SPORTING NOVELS.
Amongst the many books illustrated by Leech are some sporting novels,
written, I think, by a Mr. Surtees. "Ask Mamma," "Handley Cross," "Plain
or Ringlets," "Mr. Romford's Hounds," etc., owe their origin to this
prolific gentleman. As these works are ornamented by coloured steel
engravings and innumerable woodcuts by Leech, it has been my duty to
look into them; read them, I cannot. I hope if the author is still
living he will attribute my want of appreciation to a want of sympathy
with his heroes and heroines, though I admit, in the portions I have
read, that he shows considerable humour as well as power in expressing
it. This, from one who knows his own ignorance of the subject in
question, should be gratifying to Mr. Surtees.
Though to my mind Leech is quite at his best in "Pictures of Life and
Character," there are examples of his powers in all these books which
quite justify my selection of some of them for the gratification of my
readers. "Mr. Romford's Hounds" is "embellished" with twenty-five large
steel plates, in one of which a certain Mr. Facey, who has a charming
Miss Lucy for his hunting companion, is checked by an obstacle which
causes him to exclaim to Lucy, "Dash it! this is a rum customer," "as he
stood in his stirrups, looking at what was on the far side."
"Oh, throw your heart over it," said Lucy, "and then follow it as
quickly as you can."
"Heart!" muttered Facey. "I shall never find it again if I do. It would
be like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay."
"Let _me_ try, then," said Lucy.
It would be difficult indeed to surpass the beauty of the girl's figure
in this drawing, exquisitely drawn, true in character and action as it
is. Mr. Facey's expression, too, exactly conveys the idea that the
longer he looks at the awkward place the less he likes it. The
horses--notably the action of the one ridden by the young lady--are in
every way admirable. The background, with a few slight touches, gives us
a stretch of country--a withered tree, a flock of birds, and the cloudy
sky, with no doubt the southerly wind that "proclaims the hunting
morning."
"Mr. Romford's Hounds" gives us another sportsman, who rejoices in the
name of Muffington. This gentleman is possessed for the moment of a
horse called, or, rather, miscalled, Placid Joe, whose former name, Pull
Devil, seems better-suited to his propensities, as shown in the drawing,
in which Placid Joe has taken the bit between his teeth, to the
discomfiture of Mr. Muffington. From the following telegram it would
seem that Placid Joe had been borrowed for the day's hunting. Thus it
ran:
"Mr. Martin Muffington, at the White Swan, Showoffborough, to Mr.
Green, Brown Street, Bagnigge Wells Road, London.
"That brute Placid Joe has no more mouth than a bull. He's carried
me right into the midst of the hounds, and nearly annihilated the
huntsman. I will send him back by the 9.30 a.m. train to-morrow,
and won't pay you a halfpenny for his hire."
The character of Mr. Muffington, together with his action as he tugs in
vain at Placid Joe, are admirable; but the horse, good as it is in
action, appears to me less well proportioned than Leech's horses almost
invariably are, the head and neck being too small. But what could
surpass the huntsman and his steed just recovering from the "cannoning"
received from Placid Joe? The scattered hounds, the riders behind, and
the landscape leave nothing to be desired.
"Plain or Ringlets" contains twelve coloured plates and no less than
forty-three woodcuts. Judging from a slight acquaintance with the
letterpress and a careful study of the illustrations in this book, I
find that the author deals less exclusively with the feats of the hunter
than in "Mr. Romford's Hounds"; shooting, racing, etc., are allowed to
figure prominently, and the pursuit of "lovely woman"--in which there
seem to be as many false scents and heavy falls as beset the chasing of
the fox--plays an important part in "Plain or Ringlets." Unlike the
policeman's, I have often thought that the riding-master's life must "be
a happy one." I am borne out in this, I think, by the illustration, in
which Leech is delightfully at home. Says our author:
"Smiling, cantering bevies of beauties, with their shining hair in gold
or silver beaded nets, and party-coloured feathers in their jaunty
little hats, alone imparted energy to the scene as they tit-tupped along
with quickly following tramp, led by the most magnificent and affable of
riding-masters, who thus advertise their studs, just as Howes and
Cushing advertise their grand United States Circus. Bless us, what a
pace some of them go!"
What life and motion there are in this group! How is it, by what occult
influence do we find those two lovely creatures right and left of the
riding-master, instead of one place of honour being reserved for the
stout middle-aged lady, who, strange to say, seems quite contented with
her position? I don't believe those two girls want any teaching, for do
they not sit their horses with perfect grace, as safely at home in their
saddles as they would be in one of the lounges in their drawing-rooms,
which either of them would fill so charmingly? Look what pretty
creatures the magician Leech can call up for us by a few scratches of
his pencil, in the rear of this cantering procession!
The Duke of Tergiversation (Phoebus, what a name!), says the author of
"Plain or Ringlets," found on inheriting his estate that "the life had
been eaten out of it" before the death of his father put him in
possession of his ancestral property. The Duke, however, seems to have
made the acquaintance of a banker, named Goldspink, who yielded to his
persuasions and promises to the extent of allowing his aristocratic
customer to overdraw his account to such a formidable amount as
seriously to imperil the stability of the bank. Mr. Goldspink then seeks
an interview with his Grace, which the Duke, after endeavouring by all
sorts of shifts to avoid, was at length compelled to grant.
"Ah, my dear Mr. Goldspink!" exclaimed the Duke, advancing with
outstretched hands and all the cheerful cordiality imaginable as our
"crab-actioned" friend followed the smoothly-gliding butler, Mr.
Garnett, into the presence. "Ah, my dear Goldspink, this is indeed most
kind and considerate! First neighbour that has come to greet us. How,
may I ask, is your worthy wife and your excellent son?" taking both the
banker's hands and shaking them severely.
The banker makes a mental calculation of the Duke's liabilities, with a
clear understanding that "his Grace is on the gammon-and-spinach tack,"
and then says:
"Thank your Grace--his Grace--my Grace--that is to say--they are both
pretty well. Hope the Duchess and Lord Marchhare----"
"The Duchess and Marchhare are both at this moment enjoying a quiet cup
of tea in her pretty little boudoir, where, I am sure, they will be most
happy to see Mr. Goldspink," said the Duke, motioning him to the
gilt-moulded white door opposite.
This cut seems to me to show Leech's power of marking the difference of
character in the persons represented in a degree noticeable by the most
ordinary observer. The Duke is an aristocrat from top to toe; the
insincerity of his welcome even is apparent; while the squat and
"crab-like" figure of the banker is no less true to nature; his delight
at shaking hands with a Duke making him forget for the moment the
serious issues dependent upon the interview.
At the eleventh hour I find myself forbidden to show my readers any of
the admirable drawings which illustrate this book.