a difficult one to settle. Certainly if our mighty President
is sketched in a rowing attitude, it would scarcely be a case of all
skittles and straight lines. Mr. Ward rode down with the crew, and is
said to have been much impressed with the romantic beauty of our broad
and rapid river, which he thought it would be quite impossible to
caricature adequately.
"He was also struck with the colleges, and catching sight of the new
buildings of Jesus from the common, said it was a fine house, and
inquired who lived there.(!)
"On Tuesday morning, Mr. Muttlebury submitted to the torture. Left
sitting."
[Illustration: F. R. SPOFFORTH (DEMON BOWLER) 1878.]
I very frequently travelled to Cambridge with Mr. "Rudy" Lehmann,
whose reputation as a rowing coach--both for his own University, as
well as Oxford and Harvard--is so widely known as to make further
comment superfluous. He was the originator of the _Granta_ and is on
the staff of _Punch_, for which journal one of his best known and most
amusing contributions was a skit purporting to be from the Emperor
William to Queen Victoria. As a man of letters he has made his mark.
He is the father of a very fine little boy who should make a
reputation as an oar, and follow in the footsteps of his distinguished
father.
When I arrived in Cambridge on one of many occasions after a visit at
Oxford where I had gone with the object of producing C. M. Pitman for
_Vanity Fair_, I discovered the contemporary number of the _Granta_
had again been on my track and chaffed me more than ever; as I was on
excellent terms with the authors of that publication, I took their
friendly "digs" in the spirit they were intended. Here is a further
specimen of their humorous prose:
"Mr. Leslie Ward has turned up again to gather his usual crop of
caricatures for _Vanity Fair_. Mr. Pitman[6] is to suffer first, I
understand. Last year I think I informed you how Mr. Ward borrowed a
cap and gown in order to attend the lectures of Professor Robinson
Ellis[7] whom he was commissioned to draw; and I have no doubt he will
go through adventures just as surprising on his present visit.
"On arriving in Oxford last Monday, Mr. Ward remembered that some
years ago he had breakfasted in certain rooms in King Edward Street,
with a friend whose name he had forgotten. He therefore concluded
that these must be the lodgings of the President of the O.U.B.O.
Imagine his astonishment after he had driven there, when he was
informed that Mr. Pitman had never occupied the rooms. Eventually,
however, he ran his victim down at 155, High Street.
"Mr. Ward's next proceedings were characteristic of his amiable
nature. At the bottom of the stairs he dropped his gloves, at the top
of the stairs he dropped his stick, and in the room itself he dropped
his hat. Having recovered all his scattered property, he took off his
coat, and in doing so distributed over the floor a considerable
fortune in loose gold and silver and copper, which for greater
security he had placed in one of the outside pockets of his garment.
Great and resounding was the fall thereof, but Mr. Ward, on having his
attention called to the fact, merely observed with an easy
carelessness that marks the true artist, that he thought he had heard
something fall but wasn't sure.
"On being asked what other celebrities besides Mr. Pitman he proposed
to draw, he declared that he had all the names written down on a piece
of paper. Up to the present, however, though Mr. Ward had looked for
it in the most unlikely places, this piece of paper has defied every
effort to find it. Is it true, by the way, that once when on a visit
to Cambridge, Mr. Ward who was staying at 'The Hoop,' wandered into
the 'Blue Boar' and insisted, in spite of the landlady's despairing
efforts to persuade him to the contrary, that he had slept there on
the previous night and wanted to be shown his room, as the staircase
had somehow become unfamiliar to him?"
[Illustration: 1896. SAM LOATES.]
[Illustration: 1884. ARTHUR COVENTRY.]
[Illustration: FRANK WOOTTON. 1909.]
[Illustration: FORDHAM. 1882.]
Returning in the train, from one of my visits to the "Varsity," I fell
asleep and passed the junction where I should have changed. I awoke,
hearing a noise overhead, followed by the disappearance of the lamps,
a fact that I did not pay much attention to, imagining they were being
replenished. These sounds were followed by a clinking of chains and
sudden jerks, which usually accompany the process of shunting, and
which I thought meant that another train was being coupled to the one
I occupied. A complete silence followed, and after a short interval--I
was alone in the carriage--I opened the window and looked out, and
discovered that my carriage and its immediate neighbours, had been
shunted into a siding for the night. I was feeling extremely cold and
did not care to risk a walk of an exploring nature, as express trains
kept flashing by and the night was dark. Presently I saw men with
lamps passing by some distance away, and by dint of shouting loudly, I
attracted the attention of a porter, who called out when he saw me--
"What are you doin' there? Get out of that!"
"I shall be only too delighted," I said, when he approached. "I've
been here for an hour."
I felt cold and simply furious. However, I followed the porter very
gingerly over the rails to the station, where I had to wait a long
time, and finally arrived in London at an unearthly hour. Since then I
have been very wary of sleeping in trains.