-1

YALE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

Confessions of a Caricaturist.
With Numerous Illustrations, many made specially
for this work. New and Popular Edition. One
Vol., medium 8vo, cloth, 10/6 net.

LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.

THE JUDGMENT OF THE PLASTEB OF PABIS, BY SIB EDWIN BURNE-JONES. FBOM
MY EOYAL ACADEMY "AN ABTISTIO JOKE."

HARRY FURNISS AT HOME

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY HIMSELF

LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE • 1904

(All rights reserved.)

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A well-known judge was once persuaded to deliver an
address upon the subject of Humour, and prefaced his
discourse by saying that he should divide it into two parts :
first, Theoretical Humour, and second, Practical Humour.
Theoretical Humour, he explained, was exemplified in the
telling of humorous stories and hon mots. " This," he
continued, " I shall endeavour to do in the first part of
my address ; but Practical Humour must take a concrete
form. If, for instance, I were, during the interval, to slip
off quietly and leave you here, confidently expecting my
return — well, that would be practical humour."
The address was a great success, and the audience was
convulsed with laughter. A particularly brilliant tale
finished the first part of the programme, and the orator
bounded off the stage accompanied by a storm of applause.
The ten minutes' interval allowed by customary usage
passed quickly, and expectation was at its height. If the
first part of the address was so good, what might they not
expect from the latter portion ? A quarter of an hour
elapsed, and the people began to grow fidgety ; another five
minutes, and they began to show their impatience by
stamping their feet, clapping their hands, and calling for

viii PREFACE
the speaker's return. Was he ill? Had he fainted?
What could be the matter ?
It was not till after nearly half an hour had passed that
the truth dawned upon them. In order to exemplify the
practical side of humour, the professor had done just what
he had told them he might do, under the circumstances,
in illustration of the subject ; and was, no doubt, at that
moment sitting comfortably at home in his study enjoying
his pipe.
Two years ago I was induced by Mr. Fisher Unwin to
give my " Confessions," which he published in two hand
some volumes ; and now, just as I am enjoying reading the
confessions of others, over a cigar, in my studio, he comes
to inform me that the public are waiting for my return.
Well, that is a practical illustration of their humour, and
it shows that my theoretical confessions, which ran through
two editions, have been a success. This is my apology—
not for keeping you waiting, for it has yet to be proved that
Mr. Unwin is justified in disturbing my peace and yours—
but, for fulfilling a promise, made by me in the preface to
my first confessions. There I wrote :
" Do not let any Editor imagine that these pages are
my professional obituary — my autobiography. ... I am in
my forties, and there is quite time for me to prepare and
publish two more volumes of " Confessions," and many
other things, before I am fifty."
Among other things I have to confess to having done,
since then, is the writing of my first novel ; which
theoretical confessions I have put on one side, for the
moment, to produce these practical ones. That I, a cari
caturist, should have committed such an offence (as no
doubt my jury of critics will regard it), while still in my

PREFACE ix
forties, reminds me of an incident that happened at the Old
Bailey some years ago.
A prisoner, on trial for his life, stood in the dock keenly
watching the jury take their seats, after considering their
verdict. In one hand he held a pen ; in the other some
official-looking papers. The very moment the fatal word
"Cuilty" passed the foreman's lips, and before the judge
could put on the black cap, the culprit wrote his name at
the end of the document, and threw it to his friends. Once
sentence had been passed, the signature would have been
useless. This was running matters pretty close.
In my case, the jury — composed of the public — has
found me guilty of successfully killing time, or helping
others to kill theirs. I sign my name just in time to keep
my promise, and now entrust these " Further Confessions,"
to your tender care. HAEEY FUENISS.
March 25, 1904.

1a

CONTENTS

CHAPTEE I
THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES

A Frank Compliment — Toby, M.P. — Happy-thought go-lucky Records — Arthur
W. a Beckett's Cook — Blowitz's Hat — " Clothes-Horsley " — Kerrisms —
Plowdenisms — Justin McCarthy — The G.O.M. — Lord Tennyson and the
Critic — "Crimean Simpson" — "Who said Belt?" — Cecil Rhodes and the
late Queen  . pp. 1 — 24

CHAPTER II
ON CARICATURES
Does Ridicule Kill? — Dizzy — "Bobby" Lowe — John Stuart Mill — Ayrton —
George Wyndham — My Prophecy — Eccentricity, a Hint to Public Men — Sir
E. Burne- Jones — Monsieur "Erbure" — Puzzled by Changes — Sir Douglas
Straights-Professor Herkomer as a Mesmerist — Onslow Ford's Statue — His
Sitter — Under Eire — " Ragging " — A One-eyed Samoli — A Mesmerised
Advertisement — What is a Model? — Some Further Confessions About
Models . .  . pp. 25—58

CHAPTER III
LAMPOONS, CARICATURES, AND CARTOONS pp. 59 — 78
CHAPTER IV
" LONDON LAUGHTER "
A Light Heart — A Heavy Task — A Scare — Seats to Let — Bang Goes Two
Thousand Pounds — Her Majesty Laughs — Where the Joke comes from
— " The King in Danger " — No Coronation — The Printers' Joke — Joseph
Hatton — My Mark Tapley — The Coronation Cloak — The New Zealander —
The King still Growing — Street Hoardings — Stumped at Lord's — Laughter in
Court — An Unspeakable Scot — London in the Dumps . . pp. 79 — 106

xii CONTENTS CHAPTER V
FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS
My Start—" The Humours of Parliament "—Rehearsing—" Peace with Humour "
—Fog— A Special Train— Mr. Israel Zangwill acts as my Understudy— Hosts
—High-tea— Corney Grain— The Torture Chamber— Plum-duff— Eccentric
Guests— The Rev. Haweis— Advertising— My Astronomy— Sir Robert Ball
—A Telegram— A Doncaster Dummy— " Hear 1 hear 1 "—Lord Randolph
Churchill as a Mummy— My Lantern— A Capital Joke . pp. 107—154

CHAPTER VI
A SATIRIST AS SEEN BY A CARICATURIST
;Max O'Rell" — His Popularity in the Land of the Enemy— His Sensitiveness
to Criticism — A Humorous Incident in the Commune — The Essence of His
Wit— An Encounter with a British Female — Master and Man pp. 155—174

CHAPTER VII
ON SOME SPORTS
Cricket Maniac — Lord's — " To the Editor of the Times " — A Snap-shot —
Ladies at Lord's — To those about to Establish Golf Clubs — Rival Interests —
Selfish Interests — Speeches, Letters, Opposition, Misrepresentations — "Le
Golf "—American Golf— The Golf Widow— The Golf Club— A Great Contest,
"Black v. White" — Sir Henry Irving on Prize-fighters — Boxing v. Football
—I Fall Foul of the Sporting Press— The Antipathy of Pwnch pp. 175—216

CHAPTER VIII
ON " SPOOKS "
A Criticism and My Comment— " Blubb " Friday— The Pall Mall Gazette's
Humour — Andrew Lang — W. E. Gladstone — "Spooks" — My Evil Eye —
Cadgers — The 25 -cent Piece — "The Brave Thirteen '—Lord Roberts-
Marshall Hall, K.C., M.P.— A Plea for the Children . . pp. 217—236

CHAPTER IX
A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY
Pen Pictures : Whitaker Wright— The " Kiffir Boom " — The Athenaeum City
Club— Ups and Downs— City Signs— Slumming— Barny Barnato— A City
Dinner — Music after Meals — Blue Coat boys . . . »». 237  252

CONTENTS

xm

CHAPTER X
AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM
The Definition of an Autograph — Dan Leno's Joke — The American Form — Cousin
Harry — Sir Alexander Mackenzie's — George Grossmith's — At Tennis — At
Lord's — "Miss May Melrose" — My Confession — How I Drew the Public
— "Cheek" — 3,000 in 17 Volumes! — Suspicious Hunters — A Humorous
Hunter  pp. 253—271

THE JUDGMENT OF THE PLASTER OF PARIS,
BY SIR EDWARD BURNE-JONES. FROM
MY ROYAL ACADEMY "AN ARTISTIC
joke " Frontispiece PAGE
LADY GODIVA
" AW — AW  '
TRIAL BY MAGISTRATE .
"AIN'T SHE A BEAUTY?
CRIMEAN SIMPSON
AFTER AN INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN
JOHN STUART MILL
MR. WYNDHAM. MY FIRST CARICATURE
HIM
MR. WYNDHAM. MY LAST CARICATURE
HIM
A GERMAN CARICATURE
JABEZ !
BURNE-JONES
MR. HALL CAINE
ONSLOW FORD'S SITTER
A SAMOLI " SITTER " .
A MESMERISED MODEL .
MY MODEL FOR "AN ENGLISH GIRL " .

7 9
1119
22
232931

"GET WELL PAID FOR DOING NOTHING
THE GERMAN BAND ...
THE FISCAL SWORD OF DAMOCLES
A CARTOON. CHAMBERLAIN TO THE RESCUE
A CARICATURE. JOHN BULL TO THE RESCUE
A CARICATURE. " THE PRESS GANG " XV

3233
36394146484950
52546164
65 74

XVI

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A CARTOON. " THE DOCTOR
A CARICATURE. "THE DOCTOR"
COMIC LORD CHARLES
CIGARETTE PAPERS .
MACAULAY'S NEW ZEALANDER
CRICKET . ...
TOG IN THE COMMONS
DRAWING THE HOUSE OF COMMONS FOR MY " HUMOURS OF PARLIAMENT
MY INVITATION ....
THE MEMBER FOR GATESHEAD .
CORNEY GRAIN AND CHAFF
MY HOST 
PEACE ! 
J. LAWRENCE GANE .
A DONCASTER DUMMY
ONE OF THE AUDIENCE
MY NIGHTMARE ....
WHERE THE LAUGH CAME IN
" MAX O'RELL " .
OIL AND WATER
PUZZLE — FIND MAX O'RELL
MARK TWAIN AND MAX O'RELL .
" PUIR BEAST 1 "
A PICNIC AT LORD'S .
CAUGHT 1 
" BUNKERED AGAIN 1 "
A LADY GOLFER
ENGLAND ! . . .
A LESSON IN GOLF
MY CADDIE ....
" IDIOTS 1 " . .
mr. balfour as a golfer
by a rival caricaturist .
the great contest. black and white at the
May 30, 1892 ....
the thirteen club banquet .
A CADGER 
AFTER THE "HOUSE" CLOSES .
" THE CLUB ".....
"BARNEY"
BARNATO . .
CITY ELOQUENCE
"AH, LOVE I " 
THE AMERICAN STYLE
SHARPER .....
MR. GEORGE GROSSMITH'S AUTOGRAPH
A YOUNG AUTOGRAPH HUNTER .
SHARPER 
" MISS MAY MELROSE " .

CLUB,

PAGE 7677828995
102 114 116
119121125126131 135
145147151 153
160162164 168
171181184186187 188
192 193
204205206210224 230
241 242
243 243246249256260 261 262
263 264

CHAPTER I
THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES

HARRY FURNISS AT HOME

CHAPTER I
THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES
A Prank Compliment — Toby, M.P. — Happy-thought-go-lucky Records —
Arthur W. a Beckett's Cook — Blowitz's Hat — " Clothes- Horsley " —
Kerrisms — Plowdenisms — Justin McCarthy — The G.O.M. — Lord
Tennyson and the Critic — " Crimean Simpson " — " Who said Belt? "—
Cecil Rhodes and the late Queen. I was standing in the hall of
the Grarrick Club, one afternoon,
towards the close of last year,
(1903), when a member came up to
me and said :
" By the way, I have just been
to my dentist, and while waiting to be
operated upon, I was looking over
back numbers of Punch; and I must
tell you how much I enjoyed your
work. I laughed heartily over your
Parliamentary designs — some of the
very best things that ever appeared in Punch.
I thanked my fellow-member for his flattering remarks,
and I felt it necessary to take a little walk, to hide my
blushes and restore my habitual sense of modesty. As soon
as I recovered, I burst out laughing. At that moment
a friend stopped me.

4 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
"You seem highly amused at something," said he.
"What is it— the latest joke? "
" No, the latest compliment ; serious, I assure you.
And then I repeated what had just been said to me, and
gave him three guesses in which to find the name of my
flatterer. He failed to hit upon the right one, so I told him.
"Well, I never!" he ejaculated, with a laugh. "That is
too funny for words."
The same thing happened when I told other acquaint
ances. Not one guessed rightly ; so I imagine none of my
readers will either. I shall therefore give the name, in full :
Sir Frank Cowley Charles Mary Burnand, Editor of Punch.
When Sir Frank's "Records and Reminiscences" were
published, I thought that he would, probably, disclose
more confessions of the thoughts suggested by his visit to
his dentist's, and that he might, possibly, give some clue to
this one. But I extracted nothing bearing upon the matter
from either volume. Yet he evidently made another dis
covery, about Punch, when waiting for his dentist. For in
writing of Toby, M.P., in his newly published "Records," he
states that H. W. Lucy (Toby, M.P.), was lucky in having
me as an illustrator, and adds, (after paying a like compli
ment to my excellent friend and successor, E. T. Reed), that
I left Punch for reasons best known to myself. As if Sir
Frank Burnand hadn't been my anything but heavy father
when I, in consequence of his match-making, jilted other
suitors and gave my hand to Lucy, at the altar of Punch ;
and as if he were not well aware why there was a divorce of
that long and happy union!
Mention of this Happy -Thought -go -lucky Editor's
"Kecords," brings me back to Punch days, and therefore
to old stories.
There is an American tale of a marriage in New York
that I will give, as it seems applicable to my ex-Editor,
Burnand. It is generally known that ceremonies of the kind, in
the United States, are very showy spectacles, but somewhat

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 5
slipshod in regard to orthodox details. In this case, the
clergyman paused, at the point at which the bride should
be handed over, by her father or guardian, to the man
about to become her husband. As no one came forward,
and learning from the bridegroom that she knew of no
one present, at the moment, to undertake this particular
task, the clergyman raised his voice and asked :
" Is there any one present who can give this young-
woman away? "
After some minutes of silence, a young man, at the back
of the church, stood up and said :
" Waal, I guess I could give that young lady away, — but
I shan't." Well, I could give Sir Frank away, but I shan't— till my
next volumes, which will be devoted entirely to the period
daring which I was wedded — not particularly to Lucy, but
to Punch,, under the genial editorship of Burnand.
The readings of the confessions of others revives
memories of one's own experiences in the past. The mere
mention of a place, or the name of some old friend, will give
the reader food for an hour's reflection, if left undisturbed
by his dentist or friends.
As I am still in my forties, it is plain I cannot go so
far back as can Sir Frank Burnand, and his early contem
poraries, who write about a period including the days when
I had not a tooth in my head; and subsequent days of
innocence, before the canines came through, or the inclina
tion to sarcasm was developed. But all these volumes of
reminiscences set my pen and pencil a-wagging — not with
the impulse to dish up cooked accounts of my own dealings,
but to produce spontaneous sketches, more or less personal
and new, or dealing with facts ignored by other writers,
in reference to persons and places mentioned by them.
Speaking of cooked, reminds me that the worn-out, mother-
in-law joke of the comic papers, both in England and
America, has been dropped, in favour of jokes concerning
the cook. I have noticed, within a week, no less than three

6 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
jokes, about dismissing cooks ; but what really happened, in
the household of Arthur a Beckett, is funnier than any
of them, and I am surprised he has not included it in
his reminiscences.
He dismissed his cook, because he and his wife were
frightened at her. When the eventful moment came for
her departure, she ran up to her room, presumably to finish
packing. But the nervous heads of the house were rather
startled, by finding a crowd collecting in the street, whence,
at intervals, rose shouts and cheers. Looking out of
window, they saw various articles of clothing descending,
from the top window of the house, to the amused crowd ;
and when this extraordinary performance was- finished, one
of the housemaids came in, and informed my old friend, that,
cook, having sent out, in advance, every single article of
wearing apparel she had had on, or possessed, now defied
them to turn her out !
The tale of a Beckett's missing cook suggests Blowitz's
missing hat. I have not seen the great correspondent's
Biography, but no doubt the story is in it ; for it is no secret
that the materials for the daily publication, in the Times,
of secrets of the great Berlin Conference, in the seventies,
were transferred, to the celebrated Times representative, by
means of hat-lifting. A clerk of the Conference, in the pay
of the correspondent, dined every night at a certain cafe.
He spoke to no one, looked at no one, but, after hanging
up his hat, devoted himself to his meal and an evening
paper. At the same time another man (the correspondent)
did exactly the same thing. They were, apparently,
strangers, but they were both well known and well watched.
The trick was so simple, a Sherlock Holmes would have
been baffled to discover it. These strangers' hats were on
adjoining pegs ; the correspondent took the clerk's, with the
secret documents hidden in the lining, and the clerk took
the correspondent's. This little juggling was continued,
night after night, and was never discovered.
I was travelling, at the time the Biography of the great

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 7
little Blowitz appeared, and did not even see the review of
it in the Times, the paper with which he was so Ion"
identified. By the way, in the Times review of Mr. Horsley's
"Recollections of a Royal Academician," containing a
criticism, to the effect that Horsley is not very correct

LADY GODIVA.

about certain statements in his Recollections, there appears
the following passage :
" Mr. Horsley seems to have passed through his long
life — he died the other day at the age of eighty-six — without
entertaining any ill-feelings against any human being, even
against the critics and young artists who made such merci
less fun of his intervention, some twenty years ago, in
a certain burning artistic controversy. It is noteworthy
that his volume does not contain one single reference to

8 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
that question, or to the unkind nickname which the young
school gave him, and which stuck to him for so long."
I suppose this alludes to Horsley's absurd objection to
the study of the nude in the Academy School. If so, then
the Times reviewer is quite as incorrect in his facts. For
he says that Horsley — " Clothes-Horsley " was the nick
name — bore no ill-feelings against the critics. He certainly
bore me ill-feeling, for he would never allow my name to
be mentioned in his house. This was in consequence of my
skit, (published on page 7), that appeared in my " Artistic
Joke " Exhibition. Horsley came into the gallery, one day,
walked straight up to the picture, looked at it for a minute,
read the following reference, in the catalogue, and walked
straight out of the building :
"LADY GODIVA.
" I waited in the rain at Coventry
(A very naughty town, suggestive once
Of nudities, and new ditties, but that,
Thanks to my chaste crusade, is now all changed) ;
I hid, like Peeper Tom, behind a curtain
To spy — what might I spy ; and there I shaped
The city's ancient legend into— THIS ! ! ! "
Godiva regarhed (by T. H. B. A.)
Another autobiography, published in the last few months,
which recalls a matter of personal interest to myself, is that
of Mr. Commissioner Kerr, Judge of the Sheriff's Court, in
the City of London. It bears the title " Commissioner
Kerr : — An Individuality," and certainly the individuality
was a strong one.
The ire of litigators is periodically aroused by the tedious-
ness of the law's delays ; and it is a fact that a boy prisoner
might be continually brought up, time after time, until he
became as old as Methuselah. Commissioner Kerr was the
man to alter all this. It was not his method to adjourn and
adjourn, as most of the judges do. He usually polished off
his cases with celerity and an epigram. Indeed, the Com-

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 9
missioner was quite a character ; his witticisms from time
to time were duly recorded, and we see them now in a handy
volume. The last epigram I heard from him — for I some
times went, in search of " copy," to his court — was uttered
when a plaintiff "hoped for a decision in his favour." "Ah,"
said Mr. Kerr, "it is no use hoping in courts of law. You
might put over their doors the inscription, ' Abandon hope
all ye who enter here ! ' "
I had an experience of my own in Mr. Kerr's court years
ago. A book came out which caused a sensation. I set to
work at once, wrote and illustrated a parody upon it, and
gave the work into the hands of an engraver and printer to
reproduce. He was sold up, or in difficulties, at the moment,
and I could not get my work returned. It was seized by his
creditors. Of course
the parody appeared,
meantime, in other
papers. A long time
afterwards, I received
a bill for work done
— work I had never
seen. A friend of AW — AW 
mine, a solicitor, un
solicited, wrould not allow me to pay this ridiculous claim,
but said he would fight it, in court — that there could be only
one result. The case duly came before Mr. Commissioner
Kerr, but my solicitor friend did not. At the last moment,
he sent some young ass, who had just grown the first hair of
his moustache, and who, I don't believe, had ever been inside
a court before, To my astonishment, this youth stood up
and said that he represented me. " Then," said Mr. Kerr,
" why don't you pay this man his money ? " " Aw — aw —
because — aw — the fact is — aw — don't dispute the work was
done, and well done, but — aw

the engravings were not the

right size

"Is that true?" said the Commissioner to
the plaintiff. "There was never any question about the
size at all," said he. I jumped up and said I had never

10 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
seen the things, and was on the point of explaining, that my
legal representative knew nothing whatever about the case.
"You can't speak," said the Commissioner; "you are
represented by counsel. I can see the mistake, but I can't
help you. It will be a lesson to do without lawyers in
future." From memories of the late city cynic, the auto
biography of Police Magistrate A. C. Plowden, in the
pages of " Grain or Chaff," brings me back to my first
" Confessions," where I gave an account of an absurd charge
made against me — that of riding my horse furiously. There
was no foundation for the charge, nor a semblance of
chaff, from the witty beak, on the occasion when the case was
heard. Perhaps his discovery that the police constable was
entirely wrong may account for the following passage :
"It is one of the consolations of a police court that you
never know what is going to happen. Any moment may
witness some surprising development, which changes in an
instant the whole current of thought and feeling."
One day, quite recently, I happened to go into Mr.
Plowden's court, to make a sketch of him, for a magazine
article I was writing on Police Magistrates. I had not, to
my knowledge, seen Mr. Plowden since my appearance
before him, on the equestrian charge ; but I had not hidden
my feelings about the way in which the case against me
had been tried by him.
The constable had sworn, that I dug my spurs into my
horse's side till the blood flowed ; that the children in the
neighbourhood were in danger of their lives, &c, &c. Now,
as a matter of fact, no spurs had ever touched my horse ;
I had ridden for years, and never wore any. I was, with
my daughter, cantering up to my own door, at eight o'clock,
and not a soul, was in our Terrace, but the aggressive police
constable and another policeman. When my horse stopped
at my door, the policeman — the Chief Inspector of the
neighbourhood — said, offensively, he would charge me, and
afterwards informed me (he came from the disthressful

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 11
country) that "he would teach me to caricature the Irish
upon the advice given me, years

members ! " Acting

before, by Mr. Commissioner Kerr, I did not employ a
solicitor; and, when I opened my fire of sarcasm, upon
the constable, for his
statements (he ad
mitted he was mis
taken, and that there
were no spurs and no
blood), I informed Mr.
Plowden that it was
on such evidence as
that that he revoked
cabmen's licences and
punished poor persons
who could not retaliate ;
and I added that I had
been charged by his
Chief Constable, and
that Mr. Montague
Williams gave it, as
his opinion, that the
longer a policeman was
in the force, the less
you could believe him.
Mr. Plowden's " whole
current of thought and

changed in an

TRIAL BY MAGISTltATE.
Magistrate : "What is this charge, Inspector?"
Inspector : " Furious riding a bike — bicycle, yir honour,
to the danger of the public. This gentleman is well
known as the ' Scorcher,' sir ; rides over children and
heverythink, and is the terror of the neighbourhood."
Magistrate : " What have you to say, sir, against this
serious charge '? "
Eminent Solicitor: "I appear for Professor Toddle,
and am prepared to prove that the Inspector is entirely
mistaken. The Professor was never on a bicycle in his
life ; in fact, he always goes about in a Bath chair."
Magistrate: "That's bluff, and won't do for me." (To
Constable) " How old are you ? "
Inspector: " Sixty, sir. Forty years as swearin' 'ere."
Magistrate : " That will do. I cannot listen to any
solicitors after that. Defendant, I am ashamed of you !
Ten pounds and costs ! "

feeling-
instant, and in the end
I had merely to pay
half a crown, the cost
of the summons, not
because I had ridden
to the danger of the public, for I had not — but because I
had questioned the word of the police ; after, mark you, the
vile charge against me of having spurred my horse had
been admitted to be entirely without the slightest foun-

12 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
dation. Now comes a funny sequel. I offer it to Mr.
Plowden for the next volume of his most entertaining
reminiscences. When I entered his court the other day, for the purpose
of drawing him, again, he caught sight of me, and saw that
I made no secret of my mission. Something like this is the
scene which followed :
A smart-looking Irishman, wearing a bright-coloured
buttonhole, was placed in the dock, charged with having
been drunk and disorderly. The policeman, who had taken
the prisoner up, gave his evidence — the same old story,
repeated on Monday mornings a dozen times in the course
of every hour.
Mr. Plowden inquired if accused had been celebrating
any anniversary — a wedding, or anything of that sort.
"No, your worship; but I lost my hat in being taken
off, and the policeman wouldn't pick it up."
"A good hat?"
" Yes, your worship ; a brand-new one."
"Ah," said Mr. Plowden, eyeing the prisoner, "there is
a touch of departed dandyism about you that I cannot
understand. I will let the loss of the hat go for the fine ;
you may go."
But you ought to have seen the face of the police
man !
The next was another drunk and disorderly. The case
was simple. Constable gave his evidence clearly ; prisoner
had nothing to say. But the magistrate had. He turned
to the constable, and a dialogue, nearly as follows, took
place :
"How can you be certain this prisoner was drunk?
Are you a doctor ? "
" No, your wusshup."
" Did you call one ? "
" No, y' wusshup ; he didn't ask for one."
" Ah, I see, I see; you place it on his shoulders. Oh,
well, he can go ! "

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 13
Next. Similar case. Policeman was bo\Vled out, by a
clever twister from the magistrate, first ball.
He stumped the next, and yorked the third.
The Marylebone Cricket Court had never seen such
overhand bowling as was seen that morning at the Maryle
bone Police Court.
As I left the court I came across an indignation meeting
of those policemen who were out.
"What is the matter writh him, I want to know!"
said one.
" Yus ; that's what I should like ' uxplained,' ' said
another. " Carrying his jokes too far," put in a third.
"No, 'im ain't humour; he was dead serious; but he
wouldn't let me 'ave a word, sideways."
" 'Ere's my note-book," broke in another; "look, the
facts are 'ere."
Aye ; but the facts were in my sketch-book. They had
the grain and I the chaff — now.
This will not prevent my reading, with pleasure, his
capital reminiscences, showing him at his best and not at
his worst, and I have preserved some of his best sayings.
The humorous witticisms of this genial magistrate are
generally recorded in the papers as " Plowdenisms " ; that
ought to be the title of his next book, and the following
"Plowdenisms " ought to be in it :
A very portly woman, in reply to a charge of being drunk
and disorderly and using bad language, pleaded that her
husband had starved her since Christmas.
Mr. Plowden : You will forgive me saying, the traces
of famine are not very noticeable from your appearance.
(Laughter.) I hope you are not confusing hunger with
thirst. Prisoner : No, I don't look very hungry, do I ? It's the
contented mind. (Great laughter.)
Mr. Plowden: A contented mind is a continual feast.
Five shillings. (More laughter.)

14 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
The next prisoner was a man, who was alleged to have
aroused a constable from sleep, in the middle of the night,
by his quarrels with his — the prisoner's, not the constable's
— wife. Mr. Plowden (to the accused) : Do you understand the
full gravity of your offence ? (Laughter.) You may go
this time, but remember that the sleep of a constable is
precious to the public service. (More laughter.)
A conscientious objector to vaccination, asked his worship
for exemption. In reply to questions, he said he did not
believe in it, and he would not believe in it.
Mr. Plowden : That is a very intellectual position to
take up. You may have your certificate.
Following him, came a woman, who wanted damages
for a dog-bite.
Mr. Plowden : You must go to a civil court. I don't
mean that this is a rude court — (laughter) — but it is not
a civil court.
I found it a very rude court indeed !
To turn to another confessor. " My Working Life "
is from the pen of one whom I have, in my own working
life scores of times, caricatured — Justin McCarthy. The
man of letters, and the man of manners, was at one time,
in consequence of this double character, a rara avis in the
Irish Party. He sat, like an owl, that bird of wisdom, next
to his eagle-eyed chief, John Stuart Parnell ; but as soon as
the Eagle disappeared, the Owl was bewildered, until his
eyes were opened in the light of the fierce Parliamentary
struggle, which followed the strangling of the bird of free
dom. In fact, Mr. Justin McCarthy has, like all other refined
men of letters, been lost as a legislator ; and his value, as
a Party figurehead, decreased, as the novelty of his being a
man of letters, among illiterate politicians, wore off.
Mr. Justin McCarthy, in Parliament, always suggested
to me the French clown in the circus — the good-natured,
officious gentleman, who superintends everything and every
body, and does nothing. He takes up a bill, and instead of

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 15
carrying it, drops it where he found it. He orders his men
about, by gesture, knowing- all the time, that they are doing
this work in their own way, and paying no heed to him.
Such men, in the ring, are
always favourites with the
public ; and in this Mr.
McCarthy follows my simile
closely. "It is said, the Irish
members lament Mr. Justin
McCarthy's ' distressing
want of native ferocity ' ;
but those who are tired of
the ' scenes ' in the House,
heartily wish all members
from Ireland, on both' sides
of the House, would take
for Londonderry city, as an
manners," remarked a Parliamentary writer when " scenes "
were frequent in the House of Commons.
We are never without some fresh, and always delightful,
book of reminiscences from his scholarly pen, and, so far as
I am concerned, the mere mention of his name takes my
mind back to those Sessions I spent in caricaturing himself
and his friends in Westminster; to the " G.O.M.," and to
Mr. Morley's Life of him.
About this book I have a confession to make. I have dis
covered that " there isn't a penny in Gladstone." Much as
I caricatured the G.O.M.,

I think any one who has |Q|N|
read my first Confessions
will have seen that I had
some more serious interest in watching that
great personality, through the exciting times,
in the eighties, than the aim of caricaturing
his collars. When Mr. John Morley's "Life of Gladstone''
appeared, I was very anxious to show this, in a greater

the accomplished member
example of Parliamentary

16 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
degree than I had done in my first Confessions, by publish
ing some sort of artistic "appreciation" of the G.O.M.,
from my point of view. But I could not find a publisher to
touch it. The one reply I received was : " There isn't a
penny in Gladstone; " and, strange to say, since the time
of the Home Rule Bill, nothing published about Gladstone
has paid. Morley's magnificent Life was a family affair,
and outside ordinary publishing speculation.
To me, Volume III. is so interesting that I thought of
calling my rapid review Vol. III. The design for the
cover (without the colour), I show here. But I returned,
from shooting over the publishing preserves, with an empty
Gladstone bag. " There is1 Hot a penny in Gladstone," now;
and not even Mr. John Mditey's great effort has roused the
public, or — what is necessary before the public can be
appealed to — the publishers, to galvanise the name of Glad
stone into public interest again.
Yet Gladstone's contemporary and friend, the late Poet
Laureate, is still a name to conjure with. The conjuring
trick being the putting of a rechauffe of his poems in a new
binding, and employing some captious critic to preface the
great poet's work, with offensive and belittling "introduc
tions." This twentieth-century idea of humour may have a
penny in it, but one is not the wiser by the reading, and
such humourists as these, deserve to be put in the pound for
stray donkeys. I wonder what Lord Tennyson would have
thought of being reintroduced to the public by critics ! He
was not very fond of them, as the following anecdote
will show :
A celebrated journalist, an American, when in England,
managed, after much manoeuvring, to arrange an interview
with the late Poet Laureate, at the latter's country seat.
The great journalist, who was full of glee at the success of
his diplomacy, arrived, for the important occasion, dressed in
the pink of fashion — a silk hat of dazzling newness, light
summer overcoat, lavender trousers, and patent leather
shoes.

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES
The Poet Laureate met him cordially, and said :

19

"Fond of pigs? "
" Why, certainly, my lord," replied the interviewer.
" Follow me, then ; " and the Poet Laureate seized his
broad-brimmed hat, threw his Inverness coat over his
shoulders, and stalked out by the back door, across the yard,
through the farm and on, to the pig-sties. The distinguished
journalist followed, holding up his lavender trousers and
walking on tiptoe, as he crossed the filthy yard. The poet
stopped at a sty, and, leaning over a wall, he scratched the
back of a huge sow, and, for the first time, spoke :
" Ain't she a beauty ? " — scratch — " oh, such a beauty ! "
— scratch — "eh, my charmer? You know" — scratch—
" show yourself to this dis

tinguished scratch-

gentleman," —

'AIN'T she a beauty?'

Good morning.

sir

and

so

-" you like inter-
' — scratch — " ap
preciate the honour, my
beauty ; " — scratch —
"don't you, eh?" — scratch.
Then the Poet Laureate
turned round to the dis
tinguished journalist, and,
holding out his hand, said
the interview terminated.
Another biography, I have come across, published quite
recently, is that of "Crimean Simpson," the famous war
correspondent, the mention of whose very name brings me
back to my toothless days. For I was, myself, a Crimean
baby. Not that I was born in the East, any more than wine,
known as Waterloo port, was made in the place which
decided the fate of Napoleon ; but 1854 is my vintage year.
I well remember, when I was a matured artist, at the age of
nineteen, seeing " Crimean Simpson" the first time I called
upon the editor of the Illustrated London Neivs, with my
work, and being struck with the shrewd look of the veteran
artist, How well, also, I recollect some of the first work I

20 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
did for the Illustrated London News; which was to make the
finished drawings, for publication, from the rough sketches
sent home by Simpson, from the front, during the Afghan
War. His name and work suddenly open up, in my mind, a
beautiful scene with which he had absolutely nothing to do :
a scene some twelve or fourteen years later — my first sight
of the Dolomites in winter. Another scene, also, is opened
up, in my mind, by the mention of his name — a sequel to the
first. Just to illustrate how a mere name may conjure up
all sorts of reminiscences, not necessarily connected with
that name, let me take this particular instance.
It was in the eighties, at Easter-time, when I, with
some friends, travelled over the Dolomites. The snow was
as thick as ever it was in the Crimea ; the road upon which
we travelled was a deep cutting. As we wound down, down
to Cortina, the sun was setting. I was wrapt in admira
tion ; I thought it one of the most idyllic pictures nature
had ever presented to my view. I had forgotten the
presence of my fellow-passengers, my dear old friend, the
late William Woodall, Governor-General of the Ordnance
in the Gladstone Government, Sir Philip Magnus, the
great expert on educational matters, and others. The trip,
I may mention, was made by a few of the members of the
technical commission, and I was allowed to join them as an
outsider. As I say, I was in silent ecstasies. Such a view
I have seldom seen, before or since. The glistening snow,
touched with the setting sun, contrasted with the deep,
purple night-shades, which came to view alternately, almost
mesmerised my artistic faculties, and I was deaf to the
general conversation ; but I overheard one sentence :
" I say, I wonder how the Belt case is going on."
If my reader has ever seen those clever companion
pictures of a dog "Asleep," and of his jumping up, entitled
"Who said Eats?" he will understand my transformation
at that moment. "Who said Belt?" I cried, suddenly
awakened from my reverie, ready to argue with, pulverise,
and worry to death, any one who took a view of that cele-

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 21
brated case in any way favourable to Belt. As time flies
quickly, and memories are short, perhaps I ought to explain,
to my readers, that the Belt case was, at that day, the anise
celeb re, second in interest to none in our time. It was an
action for slander, brought, by a sculptor of the name of
Belt, against another sculptor, for saying that he did not
model the statues he exhibited as his own work. Belt
posed as the self-made sculptor, who, in his early struggles,
picked up a piece of stone, that had fallen off the Houses of
Parliament, and with a nail modelled his first portrait.
This may not be quite correct, but there was some silly
story of that kind, put forward by his friends ; and, generally,
he was set up as the poor genius, against the rich medio
crities. The evidence was purely technical, yet the public
had made up its mind that Belt was a wronged individual,
and his traducers were villains of the deepest dye ; that all
artists were wrong, and the public and poor Belt were right.
As a matter of fact there never was a case — except, perhaps,
the Tichborne Claimant's first case — in which the public
were so absolutely wrong.
The defendant, in the Belt case was that splendid
sculptor-athlete, Sir Charles Lawes. The other sculptors
who figured in it, were two of the most upright men, and
the finest sculptors, of our time : — the late C. B. Birch, Royal
Academician, and Brock, Royal Academician, now at work
upon Queen Victoria's memorial. Yet, in spite of the
evidence of such men, the public, including my friends in
that carriage, winding its way down to Cortina on that
beautiful evening at Easter in the eighties, were all for
Belt ! On this occasion, I forgot my beautiful surroundings,
and, notwithstanding the nature of my companions' mission,
informed them, with warmth, that they were entirely wrong,
and that I was prepared to stake my artistic reputation on
the statement that, like all outsiders, they did not know —
could not know — and would not understand, that there is
such a thing as an expert in art. The debate was renewed
a month, or more, afterwards in the house of a friend in

22 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
London, after a large dinner given to well-known men about
town, who, without exception, all sided with Belt, I being
again alone for the defence of the artists. Our host was
the famous Army coach, Walter Wren. That coach was as
nearly in danger of being upset as the one we travelled in,
down over the Dolomites, when, as usual in every gathering
at dinners— or anywhere else at the time— the inevitable
discussion took place, as to whether Belt and the public
were right, and the world of art all wrong.
" It is sheer balderdash," said Wren, in his usual direct
manner, "for Furniss to say that none of us is capable of
detecting- technicalities in artists'
work. We are all agreed, he is in
the glorious minority of one in this
discussion, but I'll put him to a
test. See, up on the wall, there is
a very small drawing I picked up
at a frame-maker's shop — a land
scape with figures, drawn in pencil
over wash. The man who sold it
has no idea who it is by, nor have
I, or any one I have shown it to ;
will Furniss tell us ? "
I jumped up on a chair and
looked at the little framed drawing.
"Crimean Simpson is the artist," I said. "I never
saw anything pastoral of his ; his war subjects are all I
have seen, and very few of them, and nothing so finished;
but that is his touch, and no one else's."
And so it was ! There is, perhaps, little or no interest
in this incident, but I introduce it to show how the reading
of reminiscences can have, upon the reader, an effect no
other kind of book is able to produce ; and that is, by the
mere mention of a name, to lead one to recall, through the
association of ideas and by reason of one's own reminiscences,
some incidents not necessarily connected with that particular
name. At least, such books have that effect on me, and one

CRIMEAN SIMPSON.

THE CONFESSIONS OF CELEBRITIES 23
result is the impulse to give these further Confessions to the
public. The announcement that Mr. Boyd, son of the celebrated
" A K. H. B.," who has acted for the late Mr. Cecil Ehodes,
as his confidential London representative, is entrusted with
the writing of the famous Empire-maker's biography, will be
universally welcomed. It is to be hoped that Mr. Boyd will
not omit from his work a description of his old chief's inter
view with Her late Gracious Majesty. The imperturbable
Colonial Colossus could face, with
the utmost composure, a cross-
examination on the Jameson Raid,
before the House of Commons,
and treat, with the greatest uncon
cern, the attacks of Labouchere
and others, the gigantic Company
meetings at the Cannon Street
Hotel, and the stormy scenes in
the Cape House of Parliament, to
say nothing- of facing, alone and
unarmed, the chiefs and indunas
of the Matabele nation, at the
now historic indaba, on the rocky
slopes of the Matoppe Hills, amidst
the silence of which he is now
sleeping his last long sleep ; but
I am informed, by Mr. Boyd him
self, that, upon the only occasion on which this dreamer
of Imperial dreams was called upon to interview our late
Sovereign, he was absolutely in what we should describe,
in the days of our youth, as an "awful funk," even like
the immortal Cassar, when the fever was high upon him :
" 'Tis true, this god did shake," as Shakespeare hath it.
He evidently felt like a juvenile schoolboy having a private
interview with the headmistress herself ; and on quitting
the august presence, he looked uncommonly relieved, at
escaping with a mild remonstrance, instead of a severe

AFTER AN INTERVIEW WITH
THE QUEEN.

24 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
lecture. No doubt, in the Life of the giant statesman, which
Mr. Boyd is writing up, he will give us the particulars of
this famous interview, which plainly demonstrated the fact
that Her late Majesty possessed, not only a wide grasp of the
affairs of Empire, but a keen sense of humour as well.
I sincerely hope that my continuing my " Confessions,"
after this reviewing of the various confessions of others,
published since I left off, will not be mistaken for egotism.
" That's how you do it ; now I'll show you how I do it "
style of thing is very, very far from my intention. I am
inspired to emulate, not to criticise, nor even to chaff ; which
confession recalls to my mind an incident worth retelling.
A "dug-out" colonel, of my acquaintance, was holding forth
about the raw recruits in our army.
We want an army of Buffalo Bills, rather than an army
of Sandows ; so a stripling, who can shoot, is preferable to a
Hercules, who cannot. Firing practice is, therefore, most
important, and this inspecting-colonel is naturally strong
on that point.
"Dear me," said this colonel, after watching some
recruits at target practice, " that will never do. I'll show
you how to shoot. Give me your gun," he said to a
trembling recruit on his left. He raised it, fired — an outer !
" That's how you shoot," he said, handing back the rifle.
" Now give me yours," he said to one of the recruits on his
right. He fired — another outer ! " That's how you shoot."
Then, having got his sight, he fired a third time, and, with
an air of superiority and satisfaction, hit the target. "And
that's how I shoot," he said.
This is only my second shot ; my third may hit the
mark, if this fails ; but I am not borrowing rifles or attempt
ing to show " how it's done." I am still a raw recruit, in
the forties, trembling in the presence of the great men, still
among us, whom I have here mentioned.

CHAPTEE II
ON CARICATURES

CHAPTEE II

OX CARICATURES

Does Eidicule Kill? — Dizzy — "Bobby" Lowe— John Stuart Mill— Ayrton
— George Wyndham — My Prophecy — Eccentricity, a Hint to Public
Men — Sir B. Burne-Jones — Monsieur "Erbure" — Puzzled by Changes
— Sir Douglas Straight — Professor Herkomer as a Mesmerist — Onslow-
Ford's Statue — His Sitter — Under Fire — "Ragging" — A One-eyed
Samoli — A Mesmerised Advertisement — "What is a Model ? — Some
Further Confessions About Models.

T cannot be said that the world con
tains many who emulate Demo-
critus, the laughing philosopher,
who smiled, with contempt, at the
feeble powers of man ; for the
world laughs at men who are
anything but feeble. Were I to
pick out a dozen famous men
who have been butts for jokes,
the laughing-stocks of the public,
at one time or another, I should
find that, out of twelve, taken
at random, ten are names of men
to be honoured for their great abilities, but laughed at,
frequently, by their most ardent admirers, merely on
account of some eccentricity. Nor, in regard to those
selected, do I wish to infer that, in every case, they were
justly placed in the pillory of ridicule.
In some instances I would select a person who has been
the subject for laughter to illustrate the fact that the laughing

28 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
public, and not their butt, is an object of pity. Some may
hold that, in many cases the professional humourist, whether
with pen, pencil, or voice, is to blame for misleading the
public ; forgetting that the professional humourist has to live,
that public men are fair game, and furthermore, that public
men have, more often had their reputations enhanced, than
retarded, by being chosen as his subjects. It is not too
much to say that some men have been made, solely by these
flattering attentions of the lampooner.
There is no more absurd saying than "There is nothing
kills like ridicule." Ridicule often makes the man. Disraeli,
the most ridiculed man of his time, when he first saw a
caricature of himself, jumped with joy, and exclaimed :
"Now my reputation is made!" He continued to be
caricatured and satirised to the day of his death. No
man was more laughed at t&an he, yet no man has left
a name more publicly honoured than Disraeli.
I could continue to fill this chapter with portraits of
politicians, alone, who have bfeen laughed at ; suffice it to
mention one or two, to illustrate my point, men — for obvious
reasons — of the past.
A famous minister, endowed, like Beaconsfield, with
clear, sarcastic wit — Lord Sherbrooke — better remembered
as "Bobby Lowe," made himself the laughing-stock of the
public, by one unfortunate slip. When Chancellor of the
Exchequer he put a tax on matches. In those days the
selling of matches in the streets, by children, was an
important occupation — in fact the livelihood of many of
the poor depended upon it. Consequently the outcry raised
against this tax was tremendous : children and match
makers paraded the streets ; there were meetings, protests,
caricatures. At that time a sensation in the London
music-halls was " Lu Lu," a young lady acrobat — who,
by the way, wasn't a young lady at all, but Farini made
up as a woman — being shot up from a trap-door on the
stage to the top of the building, where she caught a trapeze.
One of Tenniel's happiest cartoons depicted Robert Lowe,

ON CARICATURES 29
as Lu Lu, springing up from a match-box. But he came
down very quickly, abandoning the tax ; still, he never
recovered from the ridicule which the foolish proposition
brought upon his conceited head.
Another politician, John Stuart Mill, was a remarkably
able man, treated with reverence and respect by all who
admired philosophical thought and
true greatness of mind — until he
touched politics. Then he was
laughed at.
Yet what a mind he had —
what a record ! I have read his
Life with interest. He began life
as a bookworm, trained by his
father, " who was an accomplished
scholar and earnest student, and
he devoted himself zealously to
the education of his son, who,
before he was six, gave promise of
what he might become." When
quite a young man, and in the
City, young Mill was one of a band
of ardent, scholarly youngsters who
met every evening at 8.30 to study
logic. He edited the brilliant
Westminster Review, published
works on the " System of Logic,"
"Principles of Political Economy,"
and other deep subjects ; while, at
the sanie time, he was chief ex
aminer of political correspondence
in the India Office. He wrote an essay on the " Subjection
of Woman," and then, in Parliament, went in boldly for the
championship of womanhood suffrage. That was the turn
ing-point of his sublime literary reputation into a ridiculous
parliamentary one. Being small of stature and severe of
countenance, he was an easy prey for the pen and pencil.

JOHN STUART MILL.

30 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Tenniel was then (1867) at his very best; every Punch
cartoon told, and Mill was honoured with two cartoons
within the space of three months. Mill refused to call
his charming ladies, women, speaking of them as "persons."
So the first cartoon shows the little man, hat in hand, at
a polling booth, pushing on one side John Bull and his fellow
male voters, and followed by lady voters. It is entitled
"Mill's Logic; or Franchise for Females," and Mill is
saying, "Pray, clear the way, there, for these — a — persons."
The second picture represents Mill as Mrs. Bull's advo
cate in the lobby of the Law Courts. "Mrs. Bull: Lor,
Mr. Mill ! what a lovely speech you did make. I do
declare I hadn't the slightest notion there were such
miserable creatures ; no one can say it was your fault
that the case broke down." Mill, politically, broke down,
losing his seat and the Westminster election. He did a
great work and left a name England might well honour ;
but ninety-nine out of every hundred " persons " merely
recall a very little, thin man, with a severe mouth, bushy
hair and side whiskers, the advocate of women's rights —
and they laugh !
Another politician, of a very different mental calibre
from the three I have mentioned, was Ayrton — a pompous
member of Parliament, whose lack of humour made him
the laughing-stock of the public. A chronicler of parlia
mentary events sarcastically refers to Ayrton, on the
memorable occasion when, on the Irish Church debate,
Disraeli left the House during a " scene."
"Mr. Ayrton, the member for the Tower Hamlets, whose
suave demeanour and high-bred manner, coupled with his
polished deference to the rules of the House, fully entitled
him to act as arbiter on all occasions where parliamentary
etiquette was concerned, commented severely upon the
absence of the head of the Government during the dis
cussion by the Committee of so important a question.
"Mr. Disraeli happened to re-enter the chamber when
Mr. Ayrton was laying down the law as to the duties of the

ON CARICATURES 31
leader of the House, and on the conclusion of the lecture,
the Premier rose to vindicate his conduct in a few words.
. . . No doubt when Mr. Ayrton had arrived at the position
of leader of the House, the conduct of the debate would be
very different. ' Still,' said Mr. Disraeli, 'I am of opinion
that the manner in which I attempt to perform my duties as
leader of this House is preferable to that ideal which, on
several occasions, the hon. member for the Tower Hamlets
has offered to the admiration of this assembly.' '
Naturally, the comic papers, of the time, made much fun
of the unfortunate Ayrton. (See initial to this chapter.)
Coupled with his want of humour was his excess of par
simony, in dealing with the monies, as Minister of Public
Works. Tenniel portrayed him, in Punch, November 20,
1869, as a Board of AVorks' beadle clinging to the money
box (loq.) : "I don't know nothink about Hart an' painters,
an' Sculpchers, an' Harchitex, an' Market Gardeners, an'
such like ; my dooty's to take care of
the money ! " Thus showing that
certain men — great men on occasions
—have been the laughing-stock of the
public. The caricaturist does not
always lead the public, but — as I have
endeavoured to point out — follows
public opinion concerning the man
who has made himself ridiculous.
These few, I have mentioned, were
before my time.
But do caricaturists make men
ridiculous, by the mere fact of noticing"
them ? I hope not. Mr. George
Wyndham I "discovered" before the
press or the public did; but in spite
of the following, published at the time, Mr. Wyndham has
never become one of the butts of the caricaturist :
"When a public man gets the length of being caricatured
he is on the high road to fame. Mr, George Wyndham has

MR. WYNDHAM.
My first caricature of him.

32 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
now been caricatured, and no doubt greatly relishes the
process. It is a sign that he is being taken notice of, and
that he is rapidly making his mark. Lord Randolph
Churchill had quite an extensive collection of caricatures
of himself which had been pub
lished in the public prints, and
takes great delight in looking over
the lot, and showing them to his
intimates. Mr. Wyndham has-
been caricatured in the new weekly
paper, Black and White, by the
genial pencil of Harry Furniss."
Explanatory of the drawing is the
following good-humoured badinage
(written by me) : " The lieutenant
in question is Mr. George Wynd
ham, who is unquestionably, one
of the coming men in the House,
and always commands attention
when he speaks. He possesses an
excellent parliamentary style, which would lose nothing of
impressiveness if it were divested of certain artificial
traits, which at times excite a smile. When, for instance,
he hurriedly grasps a portentous pile of printed matter,
and nervously searching it, for the reference he requires,
exclaims, in the usual set phrase, ' I have clearly in my
mind, gentlemen, that case in which,' etc., his listeners
are apt to doubt the retentiveness of his memory. But,
although a young man still, Mr. Wyndham will, no doubt,
make his mark, and some day his effigy may be seen upon
one of the empty pedestals of London, in that attitude
which he is always striking, which is so suggestive of
a presentation portrait, with one hand grasping the con
ventional roll of papers and placed defiantly upon his hip,
whilst the other reposes, elegantly, on the breast of his coat."
I think my prophecy, " Mr. Wyndham will no doubt
make his mark," has come true,

MR. WYNDHAM.
My last caricature of him.

ON CARICATURES 33
If politicians wish to be made notorious by the carica
turist, they must be eccentric — un-English. The prosaic
Englishman does not understand eccentricity. Eccentricity,
in an Englishman, spells ruin ; in any one of foreign extrac
tion, or name, it spells fame or fortune, and sometimes both.
Disraeli, in politics; Whistler in art; Paderewski, and before
him Paganini, in music : we have others in the pulpit, on
the stage, as authors, scientists, humbugs, and social
successes ; but they must not be English. It was an
Eastern flavour associated with Disraeli, that something
uncanny in his appearance, in his tactics, and in his power,
that, after first resenting it, we finally worshipped. Disraeli,
himself, hated the commonplace, and never did anything in
a common way, and when the commonsense, commercial,
everyday Englishman, in the person of W. H. Smith, was
doing his best to support his chief, Disraeli, it is said,
would remark, "I never can remember if the man is
H. W. or W. H."
Unfortunately for the caricaturists, we have too many
of the W. H. Smith's type, in Parliament, now, and too
few eccentrics. My advice to young politicians is — be
" eccentric " in dress, if not in address. As an illustra
tion, Mr. Coningsby Disraeli is perfect in dress, but is
quite unconventional enough in his
speeches and votes, and often gets a
laugh. Had he adopted an eccentric
appearance — a combination, say, of his
uncle, Lord Beaconsfield, Whistler, Sir
Squire Bancroft, and Dan Leno — what
a treasure he would be to the political
caricaturist !
Prince Bismarck was, to the Ger
man caricaturist, what Mr. Gladstone
was, to his English confrere, with the
exception that, whilst we in England always treat our
politicians with a kindly satire, Germans are no exception
to the other Continental caricaturists in being gross and
4

A GERMAN CABICATUEK.

34 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
malicious. Mr. Gladstone's collar was merely a creation,
dealing with an eccentricity of dress — it became a trade
mark ; but the three hairs— the trade-mark of the Bismarck
portrait in caricature — were a libel on the great Chancellor's
hirsute adornment, and drew attention to a failing of nature
— very different from a mere eccentricity of the shirt-maker.
In another way comparison may be useful. It must
be admitted that the English artists have been pretty
successful in catching the features of Bismarck, but Con
tinental artists have never taken the trouble to master the
features of our statesmen. Lord Salisbury, for instance,
was generally represented as a curly, black-headed, black-
bearded, Jewish-looking gentleman of five-and-thirty ; Mr.
Gladstone wras a creation, or a series of creations (for no
two were alike), by the artist, of some imaginary individual,
unlike any member of the 670 in our House of Commons,
but, most of all, unlike Mr. Gladstone. It is said that
Bismarck detested photography — certainly he did not
emulate the present Emperor, in the care with which he
posed for the camera. His best-known portraits — standing
in a muddy waterproof, between his two dogs — are interest
ing, from the fact of their being unstudied and anything but
works of art.
We copied the German caricatures of Bismarck, as the
German caricaturists flattered me (as their English brethren
did too), by occasionally adopting my Gladstone. Here is a
specimen. As regards political caricature, I am reported to have
"given myself away," to a reporter, somewhat on these
lines :
" I have always striven, during my career in Parliament
to avoid giving offence to any member, whom I might light
upon for a satiric sketch. And my sketches are not so
satirical after all. They are, I think I may say, fairly true
to nature; and if I slightly exaggerate any one point or
feature, I endeavour to refrain from anything like malicious
suggestion. Why, members write me, not exactly suggest-

ON CARICATURES 37
ing that I should depict them for the next number of
Punch, but putting it delicately, like this:
" ' House of Commons.
'"Dear Mr. Furniss, — I hope to catch the Speaker's
eye, at a quarter past six, exactly, next Thursday, and shall
then deliver a speech, on my scheme for the taxation of
pocket-handkerchiefs. If you should happen to be in the
neighbourhood of the Gallery, it would perhaps be a fruitful
coincidence. " ' Yours faithfully, " ' Socrates Blather.'
That's the kind of thing I get. Oh yes ! the ordinary
legislator is by no means averse to going into my Gallery
of Parliamentary portraits. I have often seen the subject
of my sketch laughing over my presentation of his dis
tinguished self, but I am not sure, by the way, that he
always believes that I drew him correctly ; still, if he is
not an ideally beautiful personage — and M.P.'s are like
most other men in ungainliness— he will charitably set
down his lack of the picturesque to my love of caricature
and humour. One of my hits has proved to have had quite
a prophetic value ; it was a sketch, I once took, of Jabez
Balfour, of Liberator Society renown, running, as hard as
his short legs could carry him, to be in time for a division.
In my ' Humours of Parliament ' entertainment — some
people insist upon calling it a lecture, a title I abhor — I
use that sketch of Balfour. He is shown in the act of
'running away,' and of course everybody in my audience
at once saw the moral.*
" I endeavour to adjust myself to things as they turn up.
The humorous side of Parliament is simply inexhaustible,
and I need hardly say, that the new M.P. — with his pro-
* Jabez Balfour had run away from England, and was at that time
hiding in South America.

38 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
found self-consciousness, his feeling that the eyes of the
country are upon him, and his determination to do his duty
to his constituents, and to himself, especially the latter — is a
very droll character. It takes the average legislator some
time to settle down, to abandon his little ambitions, and to
reluctantly acknowledge that his wife was right in declaring
that he was not cut out for the Premiership, and ought
rather to stay at home and mind his own business, instead
of that of the nation. Yes ; the first session of a new
Parliament would provoke a cynic to very immoderate
laughter." From politicians I come to painters. In truth we are
not an artistic nation. Landseer, with his humanised
animals ; Frith, with his strong pictures ; the batch of
modern painters, of such subjects as "The Lovers' Quarrel,"
" Mama's Pet," " A Venetian Idol," " The Shrimpers," and
" The Queen's Dolls," if they do not inspire the public,
compliment it, by playing down to its limited understanding
of Art matters; but those who are "over their heads" cause
it to laugh. It laughed at Millais, the pre-Eaphaelite.
Millais painted down to its level, and the public, that
laughed at his "Lorenzo and Isabella," admired his soap
adverfcisment, "Bubbles." Neither Burne-Jones, nor J.
McNeill Whistler, painted for a soap-boiler ; so the public
still consider their work fair game for laughter. Besides,
Millais cut his hair and dressed in the orthodox fashion of
a country gentleman. Burne-Jones wore his hair long,
and, as I have said before, J. McNeill Whistler's eccentric
appearance, had more to do with the public's amusement
than had his clever, eccentric work.
Burne-Jones, like all the pre-Raphaelites, was the cause
of laughter. He was absolutely under the artistic control
of Rossetti and William Morris. As that learned critic,
the late Mr. Cosmo Monkhouse, wrote: "Rossetti ran a
great risk, in bidding him forego all academic training.
He had never had the patience to go through a thorough
discipline, himself, and his want Of craftsmanship is pain-

ON CARICATURES 39
fully visible, in much of his work. It seems some
thing like the advice of the fox who had cut off his tail ;
but there is no question of Eossetti's sincerity. He
feared, that the enforced drudgery, of copy
ing from the antique, would blunt, if not
destroy, the fine, sensitive imagination of
his young friend ; and he, himself, was
fitted, as no other man was, to stimulate
and direct that teeming fancy, that fine
sense of decorative beauty, which Burne-
Jones possessed. By strenuous efforts,
Burne-Jones has fairly made up for the
deficiencies of his early training. He is
now, one of the most subtle and exquisite
of draughtsmen, and, if some imperfections
still remain, they are not of a kind to
impair, either the expression of his feeling,
or the beauty of his conceptions."
If caricaturists made much sport of Burne-Jones, the
father of one of them, Sir E. J. Reed, broke into verse in
his praise : —
" Artist of many arts,
Master of all that thou attemptest, say
With what deep secret hast thou charmed away
From Life its baser parts ;

BUBNE-JONES.

And set thy soul to see
Only the lights that through our darkness shine —
Amid earth's evil only the Divine —
In all its purity ? ' '
Another artist, a member of the Royal Academy, whose
work, placed on the line by right of membership, was the
cause of much merriment, among the public, visiting Bur
lington House, for some years, before his death, was laughed
at, all his life, by those who knew him privately, in con
sequence of a strange assumption of a foreign accent.
In truth, his natural accent was decidedly Cockney. The

40 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
first letter of his surname was a trouble to him ; so one day
he left Town, an unmistakable Cockney, and the following day
he returned, a typical Continental ! " You Englash peoples
are so droll ! You call me ' Mr. Herbert.' I know not that
name ; my name in my own country is ' Monsieur Erbure. ' ' '
Apropos of this, Charles Dickens is supposed -to have said
one of his best things : " Herbert went over to Boulogne for
the day, fell down and broke his English accent." Herbert
never mended it again. I recollect him walking round the
Academy with friends, acting the Frenchman, and speaking
English without the letter H, while people stood before his
serious work in roars of laughter. He, and his work, were
the comic relief, of that rather dull annual show, for several
seasons — "Erbure," with a big E and not with a big H,
was irresistible.
Novelists, as a rule, I think, are rather grateful for being
moderately ridiculed. It is an advertisement, and to cari
cature an author is to assume that he is sufficiently well
known for your caricature to be generally understood. It is
no good laughing at Mr. Nobody ; for nobody knows him,
and your joke falls flat.
Mr. Hall Caine, the author of " The Deemster " and
"The Manxman," is undoubtedly, a great novelist, and a
most entertaining and humorous acquaintance ; but I have
never discovered whether he likes being laughed at, or con
siders himself too superior, to take any notice of those who
make capital out of his eccentricities. It is fortunate that
Mr. Hall Caine has a keen sense of the ridiculous ; for per
haps no one at the present moment is looked upon as fairer
game for pen and pencil than this highly successful author.
Mr. Caine, besides being a man of letters, is a man of the
world ; and therefore enjoys a joke, even at his own expense.
A man like Mr. Hall Caine, who can entertain his
friends, for hours, with the most humorous anecdotes, is not
the man to mind the chaff of the humorous writer or the
caricaturist. I, myself, often introduce Mr. Caine's carica
ture, as a compliment to his genius, without shocking him ;

ON CARICATURES 41
but he related to me a few days ago the account of a terrible
shock, he received, while walking through London. The
poster of an evening paper was thrust into his face ; and on
this -poster, he read the following, startling announcement, in
large letters: "Hall Caine comes a Cropper." Some
admirer had named a racehorse after him, and this
announcement referred to a sporting event.
He told me this story, at the house of a mutual friend,
who had called, a few days
before, to say how sorry he was
he could not include me in
his dinner list, for a particular
evening, as Hall Caine was to
be present. " But what has that to
do with it? " I asked. "I
know I shall soon be a rival
novelist, for my first  "
"No, no, nothing of the
kind," he replied; "but I
am told that he is furious
with you, for making fun of
him, in your new show on
the platform."
" I am truly sorry," I said.
"Well, it cannot be helped;
but I frankly make fun of Caine, as I know he does not
object." " Well, he has, and wants your blood."
The following day, I received another visit, from
my very good friend, to say Hall Caine was unable to
be present, as he was laid up with a cold, and he
pressed me to go.
You ought to have seen my host's face when, over our
cigars after dinner — I am not sure I was not giving an
imitation of Hall Caine, at the moment — in walked the
novelist ! 5

MB. HALL CAINE.

42 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Entering the room, he shook us all, warmly, by the hand,
myself included.
" I could not resist coming round ; as I felt better, and
I heard Furniss was here, and we have not had a chat for
ever so long ! "
Any special pleading, of mine, for caricature, might
possibly be mistaken for egotism. I am, therefore, driven
to two, brief quotations from the serious Press. Not long
ago the following appeared : —
"In an article on the late Archbishop of Canterbury,
Canon Scott-Holland complains, that it was not until that
strong man succeeded Archbishop Benson, that the public
realised his greatness. ' Curiously enough,' he says, after
a reference to the famous sermons in St. Paul's, ' as soon
as he went to, Canterbury, when the day of his mighty
sermons was over and gone, the Press became imaginatively
aware of him.' ' The apotheosis of fame,' we read, was
reached, ' when the caricaturist seized upon those rugged
features and made them familiar to all the world.' While
we are disposed to question the charge of public indifference
during Dr. Temple's occupation of the See of London, we
are at one with Canon Holland in his tribute to this
influence of the caricaturist. It seems to be a fact that
the public takes but the smallest interest in a man until he
has caught the eye of the comic artist. One could have no
better example of this than the case of the Navy, where —
because the caricaturist has no opportunity for sketch-
making — the great Admirals of the Fleet are scarcely
known even by name to the public. And in the House of
Commons, as we all know, a pushing and incompetent
person who happens to catch the draughtsman's eye
becomes a far more important man in the public imagina
tion than men of real power and intellect. We can only
hope the comic artist will realise his responsibilities."
What is the greatest trouble of the caricaturist is the fact
that men will alter their appearances, as is sympathetically
shown, in the following, by a Parliamentary writer :

ON CARICATURES 43
" Mr. Harry Furniss was in the lobby, this week, in a
state of sore distress. Some one had told him, that one of
his Parliamentary portraits was wrong. The hon. gentle
man was shown wearing long hair, whereas his crop has
been shorn. The amicable satirist of Punch came down to
see for himself. We studied the object between us. I was
shown the drawing, which was true to nature, as nature at
that time was suffered to take its course, but apparently,
with the advent of the hot weather, the hon. gentleman had
placed himself unreservedly in the hands of his ' artiste.'
Mr. Furniss went on to enlarge upon the troubles of carica
ture. ' Sometimes,' he groaned in weariness of flesh, ' I
have to dodge a man for hours in the lobby before he stands
long enough to be caught. That is bad enough. But now,
it seems, I must come down here on the eve of publication
to make sure that he has not made away with himself.
Who would be an artist on the lobby list ? ' "
But, worst of all, there is such a thing as portrait
blindness. Should you alter your appearance, in any way —
say by shaving off your beard, or, being bald, suddenly wear
a wig, or shave off a moustache and adopt side whiskers, or
dye your hair or black it, — as a matter of fact, in ninety-nine
cases out of a hundred, your most intimate friend will say,
" There is something funny about you," or, " What have
you been doing to yourself ? " But they'll wait for you to
tell them of the exact change — they won't see it. The
experiment causes very little trouble or expense ; so put my
statement to the test and see if I am not correct.
A well-known writer, at one time a frequent visitor at
my house — he was daily there as I was illustrating a story
of his, and he generally lunched with us — sported an
aggressively large, black moustache, but was otherwise clean
shaven. For private theatrical purposes the moustache
was sacrificed, and when he turned up, one day, without it
he smilingly asked me if I knew him. Of course I did.
"Well, you are the first person to-day who has recog
nised me. My own servants thought I was a stranger."

44 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Shortly afterwards I put this to the test, at lunch, by
introducing him, to my wife and family, as his own cousin.
And then I had my joke. I made him listen to all my
old stories over again. He was bound to laugh, or give
himself away. He could hardly drink claret, as did the
author; so, to keep up the deception, he drank whiskey
and soda, which he loathed. Of course we discussed his
cousin's work, and he frankly acknowledged he did not
think much of it.
" Well," said my wife, " now that you say so I must say
that I agree with you. But of course one does not like to
be so frank with the relatives of sensitive authors."
I thought it about time to end the deception, but my
family wouldn't have it.
" Oh no, no, Harry is not going to take us in in that
way. We are too accustomed to his jokes. Fancy our
feelings, if you really were your cousin, after what we have
said ! "
Some years ago I was seated, alone, in the smoking-room
at the Garrick Club, when a member came bounding in,
clasped me by the hand, and greeted me with —
" Hullo, old chap, how are you ? "
" Capital, thanks ; how are you ? "
" Who are you ? you ought to say, for I am sure you
don't remember me."
" I frankly admit that I don't know who you are."
"Ha, ha, ha! that's funny! No one does! I knew
you wouldn't. Think again."
I thought, and was silent.
"Well, well, and you an artist, too! I've grown a
beard. Now think."
I shook my head.
" It's very funny, but, like the rest of them, I puzzle
you. Ha, ha ! none of my old friends know me, since I
came back from India. I am Douglas Straight."
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir Douglas,
but I never saw you before in my life."

ON CARICATURES 45
And, as a matter of fact, I never had.
Perhaps no public man has been so transformed, by the
removal of the hair from his face, as Professor Hubert von
Herkomer, R.A. After his transformation, not even his
brother Academicians knew him, as the following incident
shows :
For the purpose of theatricals, at Bushey, he shaved off
his moustache and beard, about the time the hanging of the
pictures was taking place, in the Eoyal Academy. On the
E.A.'s day, the beardless Professor was walking round,
watching his brother Academicians, at work. He stopped,
opposite to a sculptor, engaged in touching up his master
piece. " H'm ! " said Herkomer, " I would refine that little toe
nail, I think."
"Would you, sir?" replied the sculptor, the late Mr.
Onslow Ford, one of the most delightful of sculptors and
popular of men. " I can't see what right you have to
interfere with a stranger."
" Stranger? Ha, ha ! Don't you know me, old chap ?
I am Herkomer."
"Herkomer? Well I never! Ha, ha, ha! You do
look ridiculous. Oh, dear ! Ha, ha, ha ! You look too
funny for words ! ' '
" Sir! What means this ? Do not ridicule me, sir. I
shall hypnotise you." And he proceeded forthwith to send
the frivolous sculptor into a trance. " Now, sir," said the
Professor, performing " passes " over the unhappy sculptor,
" before twelve to-night you shall have cut off your own
beard ! "
Ford went home. He laughed, at dinner, as he told the
story, but before dinner was over he rose from his seat, left
the table, and, after the absence of several minutes, returned
with his beard cut off.
This fact leaked out, and the other Academicians were
discussing it freely. One, endowed with a massive beard,
approached Professor Herkomer and said —

46 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
" I say, Herkomer, is it true that you hypnotised Onslow
Ford, and made him shave off his beard ? "
" Sir! " thundered the Professor, " if you say a word I
shall  "
" Oh no," said the little man, " not that." And, hold
ing on to his beard, he took to his heels, as fast as possible.
I told this joke to Herkomer, and he did not deny it.
I was glad to hear that a statue of the late Mr. Onslow
Ford, R.A., provided by
public subscription, was to
be erected at the junction
of Grove End Road and
Abbey Road, St. John's
Wood, the locality in which
the eminent sculptor lived
and worked for many years.
Onslow Ford was a most
popular man as well as an
excellent sculptor. He was,
however, not a genius, as
that master sculptor, Mr.
Gilbert, is, and there are
some who may, therefore,
wonder at this great, public
honour. But, as Onslow
Ford was always ready to
lend his talent to testi
monials, in honour of others,
it is only right that his name and figure should be handed
down, to posterity, in marble. I did hope that the
sculptor of the Ford statue would let us see, in marble,
Onslow Ford, as he was. His personality was every
thing. His curious French tall hat — a perfect "chimney
pot" — his wide, flowing, French tie, and baggy, French-cut
trousers, were familiar to all Londoners, particularly in the
neighbourhood where this statue is placed. By the way,
apropos of clothes, I wonder if that story of Onslow Ford's

ONSLOW FOBD'S SITTEB.

ON CARICATURES 47
millionaire sitter is known. This Croesus arrived at Ford's
studio, in the shabbiest of clothes, to sit for his statue, to be
erected in the market-place of his native town. Ford looked
at him, with surprise. "Aye, Mr. Ford, I'm a careful man,
and as you are going to do my statue I just put on my
oldest clothes, as your plaster would destroy my new ones."
Ford's surprise could not have been greater than my
own when I saw the memorial in St. John's Wood. For a
body of men calling themselves artists to — well, no, I shan't
confess what I think, I shall change the subject. Ford's
sitter recalls to mind another funny incident.
Early one Monday morning, not long ago, "A gentleman
in Kharki" might have been observed, knocking at the door of
a famous Art School. A number of students, mostly girls,
had arrived punctually, so as to get good places for the new
model, to be posed that morning. In walked the soldier.
"I — ah — have come to sit, don't-cher-know, ah." " Oh, then
get on to the platform," said one of the young ladies ; and
soon the model was surrounded by the critical young
artists. "Can't pose," said one; "Weak arms," said another;
" No drawing in his head," a third ; " That costume won't
do," and so on.
The warrior was speechless with indignation. " I — ah —
say, young ladies, this is jolly rough don't-cher-know, by
jove — I never felt so cornered. Fact is — Mr. Mahlstick is
going to paint my — ah — portrait here, and I was to meet
him at 10."
The young ladies disappeared, quicker than the Boers
would have done.
Ladies and gentlemen, in reduced circumstances, have
tried sitting as professional models, but I have never known
them to be a success. Like "lady-helps," they are of little
practical use. I suppose, the oil, of their social training,
refuses to mix with the water, of commonplace hard work.
In my first Confessions, I give an interesting experience, of
the manners which illustrate this fact.

48 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
A retired officer sat, for a friend of mine ; he got on
very well, for a time dressed as a cavalier, but his martial
dignity was sorely tried, by his having to sit, with a broom
stick, instead of a sword. When it was time to give up
work, however, the artist, dropping into studio lingo — an
unknown tongue to his sitter — sadly raised the other's ire,
by remarking :
" That'll do ; you can tumble into your own rags ! "
" Rags, sir ! " cried the exasperated hero ; " what do you
mean ? I may be in reduced circumstances, but I am

A SAMOLI "SITTEB.

nevertheless a gentleman ; my clothes may have seen wear,
but I have never, never  "
Here his feelings became too strong for his power of
expression, and my friend, hastening to apologise, began to
think that the old warrior meant " fighting his battles o'er
again," and so prepared for a retrograde movement. How
ever, no breach of the peace occurred, but the poor old fellow
went off sadly wounded and aggrieved.
When in Aden, I wanted to sketch a Samoli— which is a
very difficult matter. I shall never forget one whom I saw

ON CARICATURES 49
standing in a boat alongside our ship, and seemingly posed
for an artist ; his attitude was too tempting to miss, and I
whipped out my pencil. In a moment, he spied me, and, as
if galvanised to life, suddenly he tore the turban from his
head, with one hand, and hid his face, with the other. The
amount of stuff in the turban surprised me ; like lightning
he unravelled it, yard after yard, and then, momentarily, per
formed a sort of skirt dance ; enveloping himself, altogether
in it, he squatted down and watched me, with the one eye
uncovered, until out of sight.
As a contrast to this, one of the Samoli,
I had, on the same journey, a novel experi
ence, which is recalled to mind by my
story of Ford and Professor Herkomer,
just a page or two back. It is of a mes
merised model — not a mesmerised artist —
who sat to me on board the P. and 0.
liner. He was dressed up, in this fashion,
as a walking advertisement for the Ser
vants' Concert. The head steward mes
merised him, and sent him round the ship.
When he came to my cabin, the steward
told him to stand for me ; and there he
stood. Before I finished my sketch, the
lunch bugle sounded ; I had lunch and a
cigar, and came back, to find him still
standing there. It struck me that if
portrait painters could only mesmerise their models, what
a pleasure painting would be !
What is a model ? Let me, a caricaturist, make a few
further confessions about models. There is as much ill-
natured nonsense, spoken about artist's models as about
ballet girls. The ballet girl of your fancy, fair reader — a
flighty, giddy, naughty young thing — is a myth. There are,
of course, exceptions, but the ballet girl is, after all, a woman
of experience, who has worked hard, for years, to obtain her
position and her pay ; and, in nine cases out of ten, she is a
6

A MESMERISED^MODEL.

50 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
good wife and the mother of a family. The misinformed
mix up the ballet girl with the chorus girls— those inactive
masses of humanity whose only place is to " draw the
youth in the stalls," and who have no more to do with the
theatrical profession
than the members of
an audience.
And, as the ballet
girl is a woman of
experience, so is the
genuine artist's model,
and she should be re
spected, as her profes
sion is as honourable
and necessary as any
other ; but it is a pro
fession, and that fact
is too frequently over
looked, by those who
think that to sit for an
artist is merely to loll,
languidly, about a
sumptuous studio, sip
afternoon tea, put on
fine dresses, and get
well paid for doing
nothing. I have found that
there is a widespread
impression, among
women of all classes,
that no training or
qualifications are required, to make a useful model ; they
could not make a greater mistake than they do when they
declare, as one often hears, " Oh, any one can be a model,"
except when they add the utterly unjust and unwarrantable
rider, " that is, any one who has lost her self-respect."

MY MODEL EOB "AN ENGLISH GIRL.''

ON CARICATURES 51
Many a tale could be told of kindness on the part of
models. The aspiring genius, with his studio in Bohemian
quarters, often owes his rent to his. model, and still, like Mr.
Micawber, waits for something to turn up in the shape of a
dealer. Often, too, he finds the only one to sympathise with,
or encourage, him is his model, who good-naturedly gives
him a day's sitting, now and then, to help him on — yes, and
lights his fire, darns his socks, cooks his chop, gets him a
cup of tea, and looks for no reward. And when the day is
over, he cheerfully says, "Well, Sally, you're a brick!
Some day, when I'm elected to the R.A., you know, I'll be
able to repay all the cash you've lent me ; I can never
repay you for all you've done for me."
"All right, sir," she will say, " I know you will, and I'd
rather sit for you, for nothing, than for that cross old E.A.
who swears at me all day — he swore that frightful, yesterday,
that I walked right out of his studio ; then he went on his
knees, he did, and said I must sit, or he could not finish his
picture for the Academy, so he'll keep a civil tongue in his
mouth a bit now. What do you think, sir ? He knocked
ninepence off my pay, for being half an hour late, 'cause of
the fog, and you know the mean wretch never gives a bite
for dinner, and barely the shilling an hour. But that ain't
as bad as old Scotchy, I sit for to-morrow ; he gives you a
dinner and charges for it, and makes a profit too ! It's no
wonder he's rich; you may laugh, but it's true; he works at
night so as to get models cheap — gets any one to sit, as is
.engaged all day, and then he is done up when I go — went
to sleep the other day, and — would you believe it ? — wouldn't
pay me for the hour he slept. I ought to make him. I
always say I won't go to him any more ; I think I would
rather starve than sit for such men."
" Right you are, Sally, but such men live and thrive,
you see, while I — well, I think I should starve if it wasn't
for you."
I can vouch for the truth of this. Yet there are people
who seem surprised when artists marry their models.

>>

52 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
I am not aware that the Parliamentary Committee on
the " Sweating System " made any inquiry into sweating in
studios ; but, had they done so, it would have been found
that the " system " flourishes, exceedingly, in many of those
sanctums, from which come works, that delight our aunts,
and draw tears from our tender-hearted cousins, by their
maudlin sentimentality and cheap appeals, for parlour
applause. Sweating, I repeat, of the worst kind, is the
rule in many studios,
without the excuse that
competition compels ;
the valid excuse, in the
case of many of the
trades. For, unfortu
nately, it is not among
'&> the struggling and im
pecunious brothers of
the brush, but in the
studios of the Tritons
of Art, that petty
oppression and cheese
paring are most prac
tised. Among models, as
in every other profes
sion, there are black
sheep (Happy thought
— send them to land
scape painters ! ) — but
the real " working model," to whom you give your
shillings and "the figure will work," is honourable in
the performance of sufficiently arduous duties, decidedly
above the average of members of better-paid professions. I
am sorry to say, that their employers do not often show as
much just and honourable feeling towards them, as their
position calls for. I feel certain that were models to publish
their "reminiscences," with " 'orrible revelations " of mean-

'GET WELL PAH) FOB DOING NOTHING.

ON CARICATURES 53
ness, vulgarity, and in some cases, cruelty, of artists from
high to low, the exposure would create a sensation. Worst
of all, unfortunately, is the treatment which female models
receive from lady artists, who seem, sometimes, to treat them
with that want of feeling and fairness which, cynics say, the
fair sex, generally, show to their sisters, when it is in their
power. But I prefer not to believe, that these gentle
creatures re-enact the story of Barrhasius, in their civilised,
twentieth-century brutality, or that these very ladies, who
shudder to hear the tale of that cold-blooded enthusiast,
calmly studying the dying agonies of the tortured slave,
occasionally, without compunction, tax the strength of their
women models, utterly beyond the reasonable limits of
endurance, besides practising the refinement of cruelty, in
observing an overbearing manner, and generally treating
them with studied contempt.
I am not musical, so whenever I have to portray
musicians, I like the real thing; I cannot "vamp," as the
way of handling any musical instrument is unfamiliar
to me. I once had to make a drawing of a German band, and to
do it I thought it better to have the band, to sit for me, in
the studio, rather than follow them about, and take them
unawares. So I went boldly up to the leader, and asked
him to let the members of his band come to my studio, and
I would pay them, in proportion to what they would earn
outside ; but soon my eye was opened to the fact that street
bands are not the wandering, penniless vagabonds one is
supposed to imagine them. The leader told me that their
professional engagements would not allow of their even
discussing- the question. Somewhat disconcerted, I refused
to be beaten, so I set to work and found out their head
quarters, in the East of London, and forthwith went to their
commander-in-chief. He explained to me that these street
bands (I do not speak of the wretched scratch companies,
but of the better-class performers) had their regular beats,
and were engaged, by residents, to play, early in the morning,

54 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
or at lunch-time, or during afternoon tea or dinner, regularly
every day, and that they were obliged to fulfil their engage
ments. The band I wanted, played at Stratford Place, at
eleven o'clock, and had several engagements during the
afternoon, and played, in Regent's Park, in the evening. My
only chance, to have them to sit, was during the lunch-hour,
one at a time ; and for each sitting, of about an hour, I paid
a sovereign. I wish I could play a brass instrument ! Un
fortunately I cannot speak German, and most of my models

1 : I

,/:'

\ A- V'l M

TEE GERMAN BAND.
could not understand English, so I had to explain in dumb
show what I wanted. He of the trombone was quite con
vinced, that I wanted to hear him play, so he dashed off into
what, I do not doubt, was a very fine exhibition of trom-
boning. Alas ! nothing would make the dolt understand,
that I wanted to sketch him, without having my nerves
shattered, or the roof of my studio rendered unsafe. Most
of his mates were equally stolid and stupid. At any rate,
my mode of expressing my wishes produced an immense
amount of music and jabbering, but very little work,
ON CARICATURES 55
so at last, I had to give it up, before I got to the
flautist. This is my sketch, done some years ago, under
difficulties. There are many who feel that the Government has
robbed them of their inventions, and these inventors crop
up in the most unexpected ways. The man who has, or
thinks he has, invented a new gun, or torpedo, or projectile,
is a man to be avoided. A friend of mine, that talented
artist, the late W. H. Overend, had an experience, of a crank
of this sort. Poor Overend was an artist, who painted
pictures of ships and guns and such things, and wanting
some one about his studio, as caretaker and general utility
man, as well as model, it struck him, that it would be a
capital idea to have a naval pensioner; so he engaged one
who was highly recommended by the authorities. The man
was very comfortably installed, in quarters of his own, in my
friend's house, and all went well and pleasantly, until Over-
end found that his servant spent a great deal of his time
calling at the Admiralty ; perhaps love for the service and
reverence for the noble Lords of the British Navy, caused
the pensioner to worship
at their shrine. Overend,
being an easy-going fellow,
did not trouble to make
inquiries. Although very
awkward at times, no doubt,
he put up with the absence
of his retired warrior, and
one evening, after waiting
till dusk, for his return, my mild friend
studio, when his menial arrived from one
lations round the Admiralty, rushed madly up to his master
and knocked him into a cocked hat saying, "I know you
have been looking at my inventions in my room, and you
mean to rob me of my idea ! " The result of the attack, was
that poor Overend had to retire, to hospital, for two months.
He never saw his servant, again, nor has he any idea, what

was leaving his
of his perambu-

56 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
wonderful naval invention it was that turned the poor
fellow's head.
An interesting book could be written about famous
models, or rather the models for famous pictures. There
was a combination of both — that is, a famous model for
a famous picture— in Millais's " The North- West Passage."
The old sailor, in that great picture, was the early friend of
Lord Byron, Trelawney ; the model, who sat for his
daughter, had a pathetic history, well known in the London
studios. Millais was fond of painting friends in his subject
pictures. " Cinderella " was the daughter of the well-
known comedian, and manager of the Haymarket, the late
Mr. Buckstone. The Duchess of Westminster, was the
model for " Titania," in Landseer's " Midsummer Night's
Dream." And there are many other instances of the
amateur models sitting to artists ; but it is useless to try
and escape from the caricaturist. When Pellegrini was
the talk of the town, with his first caricatures, in Vanity
Fair, it is recorded, that Lord Spencer had been warned,
that " Ape " was in the House of Lords, inquiring about
him. So the noble lord sat " huddled up face and beard
in his knees," and so he appeared in the cartoon, and was
easily recognised, for the fact was evident, that he had
adopted the huddled-up attitude, so as to baffle the
caricaturist. Sir William Broadbent, not so long ago, protested, warmly,
against — what is generally considered an honour — being
placed in the Vanity Pair Gallery. As an occasional
caricaturist and contributor, to that gallery, I prefer to
quote, rather than put in my own words, the effect of the
genial and great physician's complaint :
" Sir William Broadbent must forgive us, if we say that,
by his letter to the Lancet, protesting- against the appear
ance of a caricature of himself, in Vanity Pair, he has
made himself supremely ridiculous. It seems, to this
sensitive doctor, to be an 'indignity,' to be included with
out his permission being had and obtained beforehand, in

ON CARICATURES 57
the same gallery in which His Majesty and almost every
one of his most distinguished subjects have found places.
It is of no possible interest, whether Sir William objects
to a caricature or not ; and we are surprised he should
not understand so simple a fact."
Apropos of personalities, I should like to record that
I was once sent an article, anything but humorous, to illus
trate, and I did not caricature, in the strict sense of the
word, (I seldom do, in magazine work) but made character
sketches, as requested by the editor. This brought down
the following criticism from " Atlas " in the World, himself
no stickler at personalities, and certainly no novice in
magazine methods. It was written in the days before
photography took the place of original portraiture :
" I am grievously afraid that ' personality,' that bane of
modern literature and art, against which we are constantly
inveighing- in this Journal, is going ahead very fast indeed.
One meets with it everywhere, in the most unexpected
places. Who, for instance, would have thought of finding
it in the  Magazine ? a most respectable publication,
produced by Messrs. Macmillan, who are tout ce qu'il y
a de plus, Scotch, decorous, and — shall we say ? — dull. Yet
the opening article is studded with lifelike characteristic
sketches full of personal interest, each, in his habit as
he lives, most faithfully rendered. I fear that this article —
not the letterpress, which is commendably colourless and
flat, but the illustrations — will have the serious effect of
selling many thousands of the Magazine."
I often wonder who are these good-natured gossips that
circulate untrue stories, and make mischief between friends.
They are as dangerous as the inventors of complimentary
stories at one's expense. Now, I do not patronise the bars
of hotels or dining saloons, and I do not bandy words with
strangers — American or Britisher — yet I came across this
absurd story in a widely read paper : —
"I wonder when we are to get an end of the good
stories about Mr. Harry Furniss ? His fund of them seems
7

58 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
to be inexhaustible. I've come across another this morning
which looks funny enough to be transferred to. . . . On
one occasion, when in a quiet country town where he was
going to lecture, he met at the bar of an hotel a Yankee
'doing the old country,' who, eager to meet a celebrity,
approached him, ' Reckon you're Mr. Furniss ? ' ' That is
my name, sir.' 'Guess you can draw a few?' 'I hope
I can.' ' But my granny can give you points.' ' Indeed ! '
' Yes, sir, she drawed a cart when she was two, and she
drawed water at seventy,' and then the Yankee laughed
loudly at his own smartness. Mr. Furniss let him finish
his enjoyment, and then quietly remarked, ' Probably you
draw yourself.' 'Guess I do,' roared the Yankee; 'I kin
draw a cheque with any man, I've drawed millions on 'em';
this with a swagger befitting one of the elite of the
moneyocracy. ' You can draw the long bow better than
I can, sir,' remarked Mr. Furniss, and then nodding coolly
he left the traveller amazed at the ' tarnation imperdence
of ther Britisher.' "
All this is a pure fabrication, founded, no doubt, upon an
incident in my lecture-entertainment " Comedy in Cari
cature," as follows :
It happened in the Red Sea, many miles from an hotel.
I was sketching my fellow-passengers having their afternoon
siesta on deck, when a very wealthy acquaintance of mine
came up to me, and looked over my shoulder.
"I say, Furniss," he said, "you know we are both
artists ; you draw faces, and I draw cheques. Now just
sign that caricature and give it to me. I'll send it home
to my wife ; she can have it framed, and the children will
be delighted." "Certainly," I replied, "if you will draw a cheque at
the same time for twenty-five guineas. I'll send that home
by the same mail, and my wife will have it cashed, and the
children will be delighted."
That's all !

CHAPTER III
LAMPOONS, CARICATURES, AND CARTOONS

CHAPTEE III

LAMPOONS, CARICATURES, AND CARTOONS

THE FISCAL SWOBD OF DAMOCLES

to caricature serious

AMPOONS, Caricatures, and
Cartoons: L.C.C.! How well
these familiar initials are
known ; and some day, per
haps, before the poor London
taxpayer is left without a
penny to live upon, the L.C.C.
may adopt the practice of
displaying in the newspaper
shop windows, as the other
public shows do, illustrated
posters delineating their per
formances. Then the carica
turist's occupation will be
gone. But it is not of County
Councils, or any other parlia
ments, that I am writing ; nor
of those caricatured ; nor of
questions, political or other
wise, of public and debatable
interest. It is only, about
the artistic and expert techni
calities, of these triplets born
of the amusing muses, that
I have a word or two to say.
It is an old trick of mine
pictures ; but I now propose to
61

62 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
caricature caricatures. It would not, however, be fair
to subject the work of other artists to such treatment,
and I shall therefore content myself, in giving these
practical illustrations of humour, with taking myself off.
By this I do not, of course, mean that I intend to follow
the example of the humourist described in the Preface,
and depart ; for, indeed, I shall be doubly in evidence
during the process.
Palmists assume that the left hand remains as Nature
made it ; while the right alters according to the develop
ment and modification of our character. Therefore, by
comparing the two, we may hope to arrive at some interest
ing conclusions. If both are alike, then we have not
changed, for good or evil, or developed in any way, by force
of will or weakness. This may apply to ambidexterous
persons, and I am told my two hands are not similar; while
I know that I am not ambidexterous. Nevertheless, for the
purpose of illustrating this chapter on caricature I shall try
to be. Let one hand go for the other. B stand for Right,
not Radical ; L for Left, not Liberal. I am afraid,
therefore, the compliments paid by L will be left-
handed ones !
B. " Ah, in these degenerate days, you will not find
one person in a thousand, who can tell you the difference
between a cartoon and a caricature. Cartoons are called
caricatures, and vice versa.'''
L. " Define caricature, then."
B. " Caricature is from the Italian ' Caricatura,'
' caricare,' to load or burden. It means sketches over
drawn." L. "I wish that were so; but in spite of the dic
tionary's definition, it is absurd. For caricatures are
sketches not drawn enough."
B. "Exactly. Cartoons are finished drawings; cari
catures, although in a sense they may be overdrawn, or
exaggerated, are not."

A CARTOON.
Chamberlain to the Rescue.
Drawn by my Bight hand,

GC

Hi , P?£lcc ¦ Xe kc^o J/^fW e»-e^

A CARICATURE. John Bull to the Rescue.
Drawn by my Deft hand.

LAMPOONS, CARICATURES, CARTOONS 67
L. "I wish I could draw cartoons, but I can't. My
attempts are frightfully amateurish."
B. " Therefore all the funnier. You appeal to the
popular, not to the artistic, eye."
L. " Yes. That reminds me ! What have you done
with your 'Open-Eye' cartoons?"
B. " Here they are, waiting for the General Election.
This one represents John Bull, tied hand and foot to the
statue of Cobden, the great Free Trader, while foreign
competitors laugh at him. Free Trade, according to Mr.
Chamberlain, spells ruin to Britishers, and prosperity to
foreigners, who have not abolished it. Mr. Chamberlain's
shadow shows him approaching to free John Bull. That's
a cartoon." L. " And here is a caricature of it. I see you are
laughing ; that is more than I can do at yours."
jR. " Quite so. Cartoons are not to make people laugh,
but to make them think. Cartoons are the leading articles,
drawn instead of written ; caricatures are paragraphs for the
funny column."
L. " H'm ! That just a leetle unkind. If I can make
people laugh I am surely more effective."
B. "Now you have it. That is what is meant by
being ' overdrawn.' Overdone is another word. If you
caricature one man too much, as Punch did Dizzy, or as
many are now over-caricaturing Chamberlain, you defeat
your own object ; you evoke sympathy for the man you
mean to make contemptible. Be as funny as you like,
but do not be vindictive."
L. "But ii facts are wrapped up in caricature, surely
they are better than misrepresentations wrapped up in
cartoons. Surely, Lewis Carroll will be read, when Darwin
is forgotten. By the way, those clever adaptations of
' Alice in Wonderland,' by F. C. Gould, in the West
minster, are more telling than a cartoon would be, even if
you selected a Lewis Carroll subject."
R. " Quite delightful, and as much appreciated on our

68 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
side as on yours. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Let me show you how easy it is to turn the idea round,
so as to make it tell on my side of politics. Some friend
sent me the lampoon, and I have illustrated it. Here it is :
FRAGMENTS FEOM THE FISCAL WONDERLAND.
(With Apologies to the Writer and Illustrator of the Alice
Boohs. Copyright reserved.)
I. Advice from a Chanclawyerpillar.
The Chanclawyerpillar, and John Bull, looked at each
other, for some time, without a word passing ; at last the
Chanclawyerpillar took the pipe out of its mouth, and said
to him, in a commanding voice, " What are you ? "
This was not an encouraging cross-examination. John
Bull replied rather shyly : " I — I hardly know, sir, just at
present — at least I know what I feel to-day, and I have
changed my opinion recently."
" How dare you do that ? " said the Chanclawyerpillar
in a furious rage. "Explain yourself."
" I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said John Bull,
" because I don't feel as I ought to, you see."
"I don't see," said the Chanclawyerpillar, " and unless
you stick to Free Trade I'll hear you no longer."
" I'm afraid I -can't put it more clearly," said John Bull
politely, " because when I put forward true facts, as they
are, they are replied to, with quite a lot of different things,
and it's so dreadfully bewildering."
"It isn't," jerked out the Chanclawyerpillar, who seemed
ready to ignore any suggestion.
" Well, perhaps you haven't found it out yet," said John
Bull, " but when you turn into a business man, as you may
some day, you will understand my feelings."
"You!" sneered the Chanclawyerpillar, "Who are
you ? "

LAMPOONS, CARICATURES, CARTOONS 69
This brought them back again to the beginning of their
conversation. John Bull resented this cross-examination. So drawing
himself up, he said, with a dignified air, "I think you ought
to tell me who you are."
"Why?" said the Chanclawyerpillar, who seemed at
last inclined to reply, "I never answer questions except
by putting others." And John Bull, seeing he could get

no good reason out of the Chanclawyerpillar, who seemed
to be getting into a rather unpleasant state of mind, he
turned away.
"Come back," the Chanclawyerpillar shouted; "I've
something important to say."
This sounded promising, certainly ; John Bull turned
and came back again.
"lama person of rank," said the Chanclawyerpillar,

70 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
"What rank?" said John Bull, affected by such
frankness. " Rank Cobdenite," said the Chanclawyerpillar, in its
best legal style.
"What actual experience of Cobdenism and trade have
you ? "_said John Bull, in his fair characteristic style.
"Did not Cobdenism enable things to be dumped here
cheap ? " bawled out the Chanclawyerpillar.

" Supposing," said John Bull, " that a law was passed
to enable solicitors to practise at the Bar for cheap fees ? "
"Do you think? " said the Chanclawyerpillar, who was
rather startled at this question, "that the country would
take : away what protects my living?"
The old story, thought John Bull ; but he would wait
in the hope of hearing something worth listening to. For
some minutes the Chanclawyerpillar puffed away at its
pipe, but at last raised its arms, and said, " So you think
you've changed, do you ? "
"I'm afraid I have/' said. John Bull, "because what

LAMPOONS, CARICATURES, CARTOONS 71
so many people say is true. I can't remember things, as
I used; all the Cobdenite history, I learnt at school, seems
quite wrong, and won't stand investigation for ten minutes
together ! "
" Can't remember what things? " said the Chanclawyer
pillar. " Well, when I try to say, ' How doth the little busy
bee,' it is changed to, ' Commercial repose I want to be,'"
John Bull replied inconsoledly.
"Repeat 'You are old, Father William,'" said the
Chanclawyerpillar. So John Bull began :
" ' You are old, Father William,' the young man said,
' Though your hair has not left you quite ;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head, —
Do you think, at your age, it is right ? '
' In my youth,' Father William replied to his son,
' The Premiership I thought I would gain ;
But now that I know it's not easily done,
Why, I'll try yet again and again.'
' You are old,' said the Youth, ' as I mentioned before,
For the post you're uncommonly fat ;
Yet you turn a back-somersault in at the door,
When you hear I'm again on the tack.'
' In my youth,' said the Sage, with a much injured air,
' I was asked by my party to tackle
With matters of state, do you think it quite fair,
To interpose now with your cackle ? '
' You are old,' said the Youth, ' pray retire from this fight,
In a manner I suggest quite explicit,
With this message of peace which I fling you to-night,
Don't you think you could manage to do it ? '
' In my youth,' said his father, ' I took to the law,
Which I gave up to enter this strife ;
Then had to give up through your rebel jaw,
Ambition; — for the rest of my life.'

72 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
' You are old,' said the Youth, 'One could hardly suppose,
That your eye was as steady as ever ;
Yet you balance Free Trade on the end of your nose,
What makes you so awfully clever ? '

' I have answered your questions, and that is enough,'
Said his father ; ' why give yourself airs '?
No peer in my youth dared talk such stuff,
Be off, or I'll kick you upstairs ! ' "

" That is not said right," said the Chanclawyerpillar.
" Not quite right, I'm afraid," said John Bull ; " some
of the words have got altered."
"You are wrong, from beginning to end," said the
Chanclawyerpillar, emphatically, as it waited in silence,
for some minutes.
The Chanclawyerpillar was the first to speak.
" What size would you like to be ? " it asked.
"Well, I should like," said John Bull, "with your
permission, to be as large as Mr. Chamberlain can make
me ; it is wretched, to think you object to him binding-
all my Colonies together under a great Imperial flag."

13 tq

3 o C|

LAMPOONS, CARICATURES, CARTOONS 75
"It's a splendid thing," said the Chanclawyerpillar
angrily, "but that would make you greater than you are."
John Bull said nothing; he had never heard such a
lot of unreasonable contradiction in his life before. The
Chanclawyerpillar put the pipe in its mouth and said,
" You may get what you want very soon, but not as
long as I can prevent it."
This was more than John Bull could stand, so he
walked away, muttering to himself, " What strange
things you hear in Fiscal Wonderland."
L. "By the way, what is a lampoon ? "
B. "A personal satire, in writing. ' Wisdom while you
wait ' was a lampoon on the Times, and its booming the
American publication of the ' Encyclopedia Britannica.' "
L. " Suppose I wrote an offensive article, showing the
Anti-Free Trade Press-gang, seizing a respectable Con
servative, to avenge his having an opinion of his own,
and, first by threats, and then by force, compelling him
to help man the Chamberlain war-ship, could I get it
published? "
B. " Certainly. Try the Standard."
L. " But I want to illustrate it."
B. " Then, no. It is only the Radicals who appreciate
the value of caricature. The Tory Press have no sense of
humour. That is why I draw cartoons. The Radicals
have humour, and understand its value, too."
L. " But Punch is Radical."
B. " That is one reason I left it."
L. "I have heard it said you have lost your eye for
caricature." B. "I still have my two eyes that supplied drawings
to Punch, and I do not yet require spectacles. Only one
does not draw caricatures for serious magazine articles or
other periodicals of sober interest. I can give you carica
ture "while you wait," but where is the paper to take it ?
I hold a brief for cartoons, but I am not retained to fight
the political battle with caricature,"

76 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
L. "That was a telling 'cartoon' of yours, 'The
Doctor,' a parody of Luke Fildes's celebrated picture;
We Radicals don't like it."
B. "Because it was true: Chamberlain watching the
dying British trade. But it is not funny."
L. " Truth to tell, old chap, I heard that very remark
made by Tories, too, who had the Westminster Gazette
sticking out of their pockets. Now, if you had only

A CARTOON. "THE DOCTOR."
Drawn by my Right hand.

shown, as I have here, John Bull — fat, prosperous — with
Mr. Chamberlain looking at him, after giving him the
wrong dose, that is perhaps killing him, even the Times
could have laughed at it, and said you had humour."
B. " True. That is if it wasn't too well drawn. It is
a fact worth considering whether I shall not ask you, old
chap, to do my political sketches in the future."
{They shake hands.)

A CARICATUBE. "THE DOCTOR.'
Draion by my Left hand.

CHAPTER IV
"LONDON LAUGHTEE'

CHAPTER IV

" LONDON LAUGHTEE
A Light Heart — A Heavy Task — A Scare — Seats to Let — Bang Goes Two
Thousand Pounds — Her Majesty Laughs — Where the Joke comes
from — "The King in Danger" — No Coronation — The Printers' Joke
— Joseph Hatton — My Mark Tapley — The Coronation Cloak — The
New Zealander — The King still Growing — Street Hoardings —
Stumped at Lords — Laughter in Court — An Unspeakable Scot
— London in the Dumps.

7J-/<asiA*f ^qcsis*t^<44

For the Coronation year, I arranged to supply the leading
provincial papers, with a weekly, illustrated, London letter,
chronicling all that was amusing, in, what promised to be,
a season of gaiety and fun. I accepted the task with a light
heart ; but I must confess that, had I known what was in
store for us, that season, I would have preferred six months'
hard labour, in a prison, to the six months' hard labour,
with pen and pencil, roving about town. I hinted to my
readers, at the start, that London laughs in two ways: it
laughs with one, and it laughs at one. Both of these, I
endeavoured to illustrate, week by week. For, like Jupiter,
who laughed incessantly for seven days, at the mere fact
of being born, I assured my readers that I would not be
offended, should they laugh, for seven days, at me for my
10 81

82 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
presumption, in starting as " The Prophet of the Utterly
Absurd, of the Patently Impossible and Vain."
I soon found, that it was " patently impossible " to find
matter, week by week, in London, to make my readers laugh ;
all I attempted to do, was to chronicle the "utterly absurd "
items of interest, of the passing moment, at which London
laughs. In London, that season, we experienced storms of rain,
thunder and lightning ; tropical heat ; cold, wintry weather,
and fog. This sampling, of the worst our climate can
produce, is upsetting to one's liver and most depressing.
We expected skating, by the Coronation week and summer
some time about Christmas. But it was utterly impossible
to laugh, in London; every one was "hipped," cross, and
out-of-sorts. To be in
the fashion one must
grumble ; and I wanted
to be in the fashion,
just for once. " Things
might have been worse,"
said the man in a wise
old popular legend, as the
devil was carrying him
off to hell. "How so?"
asked his acquaintance.
" Why the devil," he
answered, "might have
made me carry him."
Then, I had to con
tend with the war and
the smallpox epidemic.
Neither was as bad as
the Press of London make
them appear — at least the section of it inoculated with
Americanised sensationalism. About this time, Lord
Charles Beresford informed that great body, representative
of mercantile interest in this great city; the Chamber of

COMIC LORD CHABLES.

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 83
Commerce, meeting in a chamber of the Cannon Street
Hotel, that a paragraph in the press had more influence
on the Government than the speeches of experts, or some
thing- of that kind. If a paragraph will influence opinion,
you can imagine what effect columns of pessimism, about
affairs in South Africa, and sensational statements, about the
affairs of health in London, had upon those who take their
impressions from a halfpenny sheet. It is no secret, that
it was a penny, unwisely sensational paper that caused the
scare which frightened the public from witnessing the Jubilee.
The epidemic, I refer to, was made a sensation, and con
sequently a scare. The average of sixty cases a day, and
these mostly amongst the great unwashed, in the East End,
in a population of five millions, has no right to be called
an epidemic. Yet the
public was scared. It

was no laughing mat
ter, but I could not
help smiling, one day,
when, looking for a
seat in a suburban
train, seeing a diminu
tive youth smoking a
huge pipe — every one else in the carriage being a non-
smoker. They gazed, gratefully, upon Lady Nicotine.
They were all travelling in a smoking compartment, to
avoid infection.
" To Let," " Seats to Let," " Houses to Let," " London
to Let." Yes, London Town, of stone, bricks, and stucco,
was transformed into a town of scaffolding. " Seats to
Let" took the place of "Loungers' Park/' "Vacant
Square," " Stampede Street," and " Move-on Avenue."
Every post brought beautifully printed circulars, of "Plans
of Seats for the Coronation Procession, from one hundred
guineas to one guinea." Every person, you knew, asked
Have you got your window yet ? " Every person

you,you did not know, you assumed was rapidly rushing off,

84 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
to engage his. The man in the street, however, went
about his business, unconcerned ; he smiled as he passed
the same place, day after day — " To Let," " Seats to Let,"
"Houses to Let." The man in the street recollected
the same "boom," at the Jubilee, when speculators lost
fortunes. The public was scared, and seats, marked twenty
pounds, were occupied by. people paying one. As it turned
out the placards, " Seats to Let for the Coronation," should
not have been on the temporary, wooden walls of London,
but on the windows of the railway carriages, going north,
south, east, and west. The hotels, all round the coast, all
filled rapidly, for the Coronation dates, and Londoners' faces
were as vacant as their jokes. There was one joke, in con
nection with window-letting, which I must record. A public
official, I know, did let his house, for the Coronation, for the
modest sum of two thousand pounds. The contract was
completed — all but signed. The house was, I need hardly
say, in a most exceptional position ; so exceptional and so
near Westminster Abbey, that the officials settled upon
the space in front of it to erect a huge temporary building,
close up to the side of this house, to be used as an annex
of the Abbey, completely destroying any chance, any one
in this house, had, of seeing a vestige of the proceedings.
It was a dear joke for this unfortunate man, and the worst
of it was his friends could not help laughing.
I plodded on, week by week, making bricks without
straw, for nothing came my way. Rehearsals for the
Coronation proceeded, by degrees. The King had been
to the Abbey, the peeresses to Norfolk House, the knights
and ladies to the Lord Great Chamberlain's office, and
some of lesser degree to the dancing-master ; but they kept
all their movements a secret — they were afraid of being
laughed at. It is strange how careless, not to use a
stronger word, are the performers at such functions. It
is recorded that a high legal dignitary, when Solicitor-
General, had to appear, before the late Queen, to receive
the honour of knighthood. "What am I to do? "he

"LONDON LAUGHTER'' 85
asked, nervously, of the official at the door. " Kneel,
kneel." Suiting the action to the word he immediately
fell on his knees and, like the funny man at a child's
tea party, propelled himself
along the floor, on his
knees. Her late Majesty
was overcome by laughter,
all the more as, when she
retreated, "the little man
followed." And yet the
little man rose, to the
highest post in his profes
sion, and stood by Her
Majesty's side, as Lord
Chancellor of England, to
read her address to the House of Lords. He therefore
"kept the Queen's conscience," and she, to all appear
ances, her countenance, but she must have smiled when
she recalled their first meeting — the cause of such hearty
Royal laughter. So I watched officialism, as a cat would
a mouse ; but day after day, I waited and nothing
came. In despair of finding material for my "London
Laughter," in the ordinary way, I sought out the great
raconteur, Colonel Dulldump. For many years, Colonel
Dulldump has posed as a wit, in the smoking-room of
one of my clubs. Hardly a day passed without his raising
a laugh, with some amusing story, or by some tittle-tattle,
of men about town. His store of humour seemed inex
haustible ; that very week, his wit seemed to dry up,
suddenly. He never, even, attempted to tell a story ; his
tales of current scandal ceased. His name fitted him, at
last, nearly as well as his perfectly-cut clothes. What was
the matter ? Was he ill ? Had he lost heavily in the
City ? Had he been jilted ? Was it age ? asked various
members of his little clique of once willing listeners. As
soon as he had left the smoking-room, this change in him
was discussed by us all. "I always noticed," said one,

86 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
" there was a peculiarity about the Colonel, he never
seemed at ease when he began his flow of anecdotes ; he
seemed haunted, or something, don't you know — something
mysterious." " I think I can enlighten you," said a member, looking
up from a writing-table in a corner of the room. " He
was looking to see if I were here
before he opened his flood-gates
of wit. None of you, it seems,
patronised Roberts the barber, of
 Street — the wittiest man in
town. He attended the best-
known men in London, and by

men m
noon is as full of anecdote as a
bee is of honey. Dulldump ex
tracted that honey at one every
day, and when I was not in the
room, tickled your palate with it, after lunch. Poor Roberts
died six days ago."
Somehow or other, I had a sudden turn of luck, and
happy thoughts filled my brain, and happy caricatures my
sketch-books ; but I had hardly dispatched my letter before
the merry, laughing Londoners and their thousands of guests,
were suddenly struck dumb, by the awful event which sad
dened every loyal heart. Cap and bells were laid aside.
I awoke, that morning, with a frightful toothache. It so
happened, that in order to set my nerves right, for the coming-
dental operation, I was strolling down the West End, early
in that inexorable week, on my way to my dentist, when a
barrister friend jumped out of a hansom and told me the sad
news, which he had just received from a friend of his, at Court.
The first person, of my acquaintance I met, was Sir Wemyss
Reid. He naturally did not credit the rumour, but gave me a
list of six complaints he had heard the King was suffering
from — in six days. Next I met an American millionaire. He
merely laughed, at the joke circulated, of an American lady,
who said that "Mr. Pierpoint Morgan had bought West-

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 87
minster Abbey, as she had herself seen it all packed up."
I then met the editor of one of our dailies. Ho did not
think much of my barrister acquaintance, who had been,
at one time, on his staff, and sadly wanted " editing." He,
also, laughed and passed on. But, before I had walked very
far, I saw the startling news, on the contents bill of his own
paper. Eventually I witnessed the rush of newsboys — the
heralds to north, south, east, and west, of the terrible tidings :
" No Coronation; the King in danger"; and, as I looked, I
noticed in a house, opposite to where I was, the effect of
this news on a business mind, which proved to me that
Americans are not in it with Cockneys, when business is the
object of life. The windows were arranged with seats, sold
for the Coronation procession. In one hour these were
removed, and the tradesman's ordinary goods were in their
places. My dentist was late in coming in to see me, as he was
superintending the arrangements in his front rooms, which
he had let for several hundreds of pounds. I had hardly
sat down, in the torturing chair, and opened my mouth,
before the agent, who had bought up the dentist's windows,
rushed in. " No Coronation ! No money ! " And I, under
the circumstances, added, "No operation," — at the hands
of one so unstrung by disappointment : I preferred toothache.
During the day, I received telegrams, from one editor
after another, to say that my last letter could not appear.
It was rather the title than the matter, of my weekly letter,
that scared the editors, as the following extract, from one
of their letters, will show: "We have altered the title
to 'Pen and Pencil Sketches by Harry Furniss,' 'London
Laughter ' being still unsuitable ; next week I hope things
will be brighter." But they were worse !
These illustrated London Letters, I have twice, con
tributed for a long period, to the largest papers published ;
but, in each case, the illustrations proved the stumblingblock
to a satisfactory result. The plain truth is the English
printer does not like any innovation; in showing his dislike,

88 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
he plays tricks, with one's work, that certainly supply the
laugh when the contributor fails to do so. Here is an illus
tration of what I mean. The drawing is on its side ; the
only person that didn't laugh at it was myself. On. the

HARRY FURNISS'S LONDON
^ LETTER.
Home Secretaries ire '' hum-io, fomeutrKs vwy
'fcumau," bo it con>es a« a phxisniin surprise, and one
upon which the H^ima Secrerr.TV tan to be oon-
praJruIaiUd, vtan 10 the rrudtJ. of the obnououa
biustwTncs of qiot oi tbr> Williams type, the
dynamite explosion, arrest uf Sociahsta, the criti
cisms of the Preaa and of Parliament, amr barassmc
duties which be himself has made more difficult
"by treating- this country as a. dutfbm uvto. which

though. too doubt ttWuiioally ujuareafemsj
and extremely exratiDH' to ft few. it is
frightfully duli to the majority of readers, who know
little, and oare lees a/boat these fearsome onmrxmnda.
Still, there ar» many who feel that the Government
has robbed diem of their inventiona, and these, in
ventors crop op xa the most unexpected ways. Hie
man who bae, or taints he has, invented a new (fun,
or torpr-do, or projectile, is a- man to be avoided. A
iriend-af mine had an experience recently of a crank
of ttus eort Thi9 fnend is an artiot who pawiia
pictures of shops aid guns and each thongs, pgyt

yi countries ran freely shoot tJieir doxio-is | wanting someone about ina, studio aa caretaker ar"'

other hand, without illustrations, the editors would not have
cut out my letter that week. Obviously it will take another
generation, to get accustomed to the proper insertion of
blocks in letterpress, in this country.
My old friend, Joseph Hatton, in his "Cigarette Papers,"
the most popular and longest series, and most widely read,
of any weekly article, does not require the pencil's aid.
His matter is as picturesque as it is interesting, and the
printers like it as well as the readers do. His " Cigarette
Papers" were not considered out of keeping with other
news that week; but then that accomplished writer and
novelist is not a caricaturist !

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 89
The streets, theatres, Parliament, and clubland proving
barren in wit, I sought out a veritable Mark Tapley— a
thorough Cockney — who had once been my model. Surely
he would have tales of what his pals were doing this event
ful season. I found him as dull as dumps. "It's all this
summer weather we're 'avin', sir. I shall end my days by
being a professional patient, that's wot it is I'm coming to."

CIGARETTE PAPERS.

He could talk of nothing else ; nothing short of surgical
operations could get a joke out of him. I gathered from
him, that a professional patient is not such a rara avis as
one would imagine. The non-paying patient, a labourer,
perhaps, who has some lingering and interesting complaint,
which prevents him working, will find that the hospital
staff pay him as much attention as if he were a member of
the Eoyal Family. He is petted, fed upon all the delicacies
of the season, champagne and wine in discretion ; he has
11

90 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
literature, to read, ad lib., and may, even, be allowed to
indulge in a smoke. Happy and flattered, he considers
himself a lucky dog, under the circumstances, regarding the
hospital surgeons as benefactors, and the nurses as angels.
He is a burly fellow, used to hard work, and what is it to
him, if they are experimenting upon him all the time, and,
in surgical parlance, "knife" him now and then ? He can't
be cured, and if they kill him — well, it's for some other
fellow's benefit, and he's had a jolly time to wind up with.
Besides, he is better off than the rabbit, and those anti-
vivisectionists don't screech about him — he is not a dumb
animal. Politics were absurdly dull ; there was nothing either to
laugh at or to cry over ; the only excitement was through
Mr. Chamberlain's cab coming to grief,
and that was no laughing matter. For
some time, after Mr. Chamberlain met
with his cab accident, the papers were
full of letters, containing suggestions for
the prevention of such mischances. Mr.
Marshall, E.C., wrote to the Thunderer,
proposing the substitution of celluloid for
glass. A lighted cigar might, however,
cause an explosion, the effect of which
would be far worse than a cut head.
Fancy Sir John Aird minus a beard, or
without his hirsute adornment ! Another
correspondent suggested a safety, passenger belt, cord, or
straps, to prevent the fare being thrown out.
I have had a unique experience in cab accidents. The
horse fell ; I instantly stuck out my feet, and remained in
the cab, but my tall hat was shot off my head. At the
same moment the concussion caused the window, which was
strapped up as usual, to fall down, off its hinges and strap ;
the double glass and frame fell over my head, around my
neck, cutting my head open. No cruel, Chinese torture was
ever conceived, worse than this. I was jammed in the cab,

Paderewski,

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 91
the horse was kicking, on the ground ; double sheets of
broken glass with jagged edges, in a heavy frame of wood
were round my throat, and blood was pouring down my
face. With a great effort I lifted the double window off,
the glass, again, cutting my head. I threw the window
into the roadway, and jumped out. I was blind, with
pOuring blood.
No vehicle, of any kind, being near, two men ran me,
about a quarter of a mile, to a hospital, and after some time
the glass was extracted and the wound was dressed. I was
stitched up, very cleverly, confined to my bed for several
days, and the deep scars, on my forehead, will always bear
witness to my experience of London hansoms. Still I use
them, nearly every day, and have had many spills since; but
I always test the hanging windows, when I get in; and when
a horse comes down, I take
care to jump out. Had I been
strapped in, -on that occasion,
I should, probably, have had
my throat cut. Of course, my
wife and family were in a
state of great alarm, when I,
was brought home, more dead
than alive; and, as I was taken
up to my room, with a turban
of surgical bandages round my
head, my youngest pulled at
the skirt of his mother, and
with an eye for the practical,
which I trust will develop in
later life, said
him pay for breaking the glass ? "
The accident to Mr. Chamberlain, and the correspond
ence, regarding cabs, drove many to hire four-wheelers ; but
one is not free from danger, even in the "growlers." The
cabby has a habit of sleeping in the cab, which is pleasant
for the fare to contemplate. Cabmen who have very large

Mother, mother, will the cabman make

92 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
families, and live in overcrowded mewses, and other places,
not always models of sanitation, may, consequently, have
the germs of measles and other children's complaints, about
them, and so infect the cab; you get into this cab, and take
infection home with you.
I remember, two or three years ago, I got into a four-
wheeler ; I felt it rather stuffy and unpleasant. I smoked
a cigar, but it had not the desired effect, and I found myself
laid up, for two months, with a fever, which, there is not
the slightest doubt, I had contracted in that wretched
four-wheeler. I recall an amusing incident, relating to a cabman,
which shows you that cabbies also have an eye to humour.
He was asleep, on his box, outside a Midland station, a
short time ago, when his brother jehus, to enliven the
monotony of waiting, unharnessed the
animal, alleged to be a horse, placed it
between the shafts with its face towards
the cab, and readjusted the reins and
harness, the wrong way. A late train
arrived, the old cabby awoke, by instinct,
rubbed his eyes, trembled, at the unwonted apparition
before him, slowly crawled into his cab and never drove
again. This reminds me, that in spite of these ghastly confes
sions of cab accidents, since I was gradually getting as
melancholy as Jacques, I resolved to try the cabbies, as a
source of laughter; for it struck me that the jehu of the
Metropolis is ever a wit. But, alas ! I found, at that time,
that, in common with most Londoners, the cabmen were
hard hit by the collapse of the Coronation, and I was again
sadly disillusioned.
Shortly afterwards, I overheard a conversation between
some American trippers and a cabby :
" What ! two dollars for two miles ! Why I could have
had one of the Eoyal carriages for that, I guess."
" Well, sir, it may be a tanner more than wot's legal,

but 'ad
five my

"LONDON LAUGHTER'' 93
I have been very 'ard 'it this week. Lord Eoberts
me,

•ICi

engaged me, for
pounds a day —
'orse's name is
'Bobs,' and the General
always rides behind
him ; now the contrac's
hoff, and that's 'ow I
was able to drive your
party under the trium
phal harches."
As I passed on, I recalled an amusing little incident with
a cabman. His horse stood very much "over," in its fore
legs, and it was with great difficulty the poor animal
started upon its journey. After a short interval, I calculated
that it would save time, if I walked ; so I directed the
driver, to pull up at the next church, which he did.
Getting out, I gave the puzzled jehu a shilling, and said,
" I have thought of your own interests, in stopping here,
for it has struck me that your horse is anxious to say his
prayers." When the time came, to dress for the Coronation, I
sharpened my pencil. Now would I find some weird figures
in comical attire — something really picturesque and funny.
But alas ! again I was thwarted, and I shall tell you how.
It so happened, that the equipages, provided for the use of
our distinguished guests, from the Colonies and the utter
most ends of the earth, were of the most luxurious
description ; whilst the various, stationary office-holders,
and others whose duty compelled them to be present at
the ceremonies, had anything but a comfortable time of it.
The livery-stable keepers of London would not let a
carriage, for the two great days, but it had to be engaged,
for the whole week, at a fabulous price, and then it was
only to be used by those possessed of the privilege of
passing the barriers. It was, therefore, decided, by the
majority invited, who could not possibly afford these

94 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
extortionate prices, to provide themselves with what is
known as a "Coronation cloak" — a long, baggy dust-coat
made out of the poorest material — and thus attired, march
along the line of route, and as soon as St. Paul's or the
Abbey was reached, hey presto I off came the unlovely, if
useful, outer garments, to be promptly thrown into the gutter
to await the coming of the first promiscuous picker-up of
unconsidered trifles. King Lewanika, the dusky potentate,
however, was not a stayer ; and, for my
authority, I quote an incident, in point,
connected with his visit to the Thanks
giving Service, at St. Paul's. He entered
the building, with the impressive dignity
befitting a king, but finding the cere
mony a little too much of a physical trial, he informed
those around him that he intended to leave the cathedral,
but that he would take care, not to interrupt the proceed
ings. Suiting the action to the word, the sable monarch,
promptly got on all fours, and, in this unkingly style, crept
out of the sacred edifice ! For that comic relief — much
thanks !
The famous Premier of New Zealand was the only
comic relief of the distinguished visitors. Mr. Seddon had
easily beaten all other Colonial competitors, in the great
game for popularity stakes. He had caught the public eye,
and what is more important still, he had caught the public
ear ; pouring in speech after speech, morning, noon, and
night. He called at South Africa, on his way to England,
and his admirable Imperial speech caused a sensation. He
was interviewed on arrival and continued expressing his
opinion of our country and the war, and, according to the
daily cablegrams, about Chamberlain's new policy : he has
not finished talking, yet.
The great Canadian Premier, the lion of London Society
when Eoyalty last invited the Colonial Premiers to London,
we hear little of. Kings and Princes came and went;
Eastern potentates flashed through London's palaces and

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 95
drawing-rooms ; great men, from all countries, came here
and some are here still, spending a quiet time in private
visits to friends, enjoying our quiet country life. Not so
Mr. Seddon ; he returned and is always up and doing, with
a heart for any speech, still orating, still advising, learned
in labour and our State. I was invited, to a public dinner to
the Colonials, on one occasion, during that season, and was
advertised to make the third speech — Mr. Seddon's was, of
course, the first. I had taken great pains, in preparing
mine, and devoted considerable time to " thinking it out " ;
at the last moment, perhaps in consequence of this extra
mental strain, in trying to be funny without anything to
laugh at, I was seized with violent neuralgia, and had to
telegraph my apologies for not being present. I was
deeply grieved, I could not be present to get some humorous
"copy," and to let off that speech; for I was anxious to
compliment Mr. Seddon, on his energy, and, in doing so,
to drag in a joke about his not leading a
sedentary life. It so happened the New
Zealander spoke for an hour and a half.
Number two was left with five minutes, and
I should not have had a chance of getting a
word in, at all !
When Macaulay's New Zealander sits on macaulay's new
the ruins of Westminster Bridge, I venture
to prophecy, he will turn out to be Mr. Seddon — still
talking. Society birds were on the wing, much earlier than usual.
They showed their gorgeous plumage, at Eanelagh and at
Lord's, for the last time, and were changing it, for travelling-
coverings, weeks before the time ; and their thoughts wandered
away from London to Goodwood and Cowes, in most cases
still further afield. The tradesmen's circulars were flooding
the letter-boxes ; there was a wail of desperation about the
" sales," and appeals for customers, to take goods at reduced
prices. It had been a sorry season for trade in Town, and
the shops were particularly empty of customers. The,

96 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
tradesmen were as depressed as their customers. It
suddenly occurred to me, that the busiest men in London
were those who cannot advertise at all — the doctors.
The frequenters of Clubland were besieging Doctorland,
with digestions ruined, by want of exercise, during the wet
season. " Cures " were discussed, ad nauseam, Harley Street
and Wimpole Street were blocked with patients, and the
West End physicians reaped a harvest. Among them, I had
many personal friends ; surely they would not be suffering
from the prevailing sadness ! The first I called upon had
also been knighted — in fact, I selected him, for a chat, on
that account.
It is true, that the fees of a fashionable, London
physician, are extremely high ; but, if he makes money,
he also has to spend it, and a large proportion of it
goes into his landlord's hands. Some people wonder
that doctors, like watchmakers, coach-builders, and old-
clothes men, live together, in certain streets and districts ;
but they have to do it. There is a sort of unwritten,
local option law concerning doctors, and landlords, con
sulting the feelings of their clients, object to a medical
man plying his trade where he likes. For instance, this
particular physician had just taken a heavily rented house,
in a well-known street. He bought the lease, spent a
great deal of money upon the residence, but, as soon as
it was discovered that he was a doctor, he was told that
he could not use the house. With it upon his hands,
therefore, he had to creep away to a doctors' street,
where, I need hardly tell you, under the circumstances
he is bled, pretty freely, for rent ; and, under the circum
stances, my friend was dull.
Punch was — well, ahem ! loyal — and dull. But there is
much laughter to be obtained, by looking over the Coronation
pictures in London's season, illustrated papers. The effect
of the Coronation, upon the realistic artist, is most marked.
His Majesty has, according to the pictures of him, increased,
several inches, in height, and decreased, several inches, in

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 97
width. In one picture, " The King and the Father of
the Navy at Victoria Station," dear, old, gallant Sir
Harry, who has just departed,
resembled "Mr. Punch" with
out his hump.
Determining to fish for
laughter, I followed the grand
Fleet, when reviewed by the
King, at Spithead, taking with
me some condensed milk and
other necessities, as I had to
be in the Isle of Wight over
Sunday, and in consequence.
of the mawworm of the Dis

trict Council unearthing

an

obsolete Act of Charles IE,
limiting trading on Sundays,
in the island, actually threatening legal proceedings for
fulfilling- an urgent order for ice from the Eoyal yacht, no
refreshments could be obtained there on that day. Kings
and princes have had curious experiences, when yachting.
The funniest incident, I ever came across, was the following
story, of the Prince Consort's yachting on the Scotch coast.
The Prince was taking a turn, upon the Eoyal yacht, and,
on approaching- the caboose, or cook-house, the olfactory
nerves of His Eoyal Highness were sensibly affected, by
the "sweet-smelling savour" emerging from the boiling
cauldron. "What is in de pote ? " the Eoyal Consort asked
the cook.
"Eh, surr, do ye no ken ; it's the noodge poodge," was
the reply of the sturdy Caledonian.
" De noodge poodge?" exclaimed the Prince. "What
is him made with ? "
" Why, mon ! " said the chef de cuisine, ignorant of the
rank of his interrogator, " Aw'U be telling- ye enow; there's
turnips intilt, and there's carrots intilt, and there's barley
V2

98 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
intilt, and there's mooten intilt, and there's water intilt, and
there's  "

"Yah! yah!" interrupted the Prince, "bote what is
eentelt?" "Am Aw no tellin' ye a' the time?" said the gastro
nomic artist. "There's toorneps intilt," and again repeating
the category of ingredients, he was a second time stopped
by the Prince, who was perplexed to know the meaning of
"intilt." The Scot, losing all patience, exclaimed, "Ye
daft gowk ! If ye cannot understan' me, maybe ye'd like
to put your nose intilt."
The Prince, somewhat disconcerted, lighted his meer
schaum, walked aft, descended into a saloon cabin, and
requested his secretary to refer to the latest edition of
the Scottish Dictionary, in order to find out "what was
intilt"! Thackeray, in his "Four Georges," states that, "The
England of our ancestors was a merrier England than the
island we inhabit." Had that great
literary satirist lived to the last Coro
nation year, he could have seen the
island we inhabit, quite as dull as he
ever pictured. " The bitter (disappoint
ment) passed, more welcome is the
sweet;" and now, after enjoying the
belated "rejoicings," we can look back,
on some small incidents, and laugh.
When the King's illness was at its
worst, a well-known, West End under
taker's establishment exposed the various
bulletins, from Buckingham Palace, neatly framed in black,
in its window. When His Majesty recovered, and the
streets and houses were decorated for the Coronation, the
police-station, in the High Eoad, was elaborately decorated,
and over the door the word "Welcome," was displayed!
I do not know if the King was informed, of the latter com
pliment, before he paid his high tribute to the excellence

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 99
of the London police, and their splendid behaviour during
the Coronation.
Finding theatres dull, clubs empty, visitors uninterest
ing, the picture galleries closed ; I was driven to examine
the street hoardings. It so happened that, at the moment,
there was an outcry against the pictures on the London
hoardings ; both on artistic and moral grounds they were
objected to. "We are to purify their tone and elevate
their art," and so protect the morals of the million and
the eye of the few artistic members of the public."
These sentiments read well, in the press, and sound well,
on the platform. But the very papers, publishing the
letters from artistic reformers and the faddists, howling
against these advertisements, on the platform, are, in some
cases, themselves the offenders. The press advertise, on
the hoardings, sensational illustrations of their stories,
and business people, who adorn platforms, offend with
their own advertisements of their trades. In short, it is
impossible to improve the art of the hoardings. It is an
expensive matter to advertise, and the advertisement must
be one to catch the eye. I myself spent a great deal of
time in superintending art, for the purpose of the betterment
of public advertisements, but the work of those artists I
introduced — clever, refined, and original — was voted too
artistic. The vulgar eye must be fed by vulgar art. The
Grosvenor Gallery did not pay ; the Dore Gallery was a
great success.
Personally, I see nothing more amusing than melo
dramatic pictures, on the hoardings, of " Saturated in Sin,"
"Blood, in Twelve Drops," "Lifeless in London," "The
Duke, the Dean, and the Dairymaid." They are too
common and too comic to raise anything but laughter. And
then, many are purposely humorous, and are frequently
parodied, and form the subjects of political cartoons.
One of the best in London, then, was an advertisement of
milk, representing a country boy, in old-fashioned attire,
with his milk-pails. I recollected having seen a very funny

100 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
milkman, wobbling, like Dr. Johnson, down Fleet Street;
his back view lingers in my
memory still. His figure
caused more London laughter
than any representative of his
trade — or of any other trade
— in the pictures on the
hoardings. His calves were,
in themselves, a walking-
advertisement. I sought for
him, but, alas ! he had
vanished — with many of the
other sights of London.
Just as I had given notice,
that I would no longer struggle
against Fate, in trying to find
a laugh in London, and had arranged to discontinue my
weekly letter, I found laughter — but too late !
It is generally acknowledged, that our present Bench is
not strong. It is also dull. The wits of the wig, whether on
the Bench or at the Bar, have always been a welcome relief
to the dull monotony of the Courts. Since poor Frank
Lockwood's day, we have had no one to cause " Laughter in
Court." Therefore, Justice Darling deserves all credit, for a
little clowning now and then. The curious fact, about this
facetious judge, is that he is sometimes — when not enjoying
any particular joke of his own — the cause of humour in
others. It strikes me that counsel, finding he has to appear
before the humorous Justice, prepares, at any expense, to be
funny, himself. For instance, at the time I write of, just
before the Courts rose for the vacation, one of the many
actions, to recover the money paid for seats to witness the
Coronation Procession, on June 26th and 27th, came before
Justice Darling, for trial. The petitioner's counsel was a
member of the Junior Bar, who is a well-known legal fighter,
in minor Courts, and, although married to the daughter of
the comedian Coronation knight, does not, as a rule, take

"LONDON LAUGHTER' 101
himself too lightly ; but on this occasion he was inspired by
the presiding genius. In reply to the judge's problem,
" Supposing that on the day fixed for the Coronation the
procession passed the house, but owing to some phenomenon
it was absolutely dark and the defendant could not see it
from the windows, would the defendant contend that not
only was the procession to go by but that he must see it ? "
Here was the counsel's chance, so he replied, with delight
ful impromptu, "If he were to pay a large sum for a room at
the top of a mountain to see the sun
rise, did the owner of that room
guarantee that the sun would rise ?
Again, if he paid a large sum to go
to the top of the Campanile to see
the plain of Lombardy, did the person
who took his money guarantee that the
plain of Lombardy would be visible ?
Further, if he took a site for observing
the transit of Venus, the site would
be there if she appeared, but no one
would guarantee that she would not
do as she used to do in Virgil — escape
in the cloud. (Laughter.) If he were to let a fishing-boat
fit for fishing and fitted with appliances to harpoon a whale,
he did not guarantee that the whale would be there or
that the person would hit it if it could be seen."
The fun now was fast and furious. "There is the person
who guaranteed to call spirits from the vasty deep," put in
the judge. And there was a rejoinder ; replied the witty
junior, "The spirits came not when I called," at which
there was loud laughter, and more and more as the fun
proceeded. At last the wit on the Bench, exhausted, said,
"How many of these conundrums have you prepared?"
At which the Court roared again. All were thinking of the
long vacation and in the best of humour.
To Lord's. There to find the Pavilion ringing with
laughter; good stories, good chaff, and in the crowd loud

102 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
laughter, raised by the witticism of "The Surrey Poet"—
but alas ! The cricket season was the most depressing on
record. Lord's cricket-ground, since its " stupid Com
mittee " turned the grand old picturesque spot into one of
the eyesores of London, was anything but a lively spot.
Its hideous, vacant mount of seats and rickety old sheds
are not enlivening, even on a bright summer day, but
with wintry weather such as
we then had — rain, snow,
thunder and lightning — cer
tainly the M.C.C. was not
the place in which to spend
a happy day. In the middle
of it all, the Annual Dinner
was held. Here good sporting
spirits were wont to assemble ;
surely bright, clever speeches
would be eagerly listened to,
and much laughter heard,
worthy of chronicling in my
weekly letter of laughter. Not
a bit of it. A more depressing
meeting, of dull, long-winded,
respectable, middle-aged gentlemen has seldom met. Lord
Harris's open attack, upon the "Amateur" question was
a relief, but there was nothing humorous in the whole
proceeding. Of course, there is the comic side of cricket,
as to everything else. I do not refer to comic cricket,
grotesque exhibitions in costume, so popular among panto-
mimists and music-hall artistes, but there are good cricket
stories, and not a few curiosities of cricket, worth record
ing. Now, as it was impossible to play on the grass, at
Lord's, matters might have been better had some substi
tute for cricket been introduced for amusement and
practice — such innovations were not uncommon in the
good old days. Surely such a feat as that resourceful
sportsman, the late Duke of Queensberry, originated years

CRICKET.

'LONDON LAUGHTER" 103
ago, when Earl of March, among other sporting " Schemes
of Expedition," sent a letter enclosed in a cricket ball,
fifty miles, within an hour, by having it thrown, by
twenty-four expert cricketers, from hand to hand, or some
other little sport of this kind, might have been revived,
to pass the weary hours of waiting in the sunshine.
Then came a funny book, to talk about. Mr. T. W. H.
Crossland was of much service to the diners-out, at the close
of an exhausting London season. The dinner- wit had
almost become a wet blanket, the raconteur was dumb,
the dinners, of late, were consequently dull. At last the
audacity of Mr. Crossland came to the rescue. Having
hit upon a happy idea — pulling the Scot's leg — he carried
out the idea, by adding, to his own happy thoughts, a rechauffe
of English wit at the expense of the Scotch, from Sydney
Smith's surgical operation, joke to Max O'Eell's joke about
the unstamped, empty envelope. Apropos of this latter
journalistic joke, I can present him with a true story, for
his next volume. I was present at a lunch, in the house of
a famous lady writer, and there met two eminent Scotchmen.
The conversation, of course, turned upon this much-talked-of
book. I shall not attempt to produce the Scotch accent, but
this is the gist of the conversation :
" Well, I don't think much of it, it's simply done on
purpose to draw us. The author says we Scots won't buy
the book, we are too mean ! "
"Aye, but you, evidently, have bought it; surely you
ought not to encourage the sale of it."
" Ha, ha ! Not I. I've only read extracts from it, in
the halfpenny papers, and I believe they're written by the
man himself."
As a matter of fact, neither Sydney Smith nor Mr.
Crossland, in questioning their appreciation of wit correctly
represents the Scots. The Scots are humourists ; they under
stand humour and appreciate it. The Americans are sup
posed to be a witty nation, an inventive nation, a nation of
millionaires. If you analyse American stories, you will find

104 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
that they are invariably founded on the old Scotch jokes.
Many of their mechanical inventions are merely adaptations
of, or improvements on, older inventions, emanating from the
Scots brain; and, we all know, many of their millionaires are
Scotch importations. It is the Scot's belief in himself that
is Mr. Grassland's excuse — at least, so I understand from the
little I have seen of his book. I wonder if he introduces that
old joke, of the Scot's contempt for other countries — probably
quite untrue, but still fair game from our ignorant English
point of view — the prayer of the, minister of the Cumbrays,
two miserable islands in the mouth of the Clyde : "0 Lord,
bless and be gracious to the Greater and the Lesser Cum
brays, and in Thy mercy do not forget the adjacent islands
of Great Britain and Ireland."
Yes, the Scot, in London, is considered,
by the Cockneys, a subject for chaff. It
was only the other day that the students
seized the " unspeakable Scot," who has
stood outside a tobacconist's shop in Totten
ham Court Eoad as long as I can remember,
and carried him off. This is a warning to
Mr. Crossland, not to stand, too long, outside
his publisher's office.
Enough has been said to show that in
stead of being, as one would have naturally
expected, the very brightest London season
within the memory of man, the " Coronation
season " was absolutely the very worst, that
the Metropolis has known, for years. If a
stray customer entered a West End shop, there was an eye —
that of the shop-walker — that marked his or her coming.
The theatres did wretched business all round, the publishers
had found their trade so slack that they had decided not to
publish a book for three months, and as for the weather,
the genial and balmy atmospheric conditions, popularly
supposed to prevail in the merry month of May and
the leafy month of June, were most markedly con-

"LONDON LAUGHTER" 105
spicuous by their absence. Well, as a matter of fact,
" There ain't no words for it ! " as the costermonger
remarked when a passing omnibus collided with his barrow,
and scattered the fruit, broadcast. Even his extensive
vocabulary, of variegated profanity, was inadequate to the
occasion, and would be to characterise the abominable
climatic conditions we have been undergoing of late. The
only class of people who really reaped a harvest out of the
dull Coronation season, were the fashionable photographers.
The fact, that their Majesties make a practice of holding
their Court late at night, necessitated the members of the
photographic profession, making quite a new departure,
in having to commence business at the witching hour of
midnight, instead of during the sunny hours of the forenoon,
although those were, in all conscience, scarce enough. As
a consequence the scene in Eegent Street, Bond Street, and
Baker Street, in "the wee sma' oors ayont the twal,"
afforded, by the arrival of Court beauties at the doors of
the more fashionable photographers, to undergo the ordeal by
camera, was one of the sights of London life. The curious
part about it was that those operated on seemed to enjoy it;
that is to say, the members of the fairer sex. A meed of
pity was due to the poor husbands, however, for the majority
of men seem to prefer rather to face the operating theatre
of the surgeon, than the studio of the knight of the camera.
Sheridan, on his death-bed, was told he had a chance of
surviving, if he would undergo an operation. " No," said
Sherry, " I've already undergone two in my life, and I'll
have no more." " Two operations ? " exclaimed the
physician, " what were they ? " " I've sat for my likeness,
and had my hair cut," said the dying wit. And I, to my
dying day, will declare that I would prefer to have my head
cut off rather than, under circumstances such as I have
here described, try to find a laugh in London.
I think it was my references to Max O'Eell, not finding
London the best ground for his humour, that suggested the
last two chapters ; but the same remark might be applied to
13

106 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
others, besides O'Eell. The Moore and Burgess, Christy
Minstrels, stood alone for years, in that they boasted " they
never perform out of London," but Grossmith, and other
humourists of the platform, seldom perform in London.
And, as I am continually being asked about lecturing and
platform entertainments all over the country, I make
further confessions on this subject, in the following chapter.

CHAPTEE V
FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS

CHAPTEE V
FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS
My Start — "The Humours of Parliament "— Behearsing — "Peace with
Humour" — Fog — A Special Train — Mr. Israel Zangwill acts as my
Understudy — Hosts — High-tea — Corney Grain — The Torture
Chamber — Plum-duff — Eccentric Guests — The Eev. Haweis —
Advertising — My Astronomy — Sir Eobert Ball — A Telegram — A
Doncaster Dummy — "Hear! hear!" — Lord Eandolph Churchill as
a Mummy — My Lantern —
A Capital Joke.

connection, with the

1888, with a soul brim
ming with zeal, for the
advancement of Art in
England, I succumbed, to
the flattering proposals of
the Birmingham and Mid
land Institute, which is,
or was, the chief centre of
the lecturing world, and
was bold enough to occupy
the platform, and address
the British Public, upon
Art, in General, and upon
Eoyal Academy, in par-

Art, in
ticular. The lecture called forth quite undeserved tributes,
from the Press, all over the country, and leading articles,
in the Times,- and the principal papers, in London and

110 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
in the provinces, induced me to follow up my first
lecture, "Art and Artists" with another, " Fortraiture,
Past and Present." This was also received with great
friendliness, and leaders upon it in the Times and other
papers followed.
The favourable and kindly reception, which was
everywhere accorded to my efforts, led to my being
invited, by the numerous literary and scientific institu
tions scattered throughout the country, to pay them
a return visit, and I did so, choosing " Portraiture,"
for my theme. To the surprise of the majority of my
audiences, who knew me only as a Punch artist, and
expected me to treat of lighter subjects, and in a more
humorous vein, I was desperately serious in both of these
early lectures.
But my listeners forgot, that a lecture, like a City
dinner, is not complete without a piece de resistance, and
that it is the office of the lecturer to instruct, as well as to
amuse. Moreover, in an illustrated lecture, it should be
remembered, the pictures must fit in with the text, and the
audiences at literary and scientific institutions, Who are
accustomed to be fed upon the driest of subjects, cannot
digest anything too fanciful and frivolous. In short, my
experience taught me that " what is one man's food is the
poison of another," is as true in the lecturing business as in
any other, and the fact, to which I have referred, that
wherever I appeared I had to pay a return visit, and always
to equally large audiences, encouraged me, at length, to
appeal to the more general public, and to attempt, upon
the occasion, something more ambitious than a mere dis
course. In the course of my lecture on " Portraiture," I had
briefly narrated the manner in which I have been in the
habit of making a special study of Mr. Gladstone, in the
House of Commons, and the interest invariably evoked by
my references to the right honourable gentleman — for I
could hardly suppose that interest centred in myself — began
to lead me to think that the subject, upon which I was most

HaH, last evening, 'The Humours of Parham .^^ ^ ^ ^ e
amusing commentary and excel ten. ».» «V' * * ^ WQ Houses and t e
and in greater variety of deta.l the «P«^ of the Legislature w.th
methods of conducting busmess and externa er wouM gam from
which we are all familiar in th* pages of. PW* ^ wWch „ was
an entertainment like that of Mr. F»RM» and J caricatures_a more
Hlustrated-though these were natural^ n «* ^ ^.^ .„ „, ^ter
vivid idea of our Parliamentary ^^'"J^  ~T^lS^
way. M u^chJMSute_jflf5fflMS " 'T^TSw "' * "'"

: great
the English languages ^ ** en. ^ *^""* .g*
hM rtlX^ntpictures^^^^

[By permission of the Proprietors of " IVie Graphic

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 113
likely to engage the attention of the public, at large, was
Parliament ; finding I was crowding the halls of the
Institutes, and that the orthodox lecture was not congenial
to me, I made my next appearance as an entertainer in
" The Humours of Parliament," without doubt my most
successful entertainment. This, I produced in London,
and it ran for the season, and was ^then given in all the
principal towns throughout the United Kingdom, for over
two years.
Eome was not built — nor was the "Humours of
Parliament" prepared — in one day. By special per
mission I made elaborate sketches of the Houses of
Parliament, for I was determined to give, if possible,
the impression to my listeners that they were actually
in the House. There is an architectural study, for one
scene, drawn by an architectural draughtsman, from my
own sketches.
Little did I know, when I commenced this self-imposed
task, of the work' which it would entail.
My drawings after being designed, had all to be care
fully drawn out, and subjected to elaborate processes, before
it was possible for them to be reproduced on glass, for the
powerful limelight instrument, by means of which they were
presented to the notice of the public ; and little do the audi-
^ence realise that a picture which passes before their eyes in
some thirty seconds (and owing to the number to be shown
some will not even be before them as long as that), had, per
haps, taken many weeks, to produce, in the form in which
they will behold it.
The preparations necessary, for the effective achievement
of my enterprise, necessitated my relinquishing all lecture
engagements, with a few exceptions, for a year, and I was
likewise compelled to decline nearly all invitations of a
social and festive character. In a word, the "Humours of
Parliament " proved sufficiently engrossing, to cause me to
shun delights and live laborious days, to fly from town and
bury myself in the country, in order to do anything like
14

114 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
justice to my subject. In truth, I was not altogether
sorry, that winter, to have an excuse for quitting the
fogs of the Metropolis,
and for enjoying the
bright sunshine of a
southern watering-place,
the better to prepare my
forthcoming entertain
ment. In the beautiful
Fairlight Glen, near
Hastings, I found many
an opportunity of develop
ing my Parliamentary
portraits, and refreshing
my memory of life at
St. Stephen's, for many
a long year past.
Not only did the
breezes of the South
Downs help to brace me,
for the hard work before me, but Nature, herself, lent
a helping hand. As I passed some massive oak or
beech, some twist or turn in its branches gave an invalu
able turn to many a thought, and supplied hints, which I
have turned to account, in my sketches of Sir William
Harcourt, while the sails of the Hastings fishing-
boats, as they quitted the harbour, in the glow of the
evening, somehow, persisted in reminding me of the
collars of the Grand Old Man. When I wanted in
spiration for the Ladies' Gallery, I sought the seclusion of
the Lovers' Seat ; and even the shrill whistle of the railway
engine, as it wafted me back to bricks and mortar, was not
without its use, for it enabled me, the more vividly to recall,
the dulcet accents of a Parliamentary Bore.
At last, I completed my task, and boldly engaged
Prince's Hall, Piccadilly, for the season, and for the first
time, appealed direct to the public. The " Humours of

FOG IN THE COMMONS.

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 117
Parliament " was a gratifying success, from the first, and I
was well repaid for my enterprise. The fact is, I was tired
of filling the purses of others, by the depletion of my own,
and repleting the exhausted coffers of societies. The hon.
secretary of one, in the far north, assured me, only a
short time ago, that he had always felt ashamed that I
had had to travel two days, to address an audience of over
3,500 persons for his society, and only received just my
out-of-pocket expenses, while the society, after paying all
their expenses, pocketed between fifty and sixty pounds.
That happened exactly twelve years ago, and I have never
been asked to appear again. So, it is evident, that societies
only care to use the name of a lecturer, or entertainer, as a
"draw," for their own profit, without considering him, or
the public. You are engaged for one evening and then you
are cast aside, no matter how successful you have been.
Subsequently, I appeared, for another society in the same
building before 3,700 people. And this has occurred in
several other large centres as well. Agents get their fees
from you, the Press gets plenty of " copy" from you, but
the lecturer has to give up all his time, upset his arrange
ments, both professional and dietetic, and in many cases
he is out of pocket. Therefore, having to earn my living,
I appear, whenever I can, direct to the public, having
discovered, by experience the danger of confining one's self
to institutes and societies. For, once you appear for a
society and are included in their Course, you can never
expect to draw the general public, at ordinary prices, in
the same town. Formerly I attempted two things — to
appear as a " lecturer," at a literary society, one night, and
the next night, in another town, to the ordinary paying
public, who will not have a "lecture," but wish to be
entertained. Now I give the same performance both nights.
It is only the term "lecture" or "entertainment" which
varies, and the payment — in one case I get a fee, in the
other I take my 60 per cent, on the gross takings. It is
difficult to write of one's self without being charged with

118 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
egotism. To quote what others write of you is perhaps
equally objectionable, yet I am writing for those who
possibly never attended a "lecture," or a one-man show,
entertainment, in their lives ; so at the risk of being
objectionable and egotistical I can only apologise and quote :
" Of course Mr. Furniss has his imitators, but his style
and method are unique. He is more of an entertainer than
a lecturer — dispenses with the notes, the wand, and the
desk and glass of water, inseparable from the lecturer. He
has a perfectly easy manner and a pleasant carrying voice
of great power. On that style which is peculiarly his own
— the style which makes any one who looks at one of his
cartoons feel that they know ' Harry Furniss ' — he at once
sets his audience at their ease, making them feel in a much
more increased degree that they, too, knew the eminent
caricaturist as intimately as if they had been for years his
close companions. This is the charm of Mr. Furniss's
manner. He is a born actor and the best of story-tellers,
and shows not only in the effective verbal matter with
which he carries his subjects, but by the arranging of his
entertainment and pictures, as well as by the control of his
powerful voice, strong dramatic instinct."
Stress of work compelled me to retire from the platform
for two seasons (1894-1895), but after a holiday trip to
America, I produced a new entertainment, " America in a
Hurry " (1896), with the greatest success.
With these two entertainments I made a short tour in
America, Canada, and Australia, and although I had no
reason to complain of my reception, either by the public or
the Press — as I have pointed out in my published " Confes
sions " — it does not compensate one for the loss of time,
and terrible expense and wear and tear of long journeys for
single shows.
"Peace with Humour" was my next entertainment,
with lantern slides ; and then, in the spring of the Corona
tion year, I gave a series of entertainments entitled
"Comedy in Charcoal," in which, dispensing altogether

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 119
with the lantern, I drew my subject in front of the
audience, thus making a further step away from the "lec
turer's " platform; in fact, I thought I should never again,

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appear for any literary institute, or in any lecture course.
At one time, it was a profit, as well as a pleasure, to "lec
ture " to the various institutions throughout the country.
The pleasure remains, for one is always assured of an
intelligent, appreciative, and large audience; but there are—
120 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
compared with ten years ago — so few societies in the country,
that it is impossible to appear, as I was in the habit of
doing, at eight or ten institutes around one centre, or within
a short journey from each other. Now one gets offers of
isolated engagements from the few remaining organisations
— London one night, Aberdeen the next, Bournemouth the
third. Herein lies the difficulty of making lecturing to
societies, profitable.
I may have, frequently, disappointed the public, by
appearing on the platform ; but only once, in twelve years,
have I disappointed them by not appearing. That exception
happened, some years ago, at Streatham. It was typical
November weather, and as the weather forecast was " fogs
locally," I trusted not to trains, but had a trap to take me
across London. It so happened, I started early, as I had
promised to have a light meal, on my way, with Mr. Brad
bury — one of the proprietors of Punch — at his house, close
to Wandsworth Common. He, and some members of his
family, were going to hear me ; so I sent my secretary and
my pictures, &c, on, to the hall. When the time came, to
start the 'bus, for the house party, had not arrived. To our
horror, a thick black fog surrounded the house. No time to
be lost ; I must go by train. Once out in the fog, I was lost
in it. I found myself in various suburban gardens, coal-
yards, and vexatious cul de sacs. In one of these, I came
across the vehicle we were waiting for ; the driver couldn't
see his way out. By an accident, I found the station.
" No trains running, traffic stopped," and time was up. I
telegraphed to the secretary.
At Streatham, a beautiful moonlight night ! I was de
nounced as an impostor ; offensive letters appeared in the
local papers, and, although my secretary assured them that
I was the last man not to get there, if I possibly could, I
believe, to this day, the audience think I played them false,
although in all my experiences, here and abroad, I never
missed an engagement. A narrow escape, I must confess
to, if only to show that when circumstances are possible I

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 121
leave nothing to chance. Unfortunately, I trusted to an
old railway Guide, when, in the autumn of 1900, I had to
travel up to Sunderland, to open the winter course, for the
Students' Society. The train,
I expected to travel by, was
" hoff." " Only a season train,
sir ; next goes in forty minutes,
get you to York this evening —
Sunderland about 10 o'clock at
night." I was due at 7.30. I
telegraphed to York and had a
" Special" waiting for me, and
I arrived, up to time, after the
most exciting and expensive
journey I ever had. It so hap
pened, I had telegraphed that
I had made a mistake, so as
to keep the audience. There
was an impromptu concert to
take place, and the popular
member for Gateshead, Mr.
William Allan (whose guest I
was), had spent the afternoon
in arranging a witty address on
Humour (probably the Humours of the Belleville Boiler).
The audience, however, never knew what they had lost by
my arriving in time, or how I had managed to get there.
Another audience, further north, was more lucky. I had
to cancel a promise, I had made, to address the Newsagents
and Booksellers Union, at Glasgow, in June, 1898, as I was
confined to my bed with a bad chill. Mr. Israel Zangwill,
kindly, took my place, and made a most amusing speech.
' ' Alas ! he was there only as an understudy, and an under
study who had never studied his part, and went on the
stage and read it out of a book. Again, was he fitted to be
the understudy of Mr. Harry Furniss ? That gentleman
might have illustrated his remarks with clever drawings ;
15

THE MEMBEH FOR GATESHEAD.

122 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
he might have shown them a book, as it appeared to the
author in his study — so large ! A book as it came to the
bookseller — one in a thousand. Or he might have shown
the author with a swelled head. If only Mr. Furniss had
left him his manuscript to read to them, then he could
really have been his understudy, and he might have turned
round and contradicted him ; and he really required an
understudy. He arrived home in London on the previous
day, and found an extravagant telegram, begging him to
come to Glasgow. The telegram cost so much that he had
not the heart to refuse. An author was sometimes defined,
as one who kept awake, in the small hours, in order to pro
cure sleep for others ; but the previous night he tried to
sleep, in order that he might keep them awake that day, but
in vain. He had, therefore, not slept since Sunday night.
In him behold ' a sleepless pursuit of duty.' They must
forgive him, then, if he seemed to talk in his sleep — or if he
slept as he thought. There was another thing which added
to his depression. He had a serious reputation as a
humourist. Although he was a humourist, he was more like
Figaro, who hastened to laugh, lest he should have to weep.
At dinner people nudged him to say something funny. He
tried to live up to his reputation ; but now, without sleep
ing, he might be caught napping ; he was tried in the
furnace (Furniss). He might be dried up."
As my Confessions are, at least accurate, if failing in
other respects, I must record one other occasion on which I
did not keep my engagement, though I gave full notice of
it. The following letter was written to the Hon. Secretary
of the Museum and Library Committee, Literary and
Philosophical Society, and Field Naturalists' Club, all of
whom arranged for the evening : —
" Grand Hotel, Birmingham, "Nov. 10, 1892.
"Dear Sir, — I have been expecting a letter from you
every day, to say my visit to Warrington must be post-

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 123
poned, as the accounts I read in the papers of the smallpox
are simply appalling. In the London papers, to-day, I read
that the epidemic is worse than I anticipated from the
reports I saw in the local papers, and as I feel sure you
could not get your audience together under the circum
stances, I would strongly advise you to postpone the fixture,
especially as, unless I receive information that the epidemic
is exaggerated, I may be compelled, at the eleventh hour, to
refuse to appear. Kindly let me have a note by return of
post — disinfected. " Sincerely yours, " Harry Furniss.
" PS. — The fact of my being a married man, with a
family, would never allow me to appear in a town which has
brought this epidemic upon itself by stupidly refusing to
comply with a preventative, which all sensible people have
adopted. I leave here on Saturday morning. Of course
you see that this will be a serious loss, as I not only lose
my fee, but am left with a blank night. Still, under the
circumstances, I cannot see how this can be avoided."
The Warrington Examiner dealt with this in a leader,
winding up as follows : —
" Mr. Furniss asks that the note which is sent to him by
return of post should be — disinfected. But he is a humourist,
and no doubt that was a flash of his humour. It will cer
tainly be an awkward incident of the epidemic if outsiders
begin to expect their Warrington correspondents to put
every missive they dispatch through a troublesome purify
ing process. At the same time, all this should be an addi
tional spur to the sanitary authorities to wipe away the
reproach which the continuance of this epidemic is to the
town. To say the least, it is extremely damaging to that
reputation for progress in sanitary matters which has
sometimes been claimed for Warrington."
So that my letter had some good effect, after all.

124 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Let me strongly advise every one engaged in performing
in public, to refuse all offers of hospitality; to politely
decline invitations, and go straight to an hotel. The
worst hotel is preferable to the best friend's house. The
better the friend the worse it is. You are killed by
hospitality and kindness.
Engage rooms beforehand, and when you arrive at a
town, go straight to your hotel, have a cup of tea and
perhaps a little dry toast, a cigarette and a thorough rest ;
order a light supper before you go out, arrive at the hall two
minutes before you have to mount the platform, escape as
soon as you can after you come off ; go back to your hotel,
change, have your quiet meal ; a cigar, and early to bed.
Except under these conditions an entertainer's or lecturer's
life is not worth living.
This I write with all sincerity, in spite of the fact that I
owe the valued friendship of many to my making acquaint
ances while on tour. I am, however, able to record, with
much pleasure, that in my travels through the provinces,
it has been my good fortune to be the guest of many most
kind and considerate people. The ideal host — and I know
many such — simply acts as your courier from the moment
you arrive. As, by magic, your luggage is up on his
carriage, and you are swiftly driven away from the smoke
and noise of the great commercial centre. No one has been
asked to meet you, a light meal is ready for you, as soon as
you enter ; and then you are shown to your room, where tea
is sent up to you, and you are left to enjoy your comfortable
fire and rest entirely undisturbed. You are driven to the
hall, and back again, no one being invited ; so that after
your evening's exertions you can rest quietly, in the society
of your most excellent host and his cheery family. A good
supper, a first-rate cigar, excellent music, and to bed when
ever you feel inclined.
I am glad to say that I have had the experience above
described in Newcastle-on-Tyne, Birmingham, and in several
other places; indeed I number among my friends a great

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 125
many kind and hospitable people, who have met me in this
genial way. Even some, who are not ideal hosts from an
overworked lecturer's point of view, are often really hospit
able and kind, in their way. For instance, the well-meaning
but misguided stranger who invites you and who has,
instead of dinner, that abominable repast known as a
" meat tea," comprising chops and steaks and boiling tea,
leaden currant buns, indigestible crumpets, and an assort
ment of jams. At the very thought of these comestibles, I
feel a twinge of indigestion. Here, perhaps, you are in
formed that "we are strict teetotalers, but we have some
nice, home-made lemonade, if you would like it ! "
I believe this happened, once, to Mr. Corney Grain, in
a town not a thousand miles away from Oxford, noted,
by the way, for the quin
tessence of indigestible
cakes. Soon after the
meal his hospitable
friends, who seemed rather
dismayed, that Mr. Grain
did not appear to take
kindly to their high tea,
were seated in the front
of the hall, among the
audience. His revenge
was even sweeter than
their multifarious jams,
for the first, item on his programme was his well-known
song, about " That Dreadful High Tea," and his new-made,
but gracefully reproved, friends sat and writhed under
his satire.
Lecturers are so frequently engaged to visit manu
facturing towns, where there are no hotels worthy of the
name, that they often find it a real kindness to be billeted
upon the Mayor, or M.P., or Sector of the place, and submit,
most cheerfully, to the well-intentioned domestic programme
provided. In such a case, a great amount of "local affairs "

COBNEY GRAIN AND CHAFF.

126 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
has to be digested, and to appear to take sufficient interest
in these, requires a supreme effort of the actor's art. Then, in
the morning, before you have to rush off to catch your
train, you are trotted out to the Town Hall, and asked to
admire a collection of atrocious daubs, portraits of past
Mayors, which hang on the walls of the Council Chamber ;
and after this you must view, in succession, the Mechanics'
Institute, the Almshouses, the Prison, and the Lunatic
Asylum, until you feel as if you were qualifying fast for a
place in the last-named institution.
On one occasion, in a town situated in the blackest spot
of the Black Country, my host happened to be the M.P.,
the Mayor, and my chairman all rolled
into one. This triple combination was
very trying ; as I had local political
affairs, parochial affairs, and all the
affairs of the Literary Institute served
up ad nauseam. My host was also
fully qualified to take Holy Orders,
if the length of family prayers is any
criterion. In addition to all this, he
was the proprietor of the local iron
works ; so, after bravely sitting out a
quantity of details relating to his con
stituents, the parish, the Institute, the
Church, and family matters (which
necessitated a prolonged visit to the nursery), I had to
" do " those works.
Interesting as visits to such hives of industry un
doubtedly are, they are somewhat alarming. The proprietor,
the manager, the overseer, and the men, perfectly accus
tomed to their surroundings, move about, among seeming
dangers, with a contempt that can only be bred of familiarity.
But the stranger goes through the ordeal, known as a "visit
of inspection," in fear and trembling, with an eye more for
his own personal safety than for details of machinery and
appliances. Up and down narrow, perpendicular ladders

MT HOST.

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 127
you go, performing- the acrobatic feat of walking up them
with your ulster on, while steam-pipes hiss at you, as if they
knew you to be an intruder. You halt, half-way up, and are
shown a cauldron of boiling lead, or molten metal of some
kind ; the awful consequences of a slip present themselves
to your mind, and you mentally make your will, repent all
your past misdeeds, and wish you had been a better man.
Then you are told to " Come along, and don't forget to
hold tight ! " and you rigidly obey the latter injunction, as
you complete the ascent, and cross a precarious-looking
bridge, over more reservoirs of seething, liquid metal, while
more of those vindictive pipes stick out and puff steam and
hot water over you.
Perhaps you may stand in this situation, as I once did,
when the iron plates, supporting you, heave up and down
with the heat underneath ! Your boots are burning, you
can smell the scorching leather, the soles get hotter and
hotter, your body is in a Turkish bath, your whole being is
steamed, like potatoes, over a fire ; and all the while your
kindly guide discourses calmly on this portion of the works !
Then he takes you up more perpendicular, red-hot iron lad
ders, and through a white-hot iron door, into a long Chamber
of Horrors ; furnaces glaring, pipes blowing off steam and
hissing, snorting machinery, the bands of which, flying
round and round with lightning rapidity, nearly shave off
your whiskers as you pass, until you are deaf with the noise
and dumb with fright. Not so your guide. He calls Jack
or Bill, the foreman of the department, and, for your edifica
tion, they have a conversation of which you cannot hear a
single word ; while, in duty bound, you exclaim — I mean
roar — shout — yell, at intervals into their ears, " Wonder
ful ! " " Marvellous ! " " Most interesting ! " and raise your
eyebrows to express your astonishment, and nod your head
to signal your approval. You go from one torture-chamber
to another. You are choked in one, with dust and smoke ;
bathed in another, with emanations from firey furnaces and
boiling metal ; frozen in the next, an outer shed without

128 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
any fire and with a cold winter wind rushing in, through the
broken windows ; nearly drowned in the fourth, with steam
and hot water from leaky pipes ; and at last, with your
health, temper, and clothes seriously impaired, you escape,
and thank your stars that you have emerged from the
" ordeal by fire," without the loss of your life.
I say this, in all sincerity ; for a few years ago I had a
very narrow escape. It was at Darlington, I think, and
a friend kindly took me over the large ironworks, close to
the station. It was in the evening, purposely, so that I
could admire the effect. I recollect, we had to run the
gauntlet of passing trains, as we picked our way over the
maze of railway lines, then we walked up a side-line to the
works. My friend suddenly dragged me off the line, just
in time, as a small train of waggons, laden with slag, ran
past, down the incline, without engine or brake. But this
was a trifle, compared to what was in store for me.
I had no sooner entered the works, dazed and bewildered,
for on every side open furnaces poured out volumes of flames
and roared at the semi-nude beings " feeding " them, and
lashing them into fury with long iron implements, when I
heard a shout behind me, and instead of going " all cold
down my back," an expression often used to express sudden
fright, I was scorching ! My friend pushed me to one side
(nearly into a well of flame) as half a dozen men ran a huge
block of red-hot metal along, on an iron " bogie " ! In a few
minutes I saw the same piece of metal, writhing and twist
ing like an army of huge fire snakes, on the iron floor, and I
had to perform an exciting dance to avoid being scorched by
its erratic manoeuvrings. It passed through one machine
after another, until it was reduced to a narrow stick, and
when it came out of the last machine, it was a rail for a rail
way line. As it was rushed through, for the last time, it
was pierced, at regular intervals, for the bolts to be after
wards inserted ; cut into regular lengths, and left bent
nearly in two like a human being who has been poisoned
with strychnine, to writhe and coil in the shed in which I

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 129
was standing. I had seen rails made, and, perchance, since
then I have passed over those identical ones. And this
reminds me that I began this narrative to tell you of my
hairbreadth escape.
Leaving Darlington, the next morning, I was looking out
of the carriage window, at the little side-line, over which we
had walked, the evening before, on our way to the works.
Another train of full waggons was running down the incline,
and I noticed they were leaning over, very much to one side
at the bend, the very point from which I had been dragged
out of the way, when passing, on the previous night, when
at that moment, to my horror, over went the whole train of
waggons and rolled down the embankment !
A few pages back, I spoke of the host who lives a
considerable distance from the town you are to lecture
in. I recollect, once, arriving in a large town, in the
Midlands, just in time to give my lecture. The Honorary
Secretary had kindly invited me to sleep at his house, and
I had also an invitation, from another gentleman, to sup
with him at his club. This vexed the Hon. Sec, who said
that supper was prepared for me at his house. However,
as he had to take home some of his family as well, who
were at a concert, he would come to the club with me, to
his friend's supper, to see that I did not spoil my appetite
for a second one at his home. I had learnt, from experience,
that, in these cases, it is best to satisfy one's appetite when
one can, and I knew that the bevy of ladies, with an
ancient aunt or two thrown in, would expect the usual
amount of attention from the hungry visitor. So, much
to the chagrin of the Honorary Secretary, I did full justice
to the most excellent, and recherche, supper provided by his
friend. I was then taken and squeezed into an overcrowded
conveyance, and driven for hours, up hill and down dale,
on a cold, miserable winter's night. What my feelings
would have been, but for the good Samaritan at the club,
I shudder to think; but as it was I had a secret feeling of
16

130 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
pleasure, and I was rather amused at my host bemoaning
the excellent supper I had made. It was early in the
morning, I think, when we at last arrived at our destina
tion, and I found that for supper there was cold meat and
beetroot, with other viands, anything but palatable to my
not over-exacting taste. I was then informed, that unfor
tunately they had not a room to offer me, and I should
have to share one with another gentleman — a High Church
parson, I think. Now, of all the things that I hate, with
no ordinary hatred, one is a long drive on a chilly night,
when I am tired out, another is a cold supper, and the third
is sharing a room with a High Church parson ! To catch
my train in the morning, I had to rise at some unearthly
hour and cut across country for miles and miles, to a side-
station, where they had to signal the train to stop to take
me on to my next town, wondering why on earth I didn't
stop at the comfortable club, enjoy a cigar after my excel
lent supper, and then go to the hotel and have a bedroom
to myself. This is paying dearly for well-intentioned
hospitality misapplied. How often, after a long, tedious
railway journey, you arrive, tired and weary, just two hours
before you are due on the platform. Your host generally
meets you at the station, but sometimes he does not.
Then, after waiting about, and fruitlessly asking porters and
cabmen if they know Mr. Ebenezer Jones or Mr. Adolphus
Cassar Smith, you engage a vehicle to take you to " The
Woodlands," your destination. Through a dreary, depress
ing labyrinth of factories, on to a dispiriting road, rattles
your shaky old fly, jerking and swerving over the tramlines,
as you pass, in succession, the hospital, the workhouse, and
the prison. Then you are fairly out in the country, and
such a country ! A flat expanse of land, studded here and
there with furnaces and chimneys ; in the darkness, their
flashes and flames add to the strangeness of the effect, and
you silently ask yourself the question, "How on earth can
a place like this supply an audience to listen to a discourse
on Art? " Worst of all, you can see no woods, to suggest

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 131
that "Woodlands" is near. Chimneys, fire, smoke, and
blackness are all that the depressing landscape has to show.
Time flies, and still no woods ! You get anxious. The fly
stops, and you hear your jehu asking some passer-by where
"The Woodlands" is. The reply is in an accent that
baffles you, nor is your driver more intelligible. At last
you find that it takes you an hour to reach your host's
house, and that gentleman, himself, seems to resent your
late arrival, as he would that of a " Punch and Judy " man,
or a conjuror, engaged to entertain his children in the
nursery. I have no doubt that there are many kind, hospitable
people, who invite you as a compliment; but there are, also,
a great many, whose only
object is that they may
have some one on show,
and you have to pay dearly
for your footing. For all
your anecdotes and jokes
are wrung out of you like
water out of a dishcloth.
You are taken up to your
room, and told that dinner
is ready and the guests are
all awaiting you in the drawing-room. Oh, what would
you not give to be left alone, to have a cup of tea and a
cigarette, and to lie down on the sofa, for half an hour's
respite, before going through the ordeal of amusing the
public ! But no ! your host comes up, and, as he is evi
dently impatient, you have to do a quick change, from your
travelling clothes to your evening dress, with a celerity that
totally eclipses the quick-change artistes of the music-hall
stage. The transformation effected, you make a rapid descent
of the stairs, and your host quickly introduces you to a
room full of people — the Mayor, the Town Clerk, the Turn
cock, or inspector of the waterworks or whatever he is,

PEACE 1

132 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
clergymen, Members of Parliament, uncles and aunts and
cousins and nephews and nieces, people you have never
seen before, and, in all likelihood, will never see again. To
each and all of these you are duly presented.
You take your hostess in to dinner, and find that a
sumptuous banquet has been prepared in your honour.
Now, no one can speak for an hour or two after taking a
heavy meal. There is a story told of an acrobat — a con
tortionist, I believe — who was very jealous of a rival. This
rival had a weakness ; it was plum-duff — that heavy,
oleaginous, unhealthy-looking compound that you see
steaming, in the front window of a cookshop, in which
the plums seem to be playing hide-and-seek (principally
hide) with each other. Well, these two agile ones chanced
to meet outside a cookshop, and the jealous but ingenious
acrobat discoursed, eloquently, on the virtues of the savoury
dish, that smoked invitingly behind the window-pane, and
to such good purpose that his successful, but unsuspecting,
rival could no longer resist the temptation, and accepted
the other's offer to "stand him a bob's worth." Having
demolished as much of the dainty as a shilling could buy,
the acrobat, thus banqueted, parted from his friend at the
stage-door. The wily one took a front seat and awaited,
with fiendish expectation, the result of his plot. There
was some delay, when No. 4 on the bill, the contortionist,
was due to appear, and when at last he advanced to the
footlights his rival, with the eye of an expert, could detect
the anguish of the performer. He was there to bend, but
bend he could not ! It is a fallacy to suppose that con
tortionists have no bones, or that, if they have any, they
(the bones) must necessarily be broken. Their bones are
as sound and complete as Adam's were — only rendered,
by long practice, very flexible at the joints. But the
contortionist also has a stomach, and this stomach must
be brought up into his chest, before he can perform most
of his feats. The plum-duff refused to submit to this
process, so the poor contortionist was summarily dismissed,

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 133
and it is safe to conjecture that he did not indulge in plum-
duff for some time to come.
It would be just as impossible, under similar circum
stances, for the entertainer, or lecturer, to pose successfully,
before the public. Nor does it matter whether the impedi
ment be plum-duff, or real turtle, or game, or pates de foie
gras, or all the delicacies of the season. Knowing this, you
allow one dish after another to pass untouched ; but you are
en evidence, and your provincial friends expect you, in the
space of half an hour, to eat your dinner and at the same
time entertain them. Should you let the conversation drop,
it is curious to note how very provincial your new friends
become. You learn that old Higgins has sold his cow, that
Mrs. De Watereyes cannot be present, because her niece has
the chicken-pox, that the Town Clerk's second child has
been vaccinated, and that poor old Grubbins has at last had
to go into the workhouse. The appointment of vestrymen
is a very important item of conversation, and should there
be a parliamentary election within a reasonable distance, the
theme is inexhaustible.
You have just pumped up some anecdote or town
scandal, or have had recourse to your stock chestnuts,
when the Honorary Secretary of the society, to which you
are about to lecture, who of course is present, reminds you
that it is getting late and that you have just time to get
to the hall. Then you have a chance of watching the
etiquette and noting the importance of those you have been
dining with. The Mayor must go off first, with the Town
Clerk and the Turncock (or whatever that dignitary's official
title may be), after him the parson and his wife, then the
Honorary Secretary, who keeps a tight hold on you as his
prisoner for the time being. On reaching the hall you
have to undergo another rapid course of introductions,
being presented in quick succession to all the local nota
bilities — the chairman of the society, the patron, the
committee, the gasman, and the window-cleaner ; and once
or twice, I believe, in the confusion induced by this process,

134 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
I have shaken hands with the old woman who sweeps the
place out ! This over, you are rushed on to the platform
before you have time to draw your second breath (the first
is generally used up at dinner), and you have to begin your
evening's labour, when you would gladly lie down and have
a sound sleep.
When you have finished, perhaps you fondly imagine
you are free.
Not a bit of it ! Those dreadful autograph hunters
waylay you, and you find a perfect monument of birthday
books and autograph albums, waiting for you in the ante
room, and to these you must subscribe, before you are at
liberty to leave the hall.
Then back, through the long, dreary, interminable roads,
now covered with snow, and looking more desolate than
ever. " Something attempted, something done, to earn a
night's repose! " Ha! ha! don't you wish you may get
it ! You have given a sort of curtain-raising performance
at the dinner-table, then another in public — now comes
your farce at the end. Another party of friends has been
asked to meet you, and instead of having the supper you
have sung for, the others, who have had a jolly good dinner,
two hours or so before, now think that a biscuit, or at best
a sandwich, is quite sufficient to meet the requirements of
the occasion.
Then for a couple of hours you are interviewed, drawn
and quartered, and, eventually, in the early hours of the
morning, you are shown up to bed and are told that " we are
very early people here, you know — prayers at quarter past
seven and breakfast half-past." Of course you dutifully
attend prayers, and while your breakfast is getting cold,
you have leisure to note your host's style of elocution.
Prayers over, you rapidly bolt your breakfast, for the
station is a long drive away and you wouldn't miss your
train for anything. But before you leave you must be
taken over the house, inspect the damp garden, and go

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 135
through hothouses that are sure to give you cold, walk
across muddy fields to view the live stock, and admire
the children's gardens, hen-houses, and rabbit-hutches.
Then you must subscribe to the family birthday-books,
and if you happen to be an unfortunate artist, like myself,
of course the autograph is not complete without a sketch.
After this you must criticise the local artistic talent (I am
still presuming you are an artist). The gardener's son,
down the village, has painted " a cow," that looks like a
red hippopotamus, and you must express your approbation
of this work of art. Then, there is a farmer who goes in for
painting figures, and to judge from these you would think
that he used the Noah out of his children's ark as a model.
Finally you escape, but perhaps have to undergo a similar
ordeal in your next town. On the other hand, the kind
people, who extend their hospitality to lecturers, often have
a lot to put up with, from the eccentric strangers.
The late Mr. J. Law
rence Gane, Q.C., once
Liberal member for East
Leeds, was one of the
eccentrics. He died on
the voyage home from
New Zealand, whither he
had gone for the benefit
of his health. He is more
missed on the platform of
literary societies through
out the country, than at
the Bar or in the House
of Commons. The hon.
and learned gentleman
had a striking personality,
a finely cut, intelligent
face, an active mind, and J- LAWBENCE GANE-
irrepressible activity of body.
In the House of Commons, he used to rush to and fro,

136 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
and would probably have struck a stranger as a most
distinguished legislator, and one doing all the work of
Parliament. He was a legislator only in name ; he seldom,
if ever, spoke — why, it is difficult to say, and, in the House,
made- no impression whatever. His eccentricities, even
were unknown.
I never heard him on the platform, as I was on tour at
the same time, preceding, or following him, at the same
places ; but I heard of his success (his voice was very fine),
and was told of his eccentricities. On one occasion he was
the guest of a friend of mine, a busy Liverpool merchant,
and when the popular lecturer returned from the hall, he
asked for all sorts of impossible dishes and liquid concoctions
peculiar to abstainers — a demand which somewhat upset
the routine of the household. When in bed his nervous
temperament was tried; he could not bear the ticking of the
clocks, so he paraded the house in the small hours of the
morning and stopped them all. In consequence of this, the
servants had to be roused by violent bell-ringing ; but the
guest was not to be distressed, so he rose again and ordered
the servants back to their rooms and locked them in, and
then went back to bed.
The Eev. IT. E. Haweis was another trying guest. He,
like other popular clerics on the lecture path, earned a very
good fee by throwing in a Sunday sermon gratis. It is a
regular business arrangement for the covering fee to combine
the two. The resident parson, of course, acts as host, and is
naturally, more concerned about the pulpit on Sunday, than
the platform on Monday. It was, therefore, a trying time.
for a friend of mine, rector of a very large and fashionable
parish, in a northern town, to wait dinner, on Saturday, for
Haweis till ten o'clock (he was due at six), have a cold
supper, sit up till 2 a.m., and then retire, unprepared for
the apology due to his expectant congregation next morning.
About 3 o'clock a.m., Haweis drove up in a trap, from some
junction miles away. He was not hungry, and his sermon
had yet to be prepared. But the tired rector was compelled

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 137
to sit up some hours more, till Haweis had talked himself
into an appetite; then, and not till then, he retired to his
room, taking with him some liquid refreshment, a cold leg
of mutton, some bread and cheese, foolscap and pen and
ink. " I shan't see you till it's time to go into the pulpit," he
said to his host. " I do not wish to be disturbed till then.
I shan't read any lessons, or take part in the service."
He was true to his word. Just as the hymn was over,
in walked the Eev. Haweis, straight from his bedroom in
the vicarage, across the ground, and preached a magnificent
sermon. " I ivas relieved," said my friend the vicar, in telling me
this story, " but I assure you the blinds of Haweis's bed
room windows were not drawn up when I was reading the
second lesson."
The Haweises did not always practice what they preached.
Mr. Haweis, for instance, wrote strongly in favour of the
advancement of house decoration ; yet the house in which
he lived — just opposite Lord's cricket-ground — a semi
detached one with a triangular roof covering both houses,
did not carry out his principles.
The Haweises painted their house a striking yellow, the
other being liver colour, which, of course, cut the "pedi
ment " — to use an architectural expression — in two, and
made both houses an eyesore.
It is high time some legislation was introduced for local
option in regard to house painting. People have a right to
decorate the interiors of their houses as they like ; but their
neighbours ought to have some voice in restricting vulgarity
and offensiveness in the painting of the outside. The people
in a house see the exterior of their neighbour's houses, not
their own; and yet some people paint their houses in
glaring and maddening- colours that drive their neigh
bours silly. Bright yellow, vile blue, and bright red are
colours positively actionable, yet we have no legislation
to deal with the matter. 17

138 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
A most unsightly method of advertising, which I have
not noticed elsewhere, has lately been growing up in
London, and that is for tradesmen, builders, decorators,
electric engineers, &c, to placard a house all over with
their business addresses, when they are doing it up, even if
it happens to be occupied at the time. Here is a sketch
of one not a mile from where I live. If this kind of
thing goes on, we may expect our greengrocer, butcher,
baker, and chimney-sweep to hang their advertisements
on our outer walls. Now if the
County Council introduced some
law authorising this, and a
magistrate's order were also ob
tained, to the effect that these
boards cannot be removed until
the bills for the work done have
been paid, there would be some
practicability in the use of these
unsightly boards. Tailors would
have theirs made of enamel,
so as to weather all storms.
This reminds me of one of
my many contretemps in the
" show " business, when I made
my success with my "Humours
of Parliament." I " ran myself,"
engaging that pretty concert-hall
in Piccadilly since turned into
the Prince's Eestaurant. My prices were West End
theatre prices : 10s. 6d. stalls, 5s. 6d. second seats, and
a 2s. 6d. gallery. This hall I filled for many days and
evenings ; and one would think I was making as much
as Albert Smith had done in the Egyptian Hall close by,
when I was in long clothes. I have no idea what rent that
lecture-entertainer paid, or what his advertising came to ;
probably one-fifth of what I paid. For my experience there,
as in every hall I have taken, in London, is that one may

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 139
fill it to the doors, run the show as long as one likes, but the
expenses eat up all the takings. My entertainment was a
new thing ; it therefore had to be " boomed." The number
of newspapers has so increased, that to make a show in the
advertising columns, is to ruin all chance of making any
money by the show. It simply means that one works for
the benefit of others. In Albert Smith's days, all this was
different ; perhaps, also, men were more honest. I was
robbed by the men in the hall, and swindled by my own
secretary, paid to see that I was not. Probably I should never
have even suspected the clerks — they were permanently
engaged in the hall — had not a gentleman, who had paid
four guineas for eight seats, noticed that no ticket was
handed to him, and that he and his party were shown
to their seats without a check. Although a perfect stranger,
he sought me out and informed me what had happened.
In a moment I was in the box-office — an apparition which
so unnerved the keeper of it, and of my money, that he
owned up, and actually showed me a long list of his takings,
which I never had the satisfaction of taking, myself.
All this is a digression. What I started to relate was
apropos of placarding advertisements, where they ought not
to be. Here is the true story of how I was turned into a walk
ing, or, rather, a talking advertisement ; and this by my
own private secretary, too ! Oh ! those secretaries ! The same
old story — help a poor fellow, out of luck, he is grateful; treat
him well, pay him well, he is assumptive ; continue to be
the Good Samaritan, long enough, and he will swindle you,
—forgive him, and he will malign you. I have had many,
and suffered and lost much. One or two brilliant excep
tions are, through me, now prospering in other spheres of
life, and remain my friends. But all this subject must wait
for another volume. This particular case, however, I will
give now, because it belongs to my platform experiences
which I am now confessing. It is the most harmless of all,
and one of the most amusing.

140 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
My secretary, on seeing that the stage of the Prince's
Hall was a very high one, and presented a bold front to the
fashionable audience, did a little stroke of business on his
own account. One afternoon, I noticed that those in the
front row were, now and then, looking intently at the base
of the platform under me, and not at me or at my pictures on
the screen. So, as soon as the entertainment was over and
the hall cleared, I jumped down, and found rows of large
advertisements, for various town attractions, pasted all over
it, as on the drop-scene in the harlequinade at a pantomime.
My secretary turned as white as the clown, when he saw me
turned acrobat. He did not show a bold front, and I never
saw him again !
If this was the only occasion upon which I have been
used as a walking advertisement, my name has often
obstructed the highway by playing that part.
When I was on tour
with my " Humours of Par
liament," my enterprising-
manager, in Edinburgh, had
twelve board-men and true,
up and down Prince's Street,
each of them carrying one
letter of my name. An
effective, but expensive, ad
vertisement in Scotland,
which might be done
cheaper by the price of one
man in England, where the
letter "H" is
unknown and

generally
absolutely

crossing

outside my hotel, for a

unnecessary. One day, at a
in Prince's Street, some
tourists were stopped, just
minute or so by my parade of

sandwich men. One of the strangers rushed up and shook

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 141
me by the hand, in a most effusive manner, and winking
at his companions, addressed me thus :
"Am — ah — delighted to see you again, old chap; allow
me to introduce my friend Captain Blagdon — Mr. ?
Mr. ? Ah —excuse me, old chap, I know your face so
well, but — ah — forget your name, don't-cher-know ! "
" Oh, I am so sorry. You must allow me, sir, to remedy
that lapse. I shall introduce you to my name."
So taking his arm I walked him and his friend up to the
leading sandwich man, the letter " H."
" Allow me to introduce you to Mr. ? —Mr. ?  "
"Mr. Croesus Smythe."
"Letter H, Mr. Smythe, Mr. Smythe, letter H."
Then I whispered to him, " This Mr. H., I imagine, had
a very slight acquaintance with your people, sir, but most
of the family, I venture to think, dropped it."
The letter A, I next introduced. He was a miserable
specimen of a man to represent the premier letter in our
alphabet. He informed me, with sadness in his voice, that
once he was chairman of a large company, but he was
badly treated, and being ruined, he turned sandwich-man.
I congratulated him upon the fact that although he could
not carry a Board with him then, he now carried two !
Poor fellow ! it's a pity he didn't make, A while the sun
shone. And in this manner I led him on, along the line.
I could not introduce the two E's because one of them,
taking advantage of the stoppage in the procession of
letters, had vanished round the corner to get a drink,
and the other was about to follow him, thus giving my
name a somewhat awry appearance.
The letter Y — the tail of the first word — was carried by
a gentleman from the South, who repeated the old tale
of better days. He complained, not without justice, that
F did not keep his proper distance, or F was, in fact,
always in the Y — would walk close in front of the Y, so
giving my name a Welsh appearance, and therefore a name
I shall not struggle to pronounce.

142 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Before I had got to my surname, which was mixed
up with a tramcar far down Prince's Street, my new
acquaintance had slipped his arm out of mine and dis
appeared. I frankly confess, that were I to be examined in
astronomy I should certainly be ploughed, altogether.
Strange to say, in one club, called " The Seasons," of
which I was a member, every one was known, not by
his real name, but by that of a star, and yet, with the
exception of "Edinburgh Wyndham," there was not an
actor among us ! It is to a correspondent in Edinburgh,
by the way, I now have to refer.
In my "Humours of Parliament" I show a sketch of
mine, of the "Humours of Parliament by Night." Like
the rest of the interiors and exteriors I prepared for that
entertainment, it is a careful and realistic drawing. The
original is in black and white, and for the lantern it has
been reduced, photographed on glass, and coloured by
hand ; the colouring is the work of the expert reproducer.
The sky is his, not mine ; moon and stars are scratched in
by some sharp point on the glass ; the whole picture, in the
lantern, being thrown on to the screen, any size from twelve
to forty square feet. When in Edinburgh, in the large
hall, I probably had the full size. The moon would
therefore appear about the size of a soup-plate, and the
stars would have the circumference of a hotel liquer-glass
— hardly visible to the naked eye. Now the white spaces
representing this moon and these stars, had been scratched
out at random, and as I am not competing with Sir Eobert
Ball or the Astronomer Eoyal, I left this trivial embellish
ment to the maker of the lantern slides, and I must admit
that the moon and the stars in this scene appeared, to my
eye, quite as true to nature as any I have seen in melo
drama on the stage. In fact, this moon effect was, if
anything, truer to nature, for there was only one, while
in theatrical scenery, if the " Star " is on the stage there
are generally three or four moons. But I received a rude

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 143
shock from the criticism, carefully wrapped up in the
following polite note, written by a learned stranger : —
"Dear Sir, — I was present at your lecture to-day,
which I thoroughly enjoyed. There is one picture to
which I should like to call your attention, and that is the
view of the Houses of Parliament by moonlight. Nowa
days an artist is expected to give correct science as well as
correct art, and I think I can give you three reasons why
you should consult some one skilled in practical astronomy
(which I am not) if, as I think, the stars in the picture
represent the "Plough": (1) In the bright light of the
moon the stars so near it wouldn't be visible ; (2) looking
west the Plough couldn't be in the position you place
it; and (3) I doubt if the moon could be so high."
Three reasons ! and yet the letter was not from Mr.
Gladstone either !
This reminds me that Sir Eobert Ball tells an amusing
story of one he received apropos of his lecture on " Invisible
Stars," asking him to explain how he could possibly say
anything about objects he could not see ! With his inimi
table humour, he explained the matter to the very ordinary
mind of his correspondent, by relating a fact in connection
with that white elephant of the sea, Brunei's Great Eastern.
This huge ship fell into the hands of the showman, and was
used to advertise the name of a well-known firm in Liver
pool: — Lewis's. The name of the firm was printed in huge
letters, on the side of the ship ! Eventually the ship was
taken to Ireland, the side was repainted, and the name
of Lewis disappeared to the naked eye. A photographer
developing a picture of the ship, as it lay near Dublin, was
startled to find in the photograph the letters, L, E, W, I, S,
plainly visible on her side. Although no human eye could
see them, the eye of the lens had, and their presence was
duly recorded. The lecturer's correspondent was not so
much at sea regarding the invisible, after that. Perhaps
my telling this story may set the Great Ball rolling, and

144 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
we may yet have his experiences of the Humours of the
Platform. The worst experience I ever had, of a dull audience, was
at a matinee I gave, at a South Coast watering-place in the
winter-time. I could not raise a laugh, try how I would.
The first part, occupying forty minutes, passed without a
smile. The audience sat like rows of solid, silent dummies.
This was getting on my nerves. I was struggling on,
through the second part — it was my "Humours of Par
liament " — but no, no response. Presently my secretary
came to the wings of the theatre, and handed me a tele
gram. I read it, came forward to the front of the stage,
and thus addressed my audience: "Ladies and Gentle
men, — I have given my ' Humours of Parliament ' all
over this country, for several months. This is the first
time I have ever failed to raise a laugh, at the expense
of our legislators. I have struggled on, now, for an hour
and a half, and was beginning to feel that in the quarter
of an hour left, saving some accident, nothing would save
me from having a fiasco. That accident has happened.
You do not comprehend my entertainment, but I have
in my hand, here, something you will understand — it is
perhaps more in keeping with your thoughts and moods
in this benighted place. It is a telegram from a Member
of the House of Commons. I shall read it : ' Dear
Furniss, — When leaving  this morning I saw you
were advertised to give your "Humours of Parliament"
this afternoon, and I know in that you give a humorous
description of Mr. W. H. Smith. I telegraph to inform
you, that the poor fellow has just died, and I thought
you would like to know this, in time.' " There was
applause. I bowed and retired.
I have a great advantage over most other platform
performers, inasmuch as I am in the dark during most of
my entertainment, the gas in the hall being lowered, as far
as it will go without being extinguished altogether; so I
need not look at my audience, but can keep my eyes shut

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 145
and hammer away. The people, of course, have their eyes
fixed on my quickly changing pictures, and the strong light
on the screen, in the centre of the platform, makes the
darkness, at either side, seem more intense. But, on the
other hand, it lights up my audience for my own benefit.
If my audience is an interesting one, I like to watch it
closely, but if it is not, I simply shut my eyes, and thus
save both their feelings and my own.
On one occasion, I remember, I was somewhat non
plussed. I was giving my entertainment in Doncaster,
and in the front row sat
a petrified mummy. Next
to this inanimate some
thing, sat a mystery, of
the same description, in
woman's attire. Neither
the mummy nor his keeper
(or his nurse or wife or
mother or whatever she
was) moved a muscle, the
whole evening, either to -
smile, when their towns
people encouraged me
with a laugh, or to get
up and take their superior
selves out of the hall.
I suppose they had paid
their five shillings each
for their own personal benefit, or they might have been
charitably disposed and have done so for mine ; but by
sitting there the whole evening, as impassive as a pair of
waxwork figures, they paid me a poor compliment and robbed
themselves of half a sovereign. I am glad to say that, in
the course of my experience, such strange creatures have
been few and far between. This made the present instance
all the more inexplicable to me, and I felt that my whole
attention was concentrated upon those two immovable
18

A DONCASTER DUMMY.

146 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
beings. With my eyes tightly shut, I rattled on, in the
liveliest key possible under the circumstances, and when
I came to some funny picture, or made some point which
was greeted with laughter, I opened one eye, but no ! the
mummy's countenance was as cast-iron as ever ! Another
point or another picture elicited loud and long laughter,
and my two eyes opened — the mummy sat as immovable
as a sphinx ! Why do such people come to humorous
entertainments ?
This is no isolated instance, and every one, who has
addressed a public audience from the platform, knows, and
hates this stolid image. Max O'Eell said that he had never
been able to lecture, whether in England, in Scotland, in
Ireland, or in America, without discovering in the hall,
after speaking for five minutes or so, an old gentleman who
would not smile. You wonder how it is he does not
go, but the fact is, he actually enjoys himself — inside.
I would most certainly prefer such an old mummy to enjoy
himself — outside.
It is a well-known fact, that some eccentric people go
to theatres, and other places of amusement, with incom
prehensible motives, their last thought being for the
entertainment. The most remarkable case that has ever
come to my knowledge was during the run of " The
Colonel," at the Prince of Wales' Theatre, some years
ago. A gentleman arrived at the theatre, some time after
the performance had commenced and took a private box.
Soon afterwards, the actors and the audience were disturbed
by the loud snores, which proceeded from the box in which the
late arrival was installed, and an attendant was deputed to
wake up the somnolent individual. " It's too bad," said he,
" that I am not allowed to have a quiet sleep when I have
paid for a private box ! I must try another theatre ! "
Some actors, lecturers, entertainers, and even some
clergymen, fiercely resent the slightest interruption. I once
heard a bishop order an infant to be taken out of church.
Occasionally, some individual member of the audience never

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 147
seems to be at rest. I remember, on one occasion, at
Darwen, there was an old gentleman, sitting close to the
platform who kept up a running commentary on my enter
tainment, which, although it rather amused me, seemed
sadly to try his neighbours. His continuous fire of remarks,
somewhat in this strain : " Ha ! Grand
Old Man, indeed ! Grand Old Humbug,
I call him ! " " Ladies' Gallery, is it ?
Much they know about politics ! I'd
turn the lot of them out, if I'd my
way." " Sir William, the Windbag ?
Ha ! ha ! that's right— that's him ! "
" Little Eandy, eh ? Grown his beard,
has he ? Better grow his wisdom
teeth!" And so it went on all the

ONE OF THE AUDIENCE.

One night, I was giving my entertainment in a large
manufacturing centre, in the north, to a crowded house,
when an amusing incident occurred, which delighted me as
much as it did the audience. I was just expatiating, in
a romantic vein, upon the charms of the Terrace of the
House of Commons by moonlight : the beautiful women
sipping their coffee, the well-dressed men lounging about
smoking their cigarettes (the very scene my astronomical
correspondent in Edinburgh objected to). I was picturing
Westminster Bridge as the Bridge of Sighs, the police boats
as gondolas; and in drawing attention to a young couple
in the picture, who were leaning on the parapet, very close
together, I remarked that " Flirtations were the same all
over the world," when some male member of the audience,
who was seated in the gallery, and who was evidently
experienced in the matter, called out, " Hear, hear ! "
This exclamation, coming as it did from the midst of the
vast hushed audience, and pronounced with such evident
fervour, fairly brought down the house, and it is pretty safe
to conjecture that the presumably jilted one has not heard
the last of it yet.

148 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
As I said, in my previous Confessions, it is strange that
in one of the quietest and most primitive towns, in the south
of England in which I had to give my entertainment, in
a hall that looked as if it had just been used for a Sunday-
school tea, decorated all over, and hung with Chinese
lanterns, &c, and where I expected to address a com
paratively unsophisticated audience, I had, in the front
row, Lord Hampden, who as Mr. Brand was so well known
as the Speaker of the House of Commons, while the
audience, generally, proved both quick and appreciative.
It may also appear strange, when I add, that instead of
feeling nervous, with a critic in front so conversant with my
subject, I felt far more at ease than I did, the following
evening, when I had to give my entertainment at Charter
house School, to a large audience composed of the boys and
their friends; as I told them in my opening remarks, I
felt that I might be addressing half a dozen future Speakers,
a dozen Lord Chancellors, and a score or so of Prime
Ministers. One cannot have a more critical audience than
the boys of a public school, nor, be it said, one more
appreciative and enthusiastic.
Speaking of my audiences, I must not forget the
Members themselves. One would have expected them to
be en evidence, but as a matter of fact they didn't seem to
care to show themselves. In the height of the London
season, when I had Prince's Hall, in Piccadilly, I used some
times to spot two or three of the Members in the cheapest
seats, the back of the gallery. This was not always from
modesty, but from positive parsimony. Four of them
arrived from the House one evening — four men whose joint
incomes equal, perhaps, those of all the rest of the House of
Commons — and after quarrelling with the cabman about
their fare, they went into the entrance leading to the stalls
and inquired the whereabouts of the cheapest seats. When
they were informed that to reach them they would have
to go along the street to another door, and then up several
flights of steps, their spokesman remarked that " they would

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 149
rather walk twice the distance than the little man should
have a penny more of theirs ! " And these are the men
who positively write to me, to ask me why I don't advertise
them by adding their portraits to my parliamentary collec
tion. So many men simply get into the House for what
they can get out of it — mere guinea-pigs, in fact — that
they are better left in the background, which they so
suitably selected for themselves, when they came to hear
my entertainment.
The lantern is always considered fair game for a sneer.
There is nothing so embarrassing as to have an incompetent
lanternist. Fancy an experience like the following : A
splendid audience, in a capitally managed institution near
Liverpool ; the Honorary Secretary being himself no mean
rival of George Grossmith. The lanternist, with his lan
tern, provided by the supposed leading opticians of Liverpool,
turned up a few minutes before I was due on the platform.
My introduction over, I gave the signal for the first
picture to be shown. To my horror the wretched man had
not focussed the lantern, and about a third of the picture
appeared on the screen, while the rest of it distributed itself
over the surrounding walls and ceiling. Of course I left
the platform, and the brilliant operator had to ask the
people in the crammed hall to make way in the centre,
while he altered the position of the lantern. The picture I
was showing was the daughter of Dibutates tracing her
lover's portrait on the wall. When I returned to the plat
form, I found, to my utter disgust, that the lanternist,
instead of coming nearer to make the picture smaller had
struggled backwards, and only the foot of the young lady
was visible, looking like the advertisement of a chiropodist,
or du Maurier's Trilby, the rest of the picture, I believe,
being cast upon the steeple of the church on the other side
of the street. I pitied the audience, and they pitied me.
The Honorary Secretary was distracted beyond measure,
and seemed to me to have carried the table and lantern and
lanternist himself, bodily over the heads of the people.

150 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Most of the people had been waiting an hour or so before
I arrived, and as this was hardly the entertainment they
expected to see, I filled up the time by reciting to them a story
by an American humourist — the only time in my life I had
ever attempted to do such a thing. I then proceeded with
my lecture on " Fortraiture," and referring to the ancient
Egyptian, mummy portraits, I gave the signal for a
mummy portrait to appear, when, to my astonishment, on
came a picture I intended to show later : Lord Eandolph
Churchill, not as a mummy, but as the volatile and verbose
Sir William Harcourt. The audience roared, but much as
they would admire a blended portrait of the politicians,
neither Historicus nor Lord Eandolph can claim to be
ancient Egyptian. The operator removed it from the
screen — in again it went, this time sideways ! Another
protest — it vanished, only to appear next moment upside
down! "Number Two!" I yelled; "you've got Number
Twenty-two ! " In went Number Twenty-three — upside
down, and so on the whole evening. My feelings can be
better imagined than described !
This is not the only trouble of the kind I have met
with ; the gas has often suddenly failed, and on one occasion
the operator, having to catch his train, disappeared in the
middle of the entertaiment ! After such experiences I
determined I would depend upon no one but myself, and
that I would devise my own arrangements for showing my
own pictures, engaging my own operators exclusively for
the purpose.
The search for a lantern was long and tedious, and no
sooner was it announced that I was about to use such an
instrument in my entertainment, than I was inundated with
letters from all parts of the country, not only from the trade,
but from amateurs in possession of magic lanterns, who in
vited me to rush down to Gloucestershire or Cornwall, as the
case might be, to view venerable instruments inherited from
ancestors who must have lived in the time of Guy Fawkes,
with a view to purchase. At last I had to procure an

FURTHER PLATFORM CONFESSIONS 151
entirely new triple lantern, of the most modern type, which
I used, wherever I gave my entertainment, throughout the
country, and this sketch, of my dream on the night upon
which this elaborate instrument, with all its new and com
plicated apparatus for holding the gases, was delivered at
my residence, may serve to indicate, what I have gone

MY NIGHTMAItE.

through on this score, better than any words which I
can use.
After several seasons, however, I found that the
lanternists in the provinces had improved and become
trustworthy and excellent operators. I have, therefore,
now for some time, given up taking my own lantern, and
have not recently had a hitch of any kind.
" No reasonable offer refused." The following is not an
advertisement. I came across it in "Items of Interest," in
a popular journal, and given as news — at least I did not
solicit it, nor did I pay for it : " The oxyhydrogen lantern,
with which Mr. Harry Furniss illustrates his ' Humours of
Parliament,' is one of the finest, if not absolutely the best
of its kind in the world. It cost nearly 150 guineas. In

152 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
most illustrated lectures and entertainments, the number of
slides used varies from fifty to sixty, seventy being an
exceptionally large number. Mr. Furniss has one hundred
and sixty. He also has a duplicate set, in case of any
accidents happening to the one he is using. All the
magnificent views of the Interior of the Houses of Par
liament are from his own pen-and-ink sketches. Owing to
the deaths of Mr. Parnell and Mr. W. H. Smith, Mr.
Furniss had to reconstruct a considerable portion of his
entertainment whilst on tour."
I gained a laugh, without deserving it, in Birmingham,
on the first night of my "Peace with Humour." I wind
up the first part of this entertainment with a harangue
addressed to an American, on English loyalty, and transform
his rough picture of our country into a stirring picture of
English national enthusiasm; and retire amid a blaze of
banners and a waving of flags. Then quickly comes on
a slide of symbolic Peace with Humour ! In the centre
of which, is drawn on the glass, in pen and ink, the term
of the interval — according to circumstances, 5 minutes to
10 minutes. As I left the platform, on the occasion to
which I refer, I heard roars of laughter.
What had happened ? I could not tell, until a friend
ran into my dressing-room, and said :
" What a capital joke that is you have introduced as an
exit, it went down splendidly."
" Joke ? " I asked.
"Yes; 'Interval minutes,' and you don't say
how long. That's the joke, capital; we all laughed."
The lantern operator had accidentally rubbed off the
figure, I never wrote it in again, and the joke still raises a
laugh.

WHERE THE LAUGH GAME IN.

19

CHAPTEE VI
A SATIRIST AS SEEN BY A CARICATURIST

CHAPTEE VI
A SATIRIST AS SEEN BY A CARICATURIST
'Max O'Eell" — His Popularity in the Land of the Enemy — His Sensitive
ness to Criticism — A Humorous Incident in the Commune — The
Essence of His Wit — An Encounter with a British Female — Master
and Man.

When Paul Blouet was lying on his death-bed, and after the
doctors had informed him that there was no hope, he wrote
to a friend : "I fear that I am
doomed. The doctors give me a few
months, but I believe I shall last
longer. At any rate, I shall try ; for
I'd rather wear a hat than a halo."
Clever "Max O'Eell" could not
have written a truer, or more cha
racteristic, epitaph for the tomb of
Paul Blouet than —
" Here lies a man who thought more of a tall
hat than of a halo."
The high silk hat was exactly
"the cap to fit" the head of this
man. To say or write something smart ; to make the
crown of life — its summum bonum, so to speak — a jeu
d 'esprit, was the one object of his existence. For nowhere,
in his work, can one detect any serious, or sympathetic,
interest in those friends he so cleverly, but superficially,

158 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
analysed and criticised, and whom, with such consummate
art, he turned into ridicule.
Herein, Blouet was very unlike another distinguished
French humourist who came over and settled in England ;
George du Maurier.
Poor Blouet had returned to his native country before
he died. He will be much missed on the platforms all over
this country and in America. He was less known, perhaps,
in London than any place else. His great popularity was
in the provinces, and he reciprocated their appreciation,
by talking and writing about provincials more than of
Londoners. London is not always fruitful ground for the
humourist, as the London Laughter chapter will show.
I knew both men well. Du Maurier loved England and
the English from the bottom of his heart. Blouet disliked
them. Both satirised the English. But Blouet always
criticised John Bull from the point of view of a foreigner,
du Maurier from that of an Englishman. Both had married
English ladies ; two charming, clever, interesting women,
model wives and ideal mothers.
But while du Maurier became more English than the
English, Blouet 's nature remained unnaturalised. Du
Maurier worshipped the English aristocrat, idealised the
English athlete, and immortalised the English girl. His
English children were perfect models of John Bullism, and
in all he portrayed — whether with pen or pencil — he held
up England and the English as models for the world.
Du Maurier was, in reality, a man of sentiment and a deep
thinker. " Max O'Eell" was neither. Strange to say both
thought and wrote in French ; and both were translated into
English. Indeed, all Max O'Eell's books were Englished
by his clever wife, who also collaborated in his dramatic
work. Both were extremely French in appearance — du Maurier
more so than Blouet.
I recollect going to France with du Maurier, the first
time he returned to visit his native country, and watching

SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 159
him stand, in rapt amusement, gazing at the people : " They
do amuse me so, my dear Furniss," he exclaimed. " What
funny-looking people these French are, to be sure ! " Yet,
strange to say, du Maurier himself looked more typically
French than any of his countrymen, although, at heart, he
was thoroughly English. He understood John Bull, and
John Bull understood, and appreciated, du Maurier, and
applauded the " Thackeray of the Pencil " for his clever
and fair satires on the best English Society.
Both men made greater reputations in America than in
England. Was this entirely due to the fact that they
criticised the English ? I think not. It was, in part, at
least, because Americans have a larger public to appreciate
refined satire, and — what is still more to the point — more
enterprising publishers to pay for it.
Unlike the French, John Bull is quite prepared to
recognise foreign merit, and is even prepared to give a
preference to foreign food, whether for the body or the
mind. He smacks his lips over tit-bits provided by a
French humourist, either of the pen or the pencil, just as
he does over -the made dishes prepared by the chef.
But I do not think the English ever quite understood
Max O'Eell. As an example of the way in which opinions
differed about him, compare the following comments taken
from the two papers in which I read the sad news of his
death. One editorial says of him : " Max O'Eell was
singularly fortunate in the reputation for literary
geniality which his books acquired. It has been the
fashion to describe them as full of only innocent fun
without a trace of malice ; but though it is perfectly true
that they contain much of the former quality, we should
find no difficulty in showing by quotations, if need were,
that there was a great deal of the latter in them as well.
Few people have said more vitriolic things about England
and the English than he, and among them are some things
which ought not to have been said by any gentleman of any
nationality whatsoever."

160

HARRY FURNISS AT HOME

The other publishes a paragraph in striking contrast :
"If there is a moral to be drawn from the career of Max
O'Eell, it concerns the practical value of a sense of humour
in promoting the comity of nations. The satirist sets

"MAX O'BELL.'

people by the ears, but the humourist, by teaching them
to smile at each other's amiable weaknesses, predisposes
them to friendship. We and the French are undoubtedly
the better friends, and the more conscious of our common
humanity, for the genial manner in which M. Paul Blouet

SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 161
alternately chaffed John Bull and Jacques Bonhomme. As
a merry mutual friend of the middle classes of the two
countries he rendered a service to which they may now
join in paying tribute ; and one wonders, without feeling
unduly sanguine, whether there will ever arise, among our
foreign language masters, a German Max O'Eell, whose
kindly jests will have an equally salutary effect upon our
relations with our Teuton kinsmen."
The French would never tolerate an Englishman of the
Max O'Eell type, living in their midst, chaffing them,
ridiculing them, and telling them disagreeable truths.
Neither would the Americans. Max O'Eell's popularity in
the States was, in a great measure, due to his ridicule of
John Bull. Jonathan roared ; but he did not roar much
louder than the many English sitting next to him. " Funny
man, don't-cher-know, this Max O'Eell ; awfully clever ;
dem good, bai Jove, jolly true, too ! "
But what of the funny man, Max ; could he stand
chaff ?
"My dear Furniss," he once said to me, "don't cari
cature me. I forgive you for dubbing me 'Paul Pry.'
You didn't know me, then— but it ivas unkind. I am a
Frenchman, remember, I cannot stand chaff. In America
they invited me to the Gridiron Club. I was told, before
hand, that it was a roasting club, a club that roasted as
well as toasted, its guests, and I was prepared. They
would make bogus speeches, ridiculing me ; I would reply
in the same spirit. Good. The evening came. Up gets
my dear, good friend, Major Handy. He begins by apolo
gising for asking the company to meet such a poor specimen
of a Frenchman as I : a retailer of chestnuts, a man who
lived under the false pretence of being funny, coming
from an effete country.
" This was too much. I jumped up, I was fuming with
rage. At first they thought that I was acting, and ap
plauded. But I soon showed that I was in earnest. No !
my dear fellow, I cannot stand chaff; I am a Frenchman."
20

162 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Not long after this I met him in a London club, in
the company of Major Handy. Max O'Eell drew me on
one side and introduced me to him.
"Delighted to meet you, Mr. Furniss. I guess when
you come to the States, we must put you on the grill."
" Thanks, awfully," I replied, " but you surprise me.
I always understood that you Americans were in advance
of us English. But in the Old Country we do not place
the furnace on the grill, but the grill on the furnace."
At dinner, at my house, one evening, I introduced Max
O'Eell to another excellent humourist, and — good fellow !

OIL AND WATER.

— the author of " Charley's Aunt," Brandon Thomas. It
had occurred to me, that when wit meets wit then comes —
the end of all seriousness ; but I was mistaken, and I
might have ended the quotation in its usual words.
Brandon Thomas is also the author of " Tommy Atkins,"
and still more heroic, and Jingo-awe-inspiring airs. He
is a wit of the first water — English. Max O'Eell, one of
the first oil — French. The oil and the water would not
mix. The creator of " Charley's Aunt " had to acknowledge
that he had never read one line by the creator of Max
O'Eell. There were high words and long debate, and

SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 163
national characteristics were freely discussed. It was an
awkward moment for me ; Thomas was chaffing, and
O'Rell was seriously annoyed. It was the only occasion
on which I had seen him upset. I saved the situation by
suggesting our joining the ladies. In the drawing-room
Brandon Thomas accompanied himself at the piano, and
" just to clear the air " sang us his " Tommy Atkins." Max
O'Eell, instead of being, as was his wont, the life and soul
of the party, sat in a corner of the room, in sullen silence.
Thomas then sang one of his delightful lullabys, with the
artistic feeling- for which he is so famed. Max O'Eell rose,
listened, applauded. Then, rushing forward, he shook
Brandon Thomas by both hands ; and, with tears in his
eyes, said, " Ah, my dear sir, you are a genius — an artist."
I have never been so touched before. It was the
victory of art, which knows no nationality, over preju
dice ; or — dare I say in speaking of a man of Max O'Eell's
talent — over want of humour.
M. Leon Paul Blouet, was born, and is buried, at
Avranches, in Brittany. His father was governor of the
prison in that romantic spot, Mount St. Michael.
Young Blouet was a soldier before he became a writer ;
and it may be truly said of him that he found the pen
mightier than the sword ; for, after serving as a cavalry
officer, during the Franco-Prussian war and fighting against
the Commune, when recovered from wounds received at
Sedan, he laid down his sword, came to England, took up
his pen, and, at once, became famous. General Paul
Blouet would, probably, never have been heard of outside
France unless, by the way, over the Dreyfus case, on
which he made some strong remarks the last time I saw
him. He said to me that he, "in common with all right-
minded Frenchmen," believed Dreyfus guilty, and never
before so much agreed with Carlyle that England was
composed of eighty millions of people, mostly fools.
Whereas the name of " Max O'Eell " is known all the
world over.

164 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Strange to say, the man was known less in London than
elsewhere. When Paul Blouet, French master at St. Paul's School
and married to that charming and accomplished Devonshire
lady, Miss Mary Bartlett, produced in Paris his first book,
" John Bull and His Island," which, subsequently trans
lated, by his talented wife, into English and published in
London, took London — as well as all Britain — by storm,

PUZZLE— FIND MAX O'RELL.

[From "Punch.'

his personality was so little known that, in sketching him
for Punch, I had to hide his face, dress him as Paul Pry,
and label him !
It was not long afterwards, however, that we met. We
were neighbours, and saw a great deal of one another. So
that, although he had returned to France, and I have not
seen him for some time, I feel that, in his sad death, I
have lost a charming companion.
Apropos of his soldiering experiences, he once told me

SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 165
of a humorous incident that happened during the Com
mune. I have never come across it in print, and it is
certainly worth repeating. We were discussing the pros
and oons. of fighting at night.
" It is a mistake," said he ; " the bravest men not only
feel cowards in the dark, but act as such. I commanded
as courageous a body of men as one would wish for. We
were aware that a brave body of the enemy held a small
castle, on the river, by a bridge crossing the Seine. We
were to rush the castle in the dead of night, surprise the
Communist soldiers and take it. I started, but I was
horrified to find my brave men turning tail, and, under
cover of the darkness, actually fleeing away from the
castle. I followed, and tried to rally them, but failed. It
so happened that our enemy had got wind of our midnight
manoeuvre. Their officer was served in exactly the same
way. One man after another decamped in the opposite
direction to the way we were expected to come, and, when
morning broke, there stood the castle and the bridge, with
not a soldier to be seen ! Such is the effect of night
attacks." Max O'Eell's most entertaining book is " Drat the
Boys " ; in which he gives his impressions of the English
schoolboy, formed while he was French master at St.
Eaul's School. It has always struck me that these
experiences — those of the English schoolboy — inspired
all Max O'Eell's subsequent work. He was, to the end,
the romping schoolboy. John Bull, at school, spoilt him
by laughing with, and never at, him. Young John Bull
accepted him as a jester, and allowed him to deliver himself
of the most extraordinary and bitter bon mots, with equani
mity — and so did the British public, always ready to pay
him for telling more. John Bull does not care one jot
what others think of him — a quality in which he probably
stands alone. Certainly the French have it not, and Max
O'Eell was, what we English designate, " typically French."
Long sojourn in the land of John Bull, and daily contact

166 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
with its people, neither rubbed off the French polish nor
rubbed in the British oak stain. His opinions of us were
hardly impressions. Eather were they merely reflections
on the surface. They did not sink deep. He never under
stood the English — he never liked them. He liked the
Americans better, but he only loved the French. He was,
however, a thoroughly good business man. He therefore
repressed his antipathy for the English, so long as it paid
him to do so. When he was paid by the Americans — as
he was during the Boer war — stupid John Bull had a bad
time of it.
The great failings of John Bull, which deserve the
severest castigation of the satirist, are hypocrisy and
cant. These Max O'Eell saw and did not spare. " Ah,"
he would say, " look at you English. How moral you all
are ! How pure are your cities, how chaste your homes
— on the surface. But what goes on underneath ? We
French are not more immoral than you English ; but we
are less hypocritical. We live our lives in the open. You
see us, and you English hold up your hands in horror
and say, ' How French ! ' The foreigner in England,
however, sees nothing of your real life, which is not more
pure than ours."
There was no denying the truth of this. I have,
myself, listened to the ex-Leader of the House of Com
mons when he rose, in his place, and vehemently denounced
the Sunday opening of Art galleries and Museums ; and I
have also seen the very same man, with his daughters,
in the Earis Salon, on the following Sabbath. I have
seen indecent caricatures lying on the table of the most
straight-laced English clergyman, who, if an Englishman
had drawn such things, would have ostracised him at once.
Yes, John Bull ; cram your shelves with volumes of
indecent caricatures, walk about with your pockets full
of the vilest French novelettes, go to Paris and — when
you think you are not seen — witness the raciest of Parisian
comedies ; but, if you do all these things, do not resent

SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 167
such men as Max O'Eell dubbing you a hypocrite ; for
you are one.
How often have I heard it said, "Ah, what clever
caricatures one sees in Paris — we have none in London! "
Quite so. But are these clever caricatures clever because
they are "over the mark"? It is very easy to appear
funny to an uncritical public if one can be coarse, as the
old caricaturists were ; but it is not so easy to please people
who cannot appreciate refined humour, and who violently
condemn, as coarse, the slightest deviation from the
commonplace, unless it be " made in France."
It is to the credit of Max O'Eell, that he seldom, if ever,
descended to be what English people call "French," but
kept his writing for the most part pure, his stories witty,
his satire honest ; while his manner, to which, on the plat
form, he owed so much of his success, was perfect. His
broken English added a piquancy to his most ordinary
remark, and as a raconteur he was unrivalled.
In nearly all the biographical notices I have seen, I find
the criticism that his anecdotes were not always as new as
they might have been. Apart from the fact that there
are only half a dozen "stories" extant, and all others are
founded upon them, the only tales that can be original are
those describing what has happened to one's self. To
repeat these — as Max O'Rell did, with consummate art —
is inevitably to incur the accusation of being egotistical.
Max O'Eell, as I have already said, was a good business
man. In other words, he knew how to adapt his work to
what paid. Those who have blamed him for being " super
ficial " and "flippant" surely did not expect the British —
much less the Colonial and American — public to sit through
a lecture of the weighty and dry-as-dust order, given by a
man with the reputation for humour possessed by Max
O'Eell. " The mission of humour," Mark Twain has observed,
"is to make people reflect" ; and it cannot be denied that
a little truth, wrapped up in a joke, has more effect on an

168 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
audience, than an elaborately delivered fact, ponderously
propounded, by the orthodox " lecturer."
Max O'Eell was popular, so long as he was funny. It
was when he became serious, interviewed Kruger, and wrote
anti-English articles for the French and American Press,
that he lost some of his admirers. Yet, in December, 1898,
when the Fashoda
~A <2^5 .rv33 epidemic of anglo-
phobia was at its
height, Max O'Eell
delivered a capital
douche of common
sense to Les Patrio-
tards Epileptiques,
and told them some
home-truths, which,
of course, they did
not lay to heart. It
is, therefore, to be
regretted that, later,
when there was
another outbreak
over the Boer war,
Max O'Eell should
have laid himself
open to accusations
brought against him
by the English
press, of making
speeches, or writing, as a pro-Boer. He was also called
over the coals for a rather unfortunate remark about
the funeral of Queen Victoria, in writing to the New
York Press. But these alleged faux pas appear to have
been, either the results of misunderstanding or of mis
quotation. They were certainly repudiated by Madame
Blouet, in a letter to the Press, at the time. Still
the impression they had produced remained; and, con-

MARK TWAIN AND MAX O BELL.

SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 169
sequently, Max O'Rell found a section of his audiences
somewhat less genial, perhaps, than formerly. Possibly,
his illness was troubling him. Anyway, he became very
sensitive, and when an audience in the north booed him,
he left the platform, and it was freely reported — and,
moreover, believed by O'Eell himself — that the antagonistic
demonstration was to censure him for these alleged Boer
sympathies. As a matter of fact, the demonstration against
him had nothing whatever to do with the matter. He was
engaged to appear in a popular course of Sunday evenings
for the people, in a north-country town. The majority of
the audience may, even, never have heard of Max O'Eell ;
but as most " lecturers " they had listened to, showed views
of places or otherwise illustrated their remarks, or had
musical accompaniments, they could not appreciate a
gentleman merely talking cleverly. They understood
sufficiently to tell he was a Frenchman ; that was enough.
Max O'Eell's nationality showed itself ; he left the platform,
and seldom attempted to address an English audience again.
This was not, however, the first instance of his being
misunderstood. Many tales, he has related, of curious
misapprehensions about himself and his work. One I well
recollect. He disliked being called a "lecturer," or a
"reader"; what title, then, could he give his entertain
ment ? A happy thought struck him, he would call it a
causerie. He was about to appear in a town on the south
coast ; and, when he was in the shop in which the tickets
for Max O'Eell's " Causerie " were sold, a lady drove up,
and requested to return the tickets she had purchased, as
she could not go, herself, and would not allow her daughters
to go to anything so improperly French !
"How English! Shall I ever understand them, or will
they ever understand the French ? " he said to me, as he
related the incident.
Like most Frenchmen, Max O'Eell admired the Scotch,
more than he did the English, character. In his " English
Pharisees and French Crocodiles," a book little known in
21

170 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
this country, but popular in the United States, where the
copy I possess was published, he made many a thrust at
John Bull (much in the way Mr. Crossland has done, in
the book to which I refer in Chapter IV.). For instance :
" Some fifty years ago, a great English wit, Sydney
Smith, said that it required a surgical operation to make a
Scotchman understand a joke.
" Well, an English joke, he probably meant.
" However, the satire was neatly expressed.
" When the English get hold of a good joke and see it,
it lasts them a long time.
" The Scotch are a hundred times more witty and
humorous than the English ; but John Bull still goes on
affirming that ' it requires a surgical operation to make a
Scotchman understand a joke.' "
Curious to relate, this contrast between the ways in
which Frenchmen regard the Scotch, and the English was
Max O'Eell's very last contribution to journalism, in the
number of John Bull published three days after his
death. Poor Max writes :
" We arrived at a pretty country house in [Normandy] ,
rang the bell, were ushered in, and were immediately
warmly welcomed. By and by I saw the face of my kind
friend grow reflective and a little suspicious, and I was not
mistaken as to the cause. For, while my Scotch friend was
gone to wash his hands, he took me aside in the corner of
the dining-room, and said to me in his rough, Norman
peasant-farmer speech :
" ' Cochon d' Anglais, eh ? "
" 'Jamais de la vie," I indignantly rejoined, "he is a
Scotchman, my dear fellow.' "
"I will not guarantee that my friend exactly knew the
difference between an Englishman and a Scotchman — at all
events, not enough difference to please a true-born Scotch
man; but his face grew radiant, and he rubbed his hands
exultantly in anticipation of the pleasure he was going to
feel in entertaining a real live Scot in his house.

SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 171
"When my Scotch friend returned to the room, the
worthy Norman rushed up to him, extended both hands to
his guest, and said(to him, with all the fervour of which he
was capable :
"'I am right glad to welcome you in my house,
which will always be open wide to all those poor people
down-trodden by the English.' "

"PUIR BEAST 1 "

It may here be opportune to publish, for the first time,
a little incident, the account of which Max O'Eell wrote to
me, a few years ago, from Scotland. It was my intention
some day to emulate Oliver Twist and " ask for more,"
illustrate them and publish a joint little work on Scotch
" Weet." The following is eminently characteristic of both
Max and Macs : —

HARRY FURNISS AT HOME

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SATIRIST AS SEEN BY CARICATURIST 173
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174 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
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CHAPTEE VII
ON SOME SPORTS

CHAPTEE VII

ON SOME SPORTS

A Cricket Maniac — Lord's — " To the Editor of the Times " — A Snap-shot
— Ladies at Lord's — To those about to Establish Golf Clubs — Eival
Interests — Selfish Interests — Speeches, Letters, Opposition, Mis
representations — " Le Golf" — American Golf — The Golf Widow —
The Golf Club— A Great Contest, "Black v. White "—Sir Henry
Irving on Prize-fighters — Boxing v. Foot
ball — I Fall Foul of the Sporting Press
— The Antipathy of Punch.
S regards Sport I have but one
confession to make — I am an
out-and-out cricket maniac. My
only holiday is watching cricket.
To travel abroad, to take the
usual holiday by the seaside,
to yacht, boat, walk, ride, or
"mote," is to me no holiday;
I am always at work — that is
the curse under which carica
turists live. They cannot see
anything without its being im
mediately run through the brain-
mill and ground up fine and
duly stored in some cell for
future use. Golf is the only
game I play, and that is rest,
but it is also work. The only
real holiday — absolutely doing
being interested and taken right away from
22 177

178 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
one's self, is to sit and watch a cricket match. I work hard
so as to be free, and every possible hour, I am at Lord's.
I am not a member, nor have I any wish to be after
reading the following confession from one who has been a
member of the M.C.C. (Muddling Cricket Clique) for so
long: "We ordinary members of the club, some, like myself,
of thirty or forty years' membership, have much to
complain of.
"We have for years left off playing cricket, and have
enjoyed from our college days the comforts and con
veniences here of seeing good cricket, have ourselves
been always able to get a seat in the pavilion from whence
to see the cricket. We have taken our wives to fixed
places from which to look on, and where we can find them
and help them in wet weather or any other emergency, and
find them at the time for leaving, and we have put down
our sons' names under fixed conditions many years ago.
"All this is changed. On occasions it is now impos
sible to get a seat in the pavilion unless you watch
anxiously for the seat of some one moving away and are
quick enough to step in. Our wives and daughters have,
as life advances, to risk a seat on the Mound or an empty
seat from which she may be rather ignominiously ejected
at any moment by the owner.
" Our sons' names are passed over, after being for years
on the list of candidates, by the admission of two hundred
moneyed men glad to pay an extra sum to buy their way
in over their heads.
"It is true that these new arrangements, which cut us
and our wives out of the old comforts and opportunities
of seeing good cricket which we have so long enjoyed, and
have diminished the probability of election under which
our sons' names were put down, are all legal and all
sanctioned by resolutions at legal club meetings.
" But, sir, you will readily recognise that, advancing in
age as we old members are, we like to leave the manage-

ON SOME SPORTS 179
ment of the club to succeeding generations of cricketers,
and therefore, not wishing to interfere or hamper them in
their efforts, we do not attend club meetings or even read
the agenda, unless any radical change is specially brought
under our notice.
" This is where our universal irritation and our universal
condemnation of these new laws, which turn us and our
wives out of our seats and our sons out of their proper
chance of membership, comes in."
This confession of the greatest public father confessor
in 'the world — the Editor of the Times — is apropos of my
Confessions, printed the day before : —
LOED'S.
" To the Editor of the Times.
" Sir, — I am not surprised to read your cricket corre
spondent's complaint in to-day's issue regarding the un
sportsmanlike treatment the Press has received at the
hands of the officials at Lord's.
" Your readers will recollect how the Empire was nearly
shaken to its foundation when the members of Lord's had
to decide who was to be the new secretary of the play
ground in St. John's Wood ! The Queen's Hall was filled
with swelled heads, and, judging from your correspondent's
note, the swelled heads elected one of their own body.
After all, Lord's is to cricket what St. Andrews is to golf;
but at St. Andrews golf is the one thing considered, at
Lord's cricket is a mere detail. At St. Andrews golfers,
lovers of the game, and even mere sightseers, and, may I
add, members of the Press, are given every facility to enjoy
the game. But, alas ! Lord's is fast degenerating from a
club of gentlemen cricketers into a show run for the sake of
profit. " Under the old management, for many years, Lord's was
an ideal retreat for the tired worker and the cricket lover.
Then the stranger felt that by paying at the gate he was

180 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
free to sit in peace, and with the aid of a good cigar it was
the ideal place in which to spend a happy day. Not so
now, to those seated on the paying stands. Boys, heavily
laden with open baskets containing merchandise one sees on
Hampstead Heath on Bank Holiday or on a third-rate race
course, but surely of little attraction to the frequenters of
Lord's, trample continually on your toes and screech ever
lastingly into your ears, ' Cigarettes, cigars, chocolates —
Cigarettes, cigars, chocolates.' ' Correct card — Correct
card.' " Cigarettes, cigars, chocolates.' ' Correct card.'
' Speshul 'dition — latest cricket scores.' ' Cigarettes, cigars,
chocolates.' 'Speshul 'dition — latest cricket scores.'
'Correct card.' 'Cigarettes, cigars, chocolates.' And to
offend the ear still further these calls of screeching boys
are sandwiched by, ' Any seat, sir, but the first four rows.'
' Any seat, sir, but the first four rows.'
" Why, in the name of reason and peace, cannot the fact
that, after paying extra, you can occupy certain seats be
written on a placard, or, better still, on the ticket ?
"In fact, we may soon expect swings erected in the
practice ground, shooting booths under that atrocious
erection the big stand, and knock-me-downs in and out of
the many drinking booths now disfiguring the club — a club,
once a quiet, gentlemanly retreat, now a huge conglomera
tion of various monstrosities of masonry. In fact, I
frankly confess, were I to see the buildings at Lord's, some
winter's night, on fire, although I would not be guilty of
incendiarism, I would certainly not hurry to give the alarm,
for, as an artist, I consider even the outside of Lord's
Cricket Ground an outrage upon taste and an offence to
the eye.
"It is not enough that the committee of Lord's should
offend the eye by having turned the pretty pitch of old into
an ugly mass of sheds and patches of erratic architecture,
but they must also offend the ear by turning it into a
pandemonium as well.
"Many use Lord's Club as a fashionable picnic ground

ON SOME SPORTS 183
for five days in the year— genuine cricket lovers are absent
then and look to the Press to read in detail the doings
of the colts— but now it appears that, during the paymg-
picnic days, the Press is turned out of the stand and
relegated to the tool shed, or, perhaps, to the roller horse's
stable. "Nearly every sport in this country is being ruined by
'the gate' question — can we not save cricket, and
particularly Lord's, before it is too late ?
" I am, Sir, yours obediently, "Harry Furniss.
" Garrick Club, July 6th."
This was followed by members' letters, of which the
following is typical :
" To the Editor of the Times.
" Sir, — As an old member of Lord's I am rejoiced to see
the letter of Mr. Harry Furniss in the Times of to-day. I
have long been looking out for some expression of the kind,
and I am thankful that it has at last come. You must not
think that the members of the M.C.C. approve of the treat
ment awarded to the members of the Press. The fact is
there is much dissatisfaction amongst the members of the
M.C.C. at the manner in which matters have been con
ducted for the last few years, and the waste of money that
has been prodigious. Two hundred new members at £200
each have partly paid for this waste, but otherwise the
money might as well have been thrown into the sea. Hideous
buildings have been erected all over the place, and, as Mr.
Harry Furniss says, the place which was once ' a quiet,
gentlemanly retreat is now a huge conglomeration of
various monstrosities of masomy.' In fact, I can excuse
his not giving the alarm of fire before all the hideous
buildings were burnt down, should such a fortunate
accident occur. It must not be supposed that the
members of the M.C.C. had anything to do with the

184 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
erection of these monstrosities. We went away in August,
and when we returned in May the hideous building called
the Mound Stand stood before us. No one who is not
obliged will sit in it, scorched in the sun or drenched
in the rain according to our variable climate. The
members were never consulted about all this deformation
of the ground. No plans were placed
before them. The clock was placed
where no one in the pavilion could see
it. Since then another clock has been
placed on one of the hideous buildings,
luckily far off, so that it is not con
stantly shadowing the game ; and now
the members of the Press have been
placed on the top of that building, so
that if they cannot see the game they
will be enabled, by looking round the
caught! corner, to time it. I do not wish to
say these things anonymously, so, at the risk of some
censure, " I am, Sir, yours obediently,
"George Rose Norton.
" Marylebone Cricket Club, July 1th."
One more : — " To the Editor of the Times.
" Sir, — As an old member of the M.C.C. will you
allow me to express my emphatic approval of the opinions
expressed by Mr. Harry Furniss, also by the two gentlemen
whose letters appear in the Times of to-day ?
" The fact is that the committee are virtually a self-
elected body, and have shown themselves to be quite out
of touch with the members at large. It is true that a
certain number retire annually from the committee, but
the retiring members are always brought back in the
following year.

ON SOME SPORTS 185
"During the University match last week all over the
pavilion might be heard remarks, almost unanimous, and
by no means complimentary to the ruling body, which
I wish the committee could have heard.
" With respect to the treatment accorded to the Press,
the waste of club funds by the erection of the hideous
buildings which now disfigure the ground, the favouritism
shown to certain fortunate persons in the allotment of
boxes and seats for University matches, and in placing
carriages, I heard nothing but strong condemnation of
the action taken by the committee, not one voice in
support. " The dissatisfaction, and I may add the irritation,
caused by the recent action of the committee, are almost
universal among members of the M.C.C.
" Yours obediently, " Sigma."
July 9th.
And now I refer my readers to photographs of the
cricket at Lord's, to see the way in which that hideous
Mound is patronised ! Photography cannot caricature
scenes, but frequently shows the descriptive writer in an
absurd light. "Record attendances" when photographed
often show empty benches.
One has to be very careful of the snap-shotter. Now
I do not care to reveal my handicap at golf ; suffice it to
say I am not ever likely to carry off the Open Champion
ship, but I can occasionally get over the maiden at
Sandwich. Yet I was asked, by a snap-shot fiend, to
show him how to get out of a bunker, and with every
wish to oblige him I jumped into the largest and got out
in one. To my dismay this snap-shot appeared in print,
" Bunkered again ! " and by golfers I have been associated
with bunkers ever since. It was pure jealousy. There are
some men who snap-shot rivals at their worst, particularly
should the victim be a caricaturist !
23

186 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
By the way, as " one of the crowd," I am fond of
wandering from my usual seat, under the large scoring
board, and one Wednesday, when I looked in to see
the Australians v. Middlesex, I saw, and sketched — snap
shotted in my own way — a rather curious incident.
The amateur, Mr. G. W. Beldam, the Middlesex cricketer,
photographing Trumble, the Australian cricketer, bowling.

Mi

¦M

' BUNKERED AGAIN ! '

The greatest Australian batsman, Trumper. The two
celebrated T's ; the great bowler, nearly a veteran
now, and the young and most brilliant batsman. This
performance was repeated several times, to the great
amusement of the crowd, Trumble protesting that he was
sure Beldam would be hit. "I don't mind performing for
you, Mr. Beldam, but I do it at your own risk." Sub
sequently, Mr. Beldam completed a masterly innings, and
defied Trumble's l.b.w. catchy breaks.
The M.C.C. ought to send critics, and not cricketers,

ON SOME SPORTS 187
to Australia, to learn something, we might then have built
a Ladies' Pavilion at Lord's, such as they have at Sydney.
Ladies would then know something more about our national
game than they do now. There are exceptions. The lady,
for instance, who was asked by a Harrow boy " why the
match was called ' Eton and Harrow ' and not ' Harrow
(being the most successful) and Eton ' ? "
"For the same reason, I suppose," was her reply, " that
one says ' Gentlemen and Players.' "
A lady golfer once showed she
knew little of our national game, by
exclaiming, after looking at the
scoring card, showing, Fry 120,
Eantjisingi 130, "Dear me, what
bad players to take all those strokes
to go round ! "
In the " good old days," say
ninety years ago, ladies knew more
about the game than now. A great
cricket match, in which twenty-two
ladies took part, was played in Lon
don, for 500 guineas a side. Twelve
heroines came from Hampshire and
twelve were Surrey beauties. The
performers, in this remarkable con
test, were all ages and sizes, from
fourteen to sixty. "The young, had shawls, and the
old, long cloaks ; the Hampshire were distinguished by
the colour of true blue ; the Surrey were equally smart,
their colour was blue, surmounted with orange." One
of the Hampshire lasses made 41. On the last day
"an unusual assemblage of elegant persons was on the
ground," and after the match, they were entertained in a
handsome fashion, by the nobleman that made the match ;
the winners, Hampshire, walking in triumph to the
"Angel" at Islington amidst the cheers and laughter of
Londoners.

A LADY GOLFER.

188 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
But bless me ! I am digressing. I do not recollect
ninety years ago, and my Confessions must be personal.
They sometimes even now have curious cricket at Lord's.
"Eobert," the type of City waiter made famous by the

et

n

P@fe &

witty pen of the late Deputy Bedford, decided to have a
benefit. A few seasons ago funds, it appears, were required
for his newly formed " City Waiters' Labour Bureau," a
society founded to fight the exorbitant charges of the
waiters' middleman, the West End agent. The benefit
was not a "waiting contest" at the "Gill Hall," or even

ON SOME SPORTS 189
at a picnic at " Burnum Beeches," but a cricket match
at Lord's ! Yes, Lord's, the home of the aristocratic side
of our national game, was, on the 29th of September, 1880,
the scene of a unique game. The " Roberts " of the City v.
the Waiters of the West End.
But, ah, the irony of it ! Only that month Lord's
Cricket Ground, which, every season, is becoming more and
more a penny-catching place of entertainment, has adopted
the automatic refreshment supply system. No waiters
required ! It must be admitted the sight of the greasy-
coated waiter mixing with the crowd on a broiling morning
at Lord's was always a most incongruous one ; but the
picture of cricketers in evening dress and white ties would
even have been funnier, had it been so. Now, the waiter, on
picnic days at Lord's, has the new, Vauxhall looking, East
end of the ground to play a waiting game with his foreign,
black-coated rival.
Let us go a-golfing, or rather let me, in this critical
chapter, confess what I had to put up with, in my endeavour
to start a club.
The French have a saying : There is but one step (un
pas) between the sublime and the ridiculous. And some
wit explained that this pas was the Pas de Calais. Only
whether one holds that the ridiculous is to be found
on the English or the Gallic shore depends on one's
opinion of English sports and amusements such as I have
described. For my own part I have never aspired to found an
amateur circus, but I have been the originator of a Club
for the playing of " Le Golf," a game which — according to a
French description given below — would seem to be ridi
culous enough. My Confessions of how I did it, and with
what results, may be of interest to all about to establish
Golf Clubs.
In consequence of my wife's ill-health, I found myself
and family, year after year, wintering at one of our famously
dull South Coast watering-places.

190 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Apart from working and riding, and occasionally watch
ing the sea wash over the Parade at high tide, there was
absolutely nothing to do. I was in the habit of escaping
on to the deserted High Hills, close to the town, where I
enjoyed beautiful scenery and splendid air.
After three winters' walks in solitude, I one day, came
across a policeman, eating an orange, and a coastguard
looking through the wrong end of a telescope. I merely
mention these facts, as I was accused — as every one is who
starts golf— of robbing the public of their pleasure-ground,
&o. But no limb of the law would dare to eat an orange,
nor would any handy -man so -burlesque his duty, if either
expected a man, woman, or child to pass that way. After a
time, I varied my walks by practising a little lofting over the
furze. I found the turf true golf turf. I saw around me
plenty of space for golf. Happy thought ! Why not start
a Golf Club ?
Now, it so happens, the town has an organisation known
as the Borough Association. Its purpose is to " boom " the
place. It invites a stranger, and the stranger is expected to
be their captious critic. When I was their guest, I made an
appeal for golf. My eloquence was immediately rewarded
by an official deputation waiting upon me, offering me all
assistance, if I could show where golf was possible.
After pointing out the ground where I had seen the
policeman and the coastguard, I had the Borough Boomers'
support. But there was one little point, they delicately
hinted, which was vital to the scheme. The hill I had
selected was, in the summer-time, the trippers' delight.
To get up to it, one had to mount steps only second in
number to those of Parnassus. They had purchased the
right to have the hill for the public, but had been refused,
by the owner, permission to construct a lift up to it. The
owner of the property was "impossible," he was absolutely
immovable, on that point. Now, the question was, would I
consider the lift necessary for golf ?
" We could not do without a lift," I replied.

ON SOME SPORTS 191
" Then we are with you, to a man ! "
I soon bearded the Lord of the Manor in his den. He
had not long come into his property ; he had been a parson,
in a pretty spot far up the Thames ; we had mutual friends
there. That was my passport. I found him seated in his
library, with a poker in one hand and a book, which he
endeavoured to hide, in the other. I mentioned golf to
him. He turned round and immediately poked the fire
vigorously. I then saw the title of the book in his hand.
It was, "Golf: Hints to Beginners." He blushed as I
said :
"I see you are a golfer," and as he was taking out his
handkerchief to hide his face, a golf ball fell out of his
pocket. The game was then " All even." I found the
rev. gentleman only too anxious to give every assistance
in his power. He had read my speech and appreciated
what I had said ; in fact, he had already tried to plan links
on the side of the property, exclusively his own, but it was
too small.
I suggested combining it with the portion he had sold to
the town.
"Ah! the Council is impossible; they would want a
lift, and he could not allow that. Would I consider his
objection, and make it a sine qua non there should be no
lift ? "
" We could not have a lift," I replied, " spoil golf
entirely." " Then I am with you."
A public meeting, called by the Mayor, in the Town Hall,
to consider the question, was the next step. A huge map,
showing the proposed course was prepared, and I addressed
the Mayor, Councillors, and public, for forty minutes; a
discussion followed. My motion was carried, a subscription
opened, a committee and officers appointed. Early next
morning the ground men were " shaving the hill," and the
transformation scene had begun before breakfast.
Instead of the residents being grateful to me, I was

192 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
attacked, ridiculed, and abused. My proposal was sneered
at, condemned as impossible by the few local golfers. They
admitted they wanted golf, but no links were possible where

A LESSON IN GOLF.
(From Captain Marshall's " Haunted Major.")

I wished to have them, and as they did not start it, I
shouldn't. My most energetic opponent was a Scotchman,
who had lived too long on the relaxing south coast of
England, and, if appearances did not belie the true state

ON SOME SPORTS 193
of his health, he suffered from a torpid liver. With all
that pertinacity peculiar to his countrymen, he did his best
to scotch, without being able to kill, my scheme.
As the leading local paper said :
" Mr. Harry Furniss is comparatively a stranger, and he
has demonstrated that golf can be played here. The sym
pathies of golf -players and of the public, who believe that
to have the game played here will benefit the town, of
course go out to Mr. Furniss. Not only Mr. S  (my
Scotch opponent) but many others have wished for golf
here, and have suggested various sites, but we rather fail
to see that we owe much gratitude to a gentleman who
merely proves to us that a thing is impossible when all
the time it is possible."
Prospecting for links, on
a public common, or any
where else, for the matter
of that, is like scrutinising
those picture puzzles so
popular among some publi
cations. The drawing is, say,
the face of a young lady, and
the puzzle is to discover her
six lovers. This you endea
vour to do, and, in all prob
ability, fail ignominiously ;
but when the picture is in
verted or twisted round, and
the faces of the half-dozen
rivals are pointed out to you, you see them at once, and
marvel at your stupidity in not finding them before. They
are there,, plain enough, for those who can discover them.
I have said these local golfers were rather piqued at the
idea that a stranger, or at any rate a non-resident, had
undertaken to establish the links, and they objected to my
taking to myself the credit of starting local golf, because,
forsooth, they themselves had thought of the project years
24

194 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
ago ! Let me assume that they did, but did they ever bring
it to anything ? The answer is obvious, for had they done
so, it would have been unnecessary for the aforesaid stranger
to exert himself on behalf of golf links. It would have
been better, for these gentlemen, to air their successes
instead of their failures.
From the commencement, I endeavoured, to the best of
my ability, to champion the claim of the hills, on the east of
the town, as the site for the proposed links, despite all the
arguments of the gentleman with the awe-inspiring Scotch
cognomen, who had taken it upon himself to advocate
the rival charms of links in another town, as a golfer's
Paradise, to lure the golfing element away from the town
I was in.
John Dunn was communicated with, and after visiting
the place, and thoroughly inspecting it, he had no hesitation
in saying that the ground I had selected could be laid out
to make a good nine-hole course. The turf was admirably
suited, being of the proper nature for golf, and there would
not be a tame hole in the round. Every one had sport in
it, it was good, natural golf, not a single hazard would have
to be made, the position of the links would charm every
visitor, and Mr. Dunn's object in designing the course had
been to bring in all the beauties of the place. A good player
would have something to try for, whilst a medium player, or
beginner, would find an easy way out of the difficulty. At
a rough calculation, Mr. Dunn estimated that the cost of
the labour in making the putting greens and teeing grounds,
cutting furze, &c, would be under £100. He would bring
down a practised workman and give him directions as to
what was to be done, and the latter would then be assisted
by local labour, Mr. Dunn running down from time to time
as the links were being finished.
That was the opinion of the man who was the fore
most authority on the subject, and I didn't value any one
else's in the face of that. The small estimate, for the
preliminary cost of laying out the ground, plainly showed

ON SOME SPORTS 195
that' little alteration had to be made, some links costing six
times that amount.
As a matter of fact, I ought to have returned to town,
about that time, but I remained as long as I could, at the
seaside resort, to witness, and, if possible, assist in, the
settlement of the golf question. Even after, at the call of
duty, I had been forced to go back to London, I was con
tinually running down, to see how the links were getting on,
and not the slightest doubt existed in my mind that when
I arrived to take up my quarters there, the following winter,
I should find the Golf Club an established fact and in working
order. I began to realise, however, that I had let myself in for
much trouble, expense, and loss of time; but I didn't realise,
even then, that insults, misrepresentations, and gross libels
would be circulated about me, through the Press ; from the
petty pens of the paragraph inventor in Fleet Street to the
Editor of Truth. In dozens of papers, all over the country.
appeared a paragraph, informing the public that I had,
whilst a guest of the Golf Club in the town I am writing
about, joined in a discussion with the members and got the
worst of it. This was but one of the petty annoyances I
was subjected to. One or two papers apologised, as
follows : —
" Our apologies are due to Mr. Harry Furniss, the Punch
artist. The other day a good story, which was going the
rounds, appeared in this column representing- him as having
had much the worst of the argument in a war of wit at
the  Golf Club. That story, like many others, was not
true — perhaps hardly ben trovata.
" Mr. Furniss was not worsted in wit, nor did he exhibit
'questionable taste,' and he is entitled to the amende
honorable which we make."
Others published, with an editorial note, the following
letter which I sent them : —
" Sir, — My attention has been called to a paragraph in

196 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
your issue of the 16th, in which you state that I was the
guest of the  • Golf Club, the other day, and that, as a
guest, I joined in the discussion with questionable taste.
As a fact, the  Golf Club is just formed, and has not
yet entertained guests, and the fact that I am the originator
and captain of that club is, I trust, sufficient to expose the
stupidity of the sneer you have published on a brother
journalist. " Yours truly, "Harry Furniss."
[We regret the publication of the paragraph, which did
not, however, originate with us. — Ed.]
The question is, where do these paragraphs originate ?
Let me, in giving this record of the trials of a golfer
starting a new Club, show how some do originate and what
mischief ensues : —
Then I had to meet the usual protests from those re
siding near to the links. One charming lady, well known in
the literary world, wrote to the London papers, bewailing
the sacrifice of natural beauty for the purpose of making a
"Golf Walk."
She might just as well have emulated King Canute and
commanded the rising tide to retire, as have sat on the hill
and defied the progress of the golf stream. We formed one of
the most sporting, and certainly most beautiful, golf links on
the South Coast, mainly for the winter visitors, who, by the
removal of a lot of rubbishy, stunted, burnt, and dead gorse
roots, have had, revealed to them, for the first time, a
panorama of beauty. This lady called the links a " Golf
Walk." Who ever heard of such a term ? It may perhaps
be admissible in fiction, but as a matter of fact a " Golf
Walk " is a thing unknown, and there is no vandalism, no
" sacrifice of natural beauty " connected with the  Golf
Club, but rather an improvement of the natural landscape.
The lady I refer to is justly famous for her writings on the

ON SOME SPORTS 197
French and their literature ; could she, I wonder, have been
the author of this curious description of golf ? — ¦
" It is called ' Le Golf,' and resembles both crockett and
lawn tennis. It's special feature consists in the use of a
ball — a sort of marble, extremely small, which is struck by
a mallet. One element of the game consists in the erection
of a little mound, recalling the pastime of ' forteresses '
played with marbles in our young days. ' Le Golf,' which
is indulged in especially by those persons upon whom lawn
tennis, with it's obligation to keep on running about con
tinually soon fatigues. It is at present the favourite
amusement in the suburbs of London. Backed up by our
Anglomania it will be the rage this summer in our parks
and country houses, and, as it does not require a large
space of ground, in our gardens and villas."
Still the attacks did not prevent my pet idea from
becoming a fait accompli. I met with most encouraging-
support from two of the medical men of the towm. One
became Hon. Sec. and the other Treasurer, and it is
through the hard work, and the support of these two
gentlemen, that the idea was so successfully realised. We
had much to contend with. The local members knew little
or nothing about the game. The professional came to me
one day (I was captain) , asking me to use my authority, and
prevent the new players teeing off the putting greens.
When I interviewed them, they claimed that as members
of the committee they ought to have some rights over
ordinary members, and tee off the smooth places ! It is
only right to say that many of them are now first-class
players. Then there was the difficulty with the professional. We
engaged a man with a great golfing reputation and endowed
with every vice of the " Scotch Pro." I had to order him
off the links.
Then we found that our " Golf Walk," which, as I have
explained, was started on a hill and some adjacent land,
hitherto deserted, soon, became the rendezvous of the place.

198, HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Non-golfers started other games on the same hill, and, lift
or no lift, the public came up in such numbers that we were
eventually driven inland and have now a splendid eighteen-
hole course. I never pretended that we should have
anything more, in the former site ; than a second-class
links, but those were better than none ; and when I last
visited them, so many members were playing, I had to wait
twenty-five minutes for my turn.
When I first visited America, " golf," so far as I could
-, discover, was absolutely
unknown. Four years
afterwards, I made my
second trip, and dis
covered that three Scotch
importations had become
a rage in the United
States — Scotch novels,
Scotch whisky, and Golf.
Golf is the only new fad
that will last. The Scotch
books are for a season,
Scotch whisky is for a
fashion, but Golf is for
health. The magic rate
at which it has caught
on, is typical of every
thing Americans touch.
2? They have magnificent
club houses, all over
the place ; competitions
and clubs galore. The
" What a peculiar style MacGolfer has, hasn't lie ? " Qpr»fr»Vi " nm " l'<3 - lTU-
" Style, d'ye call it ? Why, man, he shapes just like a O^UU^ii JJJ.U 10 ±±±j-
haitciosit razor!" ported in extraordinary
numbers, the latest inventions are freely discussed,
golf literature is in abundance. The Americans under
stand everything but the game — that is the pure spirit
of it. The one idea is to drive a ball a long way ; the

&&.

ON SOME SPORTS 199
science of the game (the short one is the true game) is not
understood, so far as I could observe, in America. Their
greens are young and rough — in fact, with one or two
exceptions, not fit for golf. If they spent half the money
on the. greens that they do on the gorgeous club houses
and their endless competitions, the game would be better.
I have actually seen a player lose two strokes and tee
his ball (against all rules) so as to get a swipe. When they
understand the game, and have better links, and drop that
horrible American idea, that all sport is wagering and cup
hunting and publicity, they will make excellent golfers, and
they are to be heartily congratulated upon taking up the
game so generally, and with so much spirit.
A young, rich New Yorker whom I met on links by the
Hudson, said, "I guess I have a pretty interesting game
on. I am playing for a dollar a stroke. My opponent has
an advantage, he started this last fall and I have only had
the sticks in my hand once before to-day."
My partner and I passed this couple half an hour later,
and I found the gentleman who had only had the " sticks "
out once before taking six strokes to get out of a bunker at
the third hole.
" How goes it ? " I asked.
" Tarnation bad ! I started fairly well but I have lost
fifty dollars (which meant that he was fifty strokes worse
than his opponent) in the last two holes ! "
It was on these links that I was paid the only compli
ment I ever received, at golf, excepting a professional's
compliments, when selling his clubs. There was a hole, in
a cupped green. The American I was playing with went
straight for the hole, missed it, and the ball shot down the
hill. I played up the hill, and my ball trickled down, lying
dead. " Waal, Siree, you are the vury first man I ever saw who
played with his head, instead of his club."
Ah, how I wish I could play with my club ! Both the
Londoner's links, and the New Yorker's links, suffer from the

200 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
admirers of the players. The ladies will wear high heels,
and consequently the putting greens, after rain are ruined.
The face of the keen golfer, as the fair followers walk over
the greens, is a study for the caricaturist.
The following golf story has been revived, and is still
going the round of the Press : —
THE GOLF WIDOW.
A fisherman noticed a lonely lady, sitting on a rock, at
North Berwick, knitting, and remarked to his companion,
" That's a lonesome-lookin' woman. She sits on that rock
a' day, aye knittin' ; she never speaks to a livin' sowl ; an
auld maid, I suppose." " Auld maid," replied the other.
" No her ; I ken her find. Her man's a gowfer ! "
The story is not mine, but the heading, " The Golf
Widow," is my invention, and my drawing of the widow
appears in the Badminton Book on Golf.
A Golf Club is the only game club which resembles an
ordinary, social club. The cricket club is merely a pavilion,
the boating club is a shed, the tennis club is a tent — except
ing, of course, centres such as Lord's, the London Bowing
Club, and Frince's. Still, even they are not, as clubs, strictly
speaking, tolerable, apart from the game. And, further
more, they only have their seasons, whilst Golf Clubs are
open all the year round, and have members, both ladies and
gentlemen, who never go on to the links at all, take no
interest whatever in the game, and merely belong to Golf
Clubs, for their social advantage. St. Andrews, Wimbledon,
and Sandwich are, perhaps, too business-like, too much like
Lord's or the Oval in the cricket world. But let us take an
ordinary Golf Club and see how delightful it is.
In the first place, it is generally situated in a charming
country, and must be far from the madding crowd ; for golf
cannot be played in a back garden like tennis, or in a field
adjoining gasworks or Metropolitan railways, like cricket.
Golf, alas ! is not so close at hand to the weary

ON SOME SPORTS 201
Londoner, so he flies out of Town, glad to find the club,
by the expansive sea, and the club house, that has been the
old Manor House, and stands in a beautiful garden with an
avenue of shady trees leading up to it. Additions have
been made to improve the old building ; a luxurious dining-
room ; and, to pass away the evenings, a splendid billiard-
room has been built. Within a stone's throw of the first
teeing ground, members can sit under the verandah, in the
morning and have their first pipe after breakfast, as they
make their matches up for the day, miles away from any
town or cheap trippers, puffing trains, or tourists.
It is only of recent years, that Southerners have realised
the fact that golf is not, exclusively, " an old man's
game." Golfers, in the North,, from the Grand Old Man
of Golf, Tom Morris, to the retired Glasgow merchant,
who has spent long hours, every business day of his life, at
his books, can play golf ; they began early in life, and
mastered the art when young, and lithesome, for old men,
if they have played as boys and acquired the " swing," can
always play good golf.
But it is not a. game for an old man, taking to it late
in life. He may wobble round the links, but so far as golf
is concerned, he might just as well take his walking-stick
with him as a club ; indeed, the majority of members would
be thankful if he did. Still, the athletic youngster, who has
just "chucked cricket" and taken up golf, reads Horace
Hutchinson's " Hints for Beginners," has been round the
links half a dozen times with the " pro," and broken a club
or two, must not look with contempt upon that old gentle
man seated in the arm-chair, by the fire, in the empty club-
room, coughing and poking the fire. He looks up, as the
youth enters, wheezes, coughs, and grunts something about,
" Want a match ? "
The young man smiles, disdainfully, at first, and then
drawls out condescendingly, " Oh, ah, I've no one to play
with. Don't mind."
" Well, I'm an old man, but every one is out ; I'll make
25

202 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
an effort to get round, if there is no one else to play with.
I'll show you the course with pleasure, young man. Ah,
you're bitten with the game, I see. Grand game, sir, grand
game. Wish I were your age, that's all. Eh ? You have
learned the game ? Glad to hear that. You'll beat me
nicely ; still, we'll play level. Dear me, how my cough does
trouble me ! And these glasses are not the ones I generally
wear when I play. Now, shall we have a ' ball ' on the
match, just to give it a little interest, or half a crown ?
Yes, half a crown or five shillings ? Half a sovereign, if
you like. So, half a sovereign let it be, and five shillings
on the bye. Dear me, I'd better pay you at once," says the
old man, as he carefully selects his " tee."
The young stranger is amused with the old sportsman.
He thinks he is rather green, to back himself, for he is
nearly bent in two, can hardly walk, and his cough is
troublesome. He plays with a ball that has seen other
rounds, and his clubs are old and peculiar. But the young
man's smile disappears, as he notices the change of manner
the moment the half-sovereign is on.
The old man is twenty years younger. His cough ceases,
and his arms are active if his legs are not. He takes a half
swing, and off goes the ball 120 yards on to a safe spot,
a nice lie for the next shot. The novice addresses the ball
with a great flourish, puts all he knows into it, gives it a
tremendous swipe, tops it, and it rolls into a bunker he
" didn't see was there." He's lost that fifteen shillings,
now plays cricket again, and believes golf is an old man's
game. Until quite recently, when the motor mania took
possession of men, women, and children, ladies were golf
mad. They talked "golf," they practised golf, they
monopolised golf. Therefore the only man who welcomes
the motor mania is the old golfer. The ranks of lady
golfers have been thinned. Lady Topum's caddie no longer
stops the way, at least not to the alarming extent as hereto
fore, and the selfish golfer smiles — golfers are selfish, it is

ON SOME SPORTS 203
a selfish game, thoroughly and absolutely selfish, and having
said that you have said all that can be said against golf.
The selfishness is confined to the actual playing, and for
this reason; it is perhaps rightly not encouraged in our public
schools. Cricket, football, tennis, and other games bring
boys together, but not golf. At golf you play your own
game, isolated the greater part of the time ; there is no
conjunction of interest, each player tries to go one better
than his opponent. Still, as regards the club itself, a
stranger is free to watch the game and enjoy everything,
except the privilege of playing ; and if it happens, as it often
does, that the game is being played on a public common,
then the stranger is free even to smack the ball at his will.
Another club, of which I have the privilege to be a
member, finds its chief opponent in the selfishness of the
fair residents in the neighbourhood — ladies who actually
ride over the carefully prepared and kept putting greens, so
that their horses' hoofs may spoil the pleasure of the golfer,
and strain the resources of the club funds in putting them
right. Here, again, it is not to punish the male golfer so much
as those ladies who happen to be members and with whom
there may be some family feud. Nevertheless, ladies hold
their own in the golf clubs, as they do in everything else, and,
although personally I think golf is anything but a graceful
game for women, yet it is more graceful than cycling, more
healthy than tennis, more of a sport than croquet, and a
game which married ladies at least ought to practise, other
wise, should they be married to golfers, they will see very
little of their husbands when on pleasure bent.
Up to the present, I have not come across the name
of any very celebrated lady, who has ever taken up with golf,
but among the male players, we have some of the best
known names in politics, literature, science, and art, who
are enthusiasts.
This reminds me of a fact, I related a year or two ago.
I had been for a round, at Chorleywood Golf Club, and

204 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
returning by an early train, I got into a compartment with
two other passengers, evidently scoffing unbelievers, for one
of them, as they were looking out of the window at the
links, remarked :
"Ah, they play that stupid game of golf here, doncher-
know ; wretched farce — ah — look at those idiots ! "
To which his friend
replied :
" Yes, bai Jove !
Ought to have their
keepers with them. You
can judge a game by
those who play it, don-
cherknow ! "
The ' ' idiots " happened
to be the Eight Honour
able A. J. Balfour and the
Editor of the Times, who
were waiting for the ex-First Lord of the Admiralty to play
off. I was rather amused to see that one of these super
cilious critics was hugging a copy of the Thunderer while
the other had the Standard.
These overpoweringly brainy gentlemen got out at
Harrow, in all probability to attend the opening of the
Constitutional Club, there a few hours afterwards, and to
cheer, to the echo the stirring speech (it was before the fiscal
question upset things) of Lord George Hamilton — one of
the "idiots"!
Of course, it stands to reason, that men who are Cabinet
Ministers and editors of leading papers, who have probably
been harassed by their exacting work, up to the early hours
of the morning, and escape, the following day, to get some
fresh air and exercise, jaded and worn, are not likely to be
such scientific players as those who have naught to worry
them. So we cannot judge of Mr. Balfour's capability as
a golfer, for that reason.
Probably, between the first green and the second, he is

ON SOME SPORTS 205
meditating on his answer, later in the afternoon, to the
irrepressible Timothy Healy, on some intricate Irish point ;
on his way to the next hole, he is philosophising, preparatory
to a second edition of a " Defence of Philosophic Doubt";
when negotiating the bunker, he recollects that he has
promised to write another chapter, for
the re-issue of the Badminton Book on
Golf, and when playing the last hole, it
strikes him that he has not yet thought
out his speech for the political banquet,
that evening, and he is reminded of this
work, by seeing political friends golfing,
such as Lord George Hamilton, the Judge
Advocate General of Scotland, Sir Eobert
Maxwell, Mr. Samuel Hoare, Mr. Asquith,
and many others, whom he meets in a
less pleasant place than the golf links.
To describe the various golf clubs
would require a volume in itself. Few
have visited more than I have, but as
one golf club is very much like another, it is perhaps useless
to particularise. I may say, by the way, that I took a journey to St.
Andrews, with the full intention of making sketches.
When in Scotland, one must do as Scotland does, and
if the w7eather is a wee bit soft — play on ; but if it is a
deluge, one has to shelter a wee while.
Alas ! after I had played the first hole, the deluge came,
and continued all day; and the thumbnail sketch, appearing
at the top of the next column, is all I saw of the leading
golf club in the world.
It troubled me, however, more, that I missed my play,
than that I found no material for my pencil.
Golf, like cricket, is not a game to inspire the artist.
The landscape painter may find pretty bits for his brush :
but the sight of a feeble golfer, addressing a ball as if he
were going to fire off a cannon, and swinging as if he were

MR. BALFOUR AS A GOLFER.

206

HARRY FURNISS AT HOME

Harry Furniss's Parliamentary duties are over for
the meantime, and he has been endeavouring to nego
date the bunkers on the links of the Royal Isle of Wight

fishing for salmon and his rod had broken, is not inspiring.
The caricaturist may find it more suitable to his pencil.
For instance, let him sketch the novice who goes round
caddieless, is the terror of the links, upsetting the genuine
golfers who follow him, and not understanding the rules
of the club, remains on the green to count up his score.
"Let me see, 9 to the first hole, 12 to the second — no,
15 (cries of ' Fore, fore ! '), 6 to the third (' Fore, fore,
fore ! '), then I have
taken 12— is it 12?—
to this." ("Fore, look
out!" Bang! Whack!!
in the middle of the
back ! ! ! Collapse no
vice.) The lady player,
who would be more at
home with a net, catch
ing butterflies, than
swinging a golf club,
may suggest a graceful
attitude or two, whilst
taking her lessons from
the professional ; but,
as I said before, the
proper stand for golfing
or putting is anything
but graceful and attractive, artistically, even when adopted
by the fair devotees of the game.
If I have been hardly judged, in connection with my
relation to golfing, in one health resort, I fear I have gained
the reputation of being, myself, a very hard judge, at
another. An exhibition, of quite a different character to that above
described, was the great " contest," Black v. White, which
came off at the National Sporting Club, in the summer of
1892. Here I was not asked to officiate judicially, but it

Golf Club at Bembridge. He has greatly improved at
the game since he was last down here Having'takeri to
a 'Bulger' he can 'knock spots' out of many who
have had considerably more experience I send a
sketch of him and hope he won't find out who did it !

BY A RIVAL CARICATURIST.

ON SOME SPORTS 207
was only in the natural order of things that an artist in
black and white, myself to wit, should be present. It was
my first attendance at any function of the kind, and in my
time, there will, probably, never again, be anything to equal
it. I use the word " contest " because the noble president,
Lord Lonsdall, standing by the ring-side, before what is
usually termed the fight took place, implored the gentlemen
of the Press not to call it a fight but a " contest." I was
not there in the capacity of a member of the Press, but
merely as a sporting spectator, and the match, as far as I
am concerned, will be a "contest" and not a fight. My
enthusiasm was aroused, for I had heard the coming contest
discussed, all over the country, in America, where I had been
just before the event ; in fact, I received my invitation to
be present at the fight, when in the middle of the Atlantic
Ocean, as I was describing, to a distinguished sportsman, an
exhibition spar I had seen in Chicago, in which FitzSim-
mons had displayed his prowess. For some weeks before
the celebrated fight, I had been familiarising myself with
fistic phraseology, and elucidating the meaning of various
abstruse terms current among the "fancy," such as
"Closing his daylights," "Drawing the ruby," "One on
the mark," &c, and determining the precise locality of the
" conk," the "peepers," the "left-hand listener," and so
on, ad lib., but these I will not employ, as most of the
expressions of the disciples of the cestus would be enigmas
to the majority of my readers.
No one, passing along King Street, that Monday night
would have imagined, that in it was taking place a contest
upon which was concentrated the whole interest of the
sporting world. A more orderly, better conducted, and more
interesting entertainment, I never witnessed, and although
I saw one of the finest living specimens of humanity
battered to unconsciousness and carried insensible from the
field of battle, it was a drawing-room entertainment com
pared with the horseplay of a professional football match.
It was a scientific treat, which will never be forgotten by

208 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
any one who was fortunate enough to witness it, and both
the combatants, their seconds, their patrons, and the public
behaved in the best spirit, and in a manner worthy of the
good old English sport and our traditions of fair play.
Every seat had been reserved, and most of those present at
the encounter, had paid nearly a sovereign a minute for the
treat. I have implied that I am not a member of the
sporting clique, and when I passed through the turnstile,
inside the door, I found myself in a new world, amid inhabi
tants as unfamiliar to me as those of the interior of Kam
chatka. Here and there I caught sight of a familiar face,
but the president, in his speech, after defining the proper
meaning of the word contest, asked us all not to mention
those who were present. Why, I can't understand, as there
is nothing to be ashamed of, in forming one of the audience
at such a unique, and, if anything, elevating performance.
The gentleman who preceded me through the turnstile
was one whose enormous sombrero and flowing locks are
familiar to everybody, from his portrait on the hoardings, at
the time, and surely he would not have objected to my
sketching him. In passing through the turnstile he nearly
jammed a well-known colonel, whose horse, by the way, I
had drawn for the Derby, so I wasn't anxious to see the
other colonel squeeze the life out of the owner of El Diablo.
In fact, a paper that did not conform to the rules of "no
names " remarked : —
" A pair of celebrities who sat down together on the
night of the Slavin and Jackson glove contest, were Colonel
North and Mr. H. Furniss, the comic artist. Prosperous
and rubicund men both of them, and both of them with the
commercial instinct abnormally developed. The one deals
in ni-trates and the other in personal traits."
Then there was the sporting Sir John, " The Mate "
seated in the centre of the front row ; next to him Sir
George C, who does not shrink from publicity; close to the
president sat an owner whose name we have always asso
ciated with Gay Hampton, the brightest and most charming

26

ON SOME SPORTS 211
of anglicised Americans, in contrast to another neighbour of
mine, whose portrait I give here, with the title of " The
Squire," better known as "Mr. Abington." I was seated
near the ropes, in the same corner as Slavin's backer. No
one spoke to Mr. "Abington," and he, the most interested
party of all, sat, through that tremendous fight, compara
tively unmoved, although all around him was the elated
American contingent, cheering their splendid man on, right
over Mr. " Abington's " head. The reckless sportsman, who
sat as tight as ever he was in pigskin, resembled a waiter.
Robert might object if I carried the simile further than the
looks. His death, which followed soon after, proved to be
the knock-out blow to the inflated purses for prize-sparring
at any rate, in England.
I had amused myself, sketching the others, while waiting
for the curtain to be rung up, but had to light my cigarette
with the sketches after the words of warning from the pre
sident. The theatre was literally packed to the ceiling.
The evening dress coats and shirt-fronts combined to make
a picture in black and white, and as the contest went on,
some of the faces, too, looked very black, while others
turned white. For, in sporting phraseology, " a lot of oof
changed hands." There was a long delay before anything
happened, and the audience testified their impatience in the
usual way, which eventually brought into the ring the
manager, who made a series of little speeches about the con
test, the- club, and the conduct of those present. Then the
appetite of the audience was whetted by a couple of exhibi
tion spars. Then more speeches, more impatience, and
some not very complimentary remarks, and at last the
gladiators stepped into the ring. There was no mistaking
Black, he wras the only coloured gentleman I saw in the
building, but wdiere was Slavin ? I had seen him once with
his friend " Charlie Mitchell," England's champion boxer,
at the Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, and had sketched them on
the back of an envelope. But Slavin of the beautiful curly
locks, and fierce military moustache, was not to be seen near

212 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
the ring. A being, with a dust coat over his shoulders, in
black trunks and dark blue stockings, deposited himself on
a chair in the opposite corner to the nigger, and was imme
diately furiously fanned by his friends in white. The flow
ing- locks, the military moustache, had gone, but it was still
Slavin, and I never saw any one so changed artistically for
the worse, by the loss of his hirsute adornments. But it
showed the determined mouth, and he looked a prize-fighter
all over. Honoured with a front seat, I had next me some
gentlemen who had travelled thousands of miles to see
Black beat White. After the usual preliminaries, the two
giants shook hands before shaking each other, and I spotted
the winner, simply by artistic instinct, but an Englishman
on my other side seemed to think differently.
" Wait till you see Slavin get the auctioneer home," said
he, " it's a hundred to one on him."
Whereupon one of my American neighbours remarked,
" Guess I'll take you to ,£1,000, stranger ! I'm going to
Paris to-morrow, but I'll take you, if I have to swim across
to Calais ! "
In response to my inquiry, the Englishman informed me,
and I transmit the information for the benefit of my readers,
that the " auctioneer " is the deadly right hand, employed
to administer the knock-out blow. But it is old history
now that Jackson refused to be sold. He made a higher
bid for victory than White, and the last three rounds might
be described, in auctioneering parlance as " Going ! going !
gone ! " with the darkie as the gentleman with the hammer.
Perhaps no other man in the world, not even excepting- the
great John L. Sullivan himself, could have stood three
minutes of the tremendous hitting of the white man. The
most astonishing thing, to an outsider like myself, was to
see these men, after three minutes of indescribable slogging,
retire to their chairs, in their respective corners, apparently
hopelessly done, and then at the call of " Time ! " after
being frantically fanned and sponged by their friends
(the massive form of Slavin's brother, Jack, being very

ON SOME SPORTS 213
conspicuous), while one man performed a shampooing
operation on their respective heads with a huge lump of
ice, to see them spring up, like lions, refreshed, eager for
the fray. After thirty-eight minutes the end came, in the
tenth round.
As long as these wonders of muscle and pluck were in
activity one saw nothing but skill, and nothing suggestive
of repulsiveness. But, in the last round, I shall never forget
the effect of seeing the splendid white man standing with
his face battered, his helpless hands hanging limp and
impotent by his weary sides, the while he was being fero
ciously hammered by the black, for whom he was simply —
I believe this is the correct term — a " chopping-block."
Then the beaten hero sank, gradually, to the floor — the only
distasteful feature in a grand display of herculean strength
and consummate fistic skill. Previously to the fight, Black
said that "if he were spared for five rounds he thought he
could show the spectators a big white man with all the
steam out of him." He did, and he richly deserved his
victory. The moral pointed by a contest between two such
fair and honourable fighters as Jackson and Slavin, is to
prove that the manly British sport of boxing was raised to
a higher standard than ever, on that memorable Monday
night, to the credit of all concerned.
It so happened, that I met Sir Henry Irving at supper
on that night, and he was deeply interested in all that I
told him about that great fight — I beg pardon — contest.
As an artist I could not but admire the grand physique of
the ebony-skinned gladiator. "Yes," said Irving, "he
must be a splendid fellow. You know, we actors have taken
credit for a physique not our own — witness the pictures of
the last generation and those before. Then the actor sat
only for the head ; a prize-fighter posed for the figure ; and,
strange to say, the favourite model of the last generation
was a coloured fighter." So here is a chance for Sir Henry
to repay part of the borrowed greatness of men of his
profession. Let Jackson play Othello, and let the artist

214 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
paint his portrait. Sir Henry could sit for the head, you
know. I had no sooner published these impressions of mine in
the Daily Graphic, wThen I was attacked, in the Press ring,
for daring to say that the great " contest " was a drawing-
room entertainment compared with the horseplay of a pro
fessional football match ; even the paper in which my
impressions appeared, in trying to " get the auctioneer
home " only succeeded in " drawing the ink." I replied:
" My object in waiting is to protest against the remarks
made anent my letter to you yesterday. I had no wish to
belittle the grand game of football or to unduly eulogise the
ring, but I must speak and write of things as I see them.
Had I been present on the tennis lawn at Bruges when
Slavin stood up to do battle against our
so-called champion— Jem Smith — I should
have had a very different tale to tell of
the chivalry of the sport. But I repeat
that what I saw at the National Sporting
Club, on that night, was in no way de
grading, and if every contest of the kind
was as splendid in science, and as w7ell
regulated, as the one in question, we
should hear no more of the weak-kneed,
old womanish twaddle about the deca
dence of the noble art of self-defence.
It is quite right to say that football has for its object
the kicking of goals and not the battering of men, and
the proof of my assertion that the scientific show, at the
Jackson- Slavin contest, is more to be admired than the
brutality and unfairness in some football fights, is that the
combatants, in the recent glove battle, were walking about, a
few days afterwards, as well as ever, while I myself have
seen men in Midland towns, crawling about on crutches
with broken limbs and bandaged heads, as the result of
injuries inflicted in the football field. The team of Maoris,
who came over here a few years ago, used to literally jump

ON SOME SPORTS 215
upon their opponents, and often legs are broken by brutal
trickery at football. Parents, who howl down exhibitions in
the ring, ought never to forget that they patronise the foot
ball field, where such " accidents " happen. I am a true
lover of every kind of sport, and that is why I have no hesi
tation in writing my impressions of the ring, just as fear
lessly as I would my condemnation of unsportsmanlike
trickery in the football field.
In spite of my reply, at the time, the Press in the north
could not accept it. But, as a matter of fact, their attack
upon me for my expression of opinion on Professional foot
ball was nothing new. Two years previously a Manchester
paper remarked, " The antipathy of Punch to the game of
football would be amusing if it were not for the harm likely
to be done by the constant and mendacious misrepresenta
tion of a game which is manly, vigorous, exhilarating, and
popular. The idea that foot
ball players try for nothing-
else but to savagely injure one
another is the result of a
vicious imagination unsup
ported by any practical experi
ence of the great democratic
sport of the present day.
Harry Furniss and his editor,
F. Burnand, should be invited
to witness their first game,
and then they would doubtless
revise their impressions of a
recreation which they have
never yet seen."
I do not suppose Burnand
has ever seen a football match
since he left Cambridge, but I have seen hundreds. A Bir
mingham paper about the same time, referred to me as
follows, and Birmingham is not so very far away from
Manchester: " I was at the football match at Perry Barr

216 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
last Saturday, but, partial as I am to football, I often found
my eyes straying to where Mr. Harry Furniss, the Punch
caricaturist, was sitting, immediately in front of me. He
was very busy with his pencil, and took innumerable
sketches of the game as it progressed. Some of the atti
tudes of the players, as they appeared on paper, struck me as
being very ludicrous, and yet they were true to life. I dare
say those who have seen instantaneous photographs of race
horses in full gallop will know what I mean. The facility
with wEich Mr. Furniss sketches is really wonderful.
Naturally, at the time, he only draws a figure which will
suggest the entire picture ; but the strange thing about the
process is that a few lightning-like strokes of his pen suffice
to produce such perfect outlines of the forms he desires to
sketch. Drawing is not tedious work to Mr. Furniss."
As to the Professional football not being rough, I shall
make one more quotation : —
" This year (1901), in the great football match between
the Corinthians and Notts — the professional champions —
the foul play of the latter was condemned by the Press.
" The foul play of the Forest men became most pro
nounced now, the right wing defenders, Eobinson and
Iremonger, being very conspicuous. The last-named — an
International full-back, too — deliberately ran over to G. 0.
Smith, and attempted to kick him, for which action it
appeared he was only reproved by the referee. Half of the
Corinthian team were limping about the field as the result
of the attentions of their opponents."

CHAPTER YIII
ON "SPOOKS"

27 217

CHAPTEE YIII

ON " SPOOKS

A Criticism and My Comment— " Blubb" Friday— ThePall Mall Gazette's
Humour — Andrew Lang — "W. B. Gladstone — " Spooks " — My Evil
Eye — Cadgers— The 25-cent Piece— " The Brave Thirteen "—Lord
Eoberts— Marshall Hall, K.C., M.P.— A Plea for the Children.

n

Y confessions, respecting my taking
the Chair at the celebrated Thirteen
Club Dinner, when I, an Honorary
Member, appeared at that Club, for the
first and last time, have given rise to a
fresh attack upon the Anti- Superstitious
in general, and upon poor little me, in
particular ; and the fact that I am again
besieged with letters, on the topic, from all
sorts and conditions of men and women
both for and against, which proves the
interest the general public take in the subject, must be
my excuse for dealing with the matter again, but briefly,
in these pages.
I had not room, in my first volumes, to mention all the
attacks upon the " Thirteens." The following is a speci
men. The italics are mine.
AEE " SUPEBSTITIONS " SUPEESTITIOUS ?
To the Editor of the Westminstee Gazette.
Sir, — Ghacun a son goot. In my opinion the dinner
over which Mr. Harry Furniss presided was a great deal
219

220 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
more open to criticism than are the " superstitions " at
which it was aimed.
Eichelieu, Cromwell, Bismarck, Parnell, were " super
stitious " ; that brilliant caricaturist, Mr. Harry Furniss,
and the 13 times 13 are not. How eloquent is this state
ment !
(Bichelieu was a priest ; Cromwell and Parnell were
adventurers. All adventurers are superstitious — Napoleon
the Great, for instance. Bismarck, I note, ivas superstitious.
"_B. F." does not state that he is now.)*
" Superstitions " rest on heredity or on observation. I
will cite examples covered by the word " observation."
In the spring of last year I was staying at a big hotel at
Margate. On a Sunday evening in the smoking-room I had
a long chat with a well-known Conservative Member of
Parliament. In the course of our conversation he told me
what follows : —
" When  was going out to the Governorship of the
 I gave him a farewell dinner. We sat down 13 at
table, and do you know that within a month two died,  ¦

and  ." (All the names are those of well-known or fairly
well-known people.) "That proves nothing," Mr. Harry
Furniss may say. I admit it. It proves neither nocuous-
ness nor innocuousness.
(Yes, it does prove something — it proves that the dinner
ivas a very bad one.)
Some years ago I was present at an Oxford and Cam
bridge dinner in South America. To the best of my
recollection we were 13 at dinner, and before the year
was out two were dead.
{Poisoned again, no doubt.)
With reference to one of the two, a clergyman, there
occurred a well-attested instance of what is known as pre
monition, which is to Mr. Harry Furniss "superstition"
perhaps. Before his death he wrote to an intimate friend —
an extract from the letter appeared in the Colonial papers
* This was written when Bismarck was alive.

ON "SPOOKS" 221
— "I have had a strange dream. The Lord Jesus appeared
to me . . . and said, ' You shall come to be with Me in
November.' " In November this clergyman was coming-
down the rapids of the Potaro River. His bateau struck
against a sunken rock, and in a few minutes he and
most of his party were drowned. I can almost hear the
13 times 13 shouting in chorus that blessed word "coin
cidence." (No, not coincidence — cant !)
Now out of my own experience again I will give them
an easily provable case of coincidence. The number
thirteen is not concerned, but the facts are graven on a
tombstone, and inscribed in a ship's log. It was a wildish
night on a wild coast. I was there, and I remember a
terrific squall striking the house in which I happened to
be. The squall capsized a boat, and drowned four men I
knew. Of one of them only I am now specially thinking,
because of his tombstone, which stands in a sea-beaten
churchyard. It bears this inscription : " Drowned on
July 10,  ."
In 1882 I saw this, and beneath, " Drowned on July 10,
1882,  the father of the above." That took place in a
squall also. Now, on the last July 10 — viz., in 1882, I was
in the middle of the Atlantic. It was late in the afternoon.
A gale was blowing from the south-west. I was lying at full
length by the stern-post in the cabin of an iron barque,
when the ship gave a jump, and there was a rattling of
cordage, a creaking of spars, a shouting of men.
"Insequitur clamorque virum, stridorque rudentum."
I looked astern as I came to the top of the cabin stairs, and
saw that a human face was vanishing off the nearest heavy
wave. The owner of it never was seen again, and that was
July 10. " Coincidence," exclaim the strong-headed 13
times 13.

222 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Precisely I daresay. But when these coincidences recur
again and again in human experience, it is not astonishing
that many folk, by no means fools, pause and wonder.
I am, Sir, &c, B. F.
(L.U.F. should have been inserted between these initials.)
In reply to this, I referred the writer to the letter, which
you will find on page 270, Yol. II. " Confessions of a Cari
caturist," and as " B. F." infers that he is by no means a
fool, he, no doubt, will "pause and wonder."
Of course " the" story which men like "B. F." bring
forward is the well-known yarn of the ship Friday. It is
well known that sailors consider it unlucky for a ship to
sail on a Friday. A person, anxious to destroy this super
stition, had a ship's keel laid on a Friday, the ship launched
on a Friday, her masts taken in from the sheer-hulk on a
Friday, the cargo shipped on a Friday ; he found (Heaven
knows how, but so the story runs) a Captain Friday to com
mand her ; and lastly, she sailed on a Friday. But the
superstition was not destroyed, for the ship never returned
to port, nor was the manner of her destruction known.
I have not taken the trouble to go to Lloyd's to find out
how the ship was classed there. It may be that she was
underwritten on a Friday, and sent to the bottom on a
Friday, by some rascally, swindling broker.
I was surprised that that clever paper, the Pall Mall
Gazette, did not appear printed on pink paper, on the
Monday following the banquet; for in a leaderette it
solemnly assured the public that it blushed for the "non
existent humour of the Thirteen Club."
" That one hundred and sixty-nine grown men — woman,
it appears, has not yet climbed to the same dizzy eminence
of intellectual emancipation — should walk gravely under
ladders, sit down and solemnly upset salt, and cross knives,
and drink toasts of thirteen words, and all the rest of it, is a
sight almost too pathetic to be ridiculous. If this cumbrous

THE THIRTEEN CLUB BANQUET.
By Alfred Bryan.
(By permission of the proprietors of the " Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic Neics.")

ON "SPOOKS" 225
farce be enlightenment, give us superstition, which is at
least picturesque and not more slavish. If such antics
amuse the Club, the Club is very easily amused. If, on
the other hand, it thinks to destroy superstition by such
means it will naturally fail. Of people who ever heard of
the Thirteen Club, none hesitate to walk under ladders
unless it pleases them to play with a few fantastic rules
for relief from the monotony of life. The genuinely super
stitious seldom read reports in newspapers ; consequently
this superstitious anti-superstition is as ineffectual as it is
wearisome." So this is a specimen of the existent humour of the Pall
Mall Gazette. If such humour amuses the public, then the
public is very easily amused. But perhaps it will surprise
the American millionaire's editor to learn that the London
Thirteen Club was a humble attempt — that failed — to
copy the still flourishing Thirteen Club of New York, which
possesses thirteen hundred members and a gorgeous club
house, an edifice, indeed, almost as magnificent as the office
of the Pall Mall Gazette I One person, at least, had evi
dently not heard of the Thirteen Club, and that was the
ex-editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, consequently such a
silly paragraph as his appearing in the American papers of
London is " A sight almost too pathetic to be ridiculous."
Mr. Andrew Lang, who writes well upon every subject,
and only believes in two — Golf and Folk-lore — on the eve of
the dinner, wrote the " Thirteens " down as asses in the
Daily News.
" Eeople like the Thirteen Club have weaned us from the
old rite of burying portable property with the dead. The
custom perhaps did the dead no good, but it was of
immense value to archaeology and history."
Great heavens ! Is it Mr. Andrew Lang's intention that
we should be interred, with the latest patent in gas stoves or
the most up-to-date typewriter, with the Parliamentary
Blue Books of the Session, and the season's three-volume
novels from Mudie's, to say nothing of the contents of
28

226 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Smith & Sons' bookstall at Charing Cross on the day of
the funeral? Why, he insults the British Museum; and,
had he his way, we should be converted into nineteenth
century mummies and buried in Eantechnicon vans ! No,
I venture to think it is not goods but ghosts that agitate
the mind of Mr. Andrew Lang, and I can hear him sing,
as Edgar Allan Poe sang before him, in his well-known
" Sonnet to Science," begging to be left alone with his
nymphs and myths and other supernatural people. To
such opinion as these I may apply the famous words of
another celebrated Scotchman of letters, the Duke of
Eutland, merely parodying the last word of that never-
to-be-forgotten youthful effusion :
" Let Art and Science, Trade and Commerce die,
But leave us still our old — -stupidity ! "
Mr. Lang is wrong, in imagining that the Thirteen Club
was formed to advocate cremation. Its object was to
combat superstition — the superstition that although it kills
some men, is the breath of the poet's nostrils. What is one
man's meat is another man's poison, and superstition is
poison to many.
I can understand poor, uneducated people being super
stitious, but that the better classes should be so, is a puzzle
to me. I do not deny that many remarkable men, besides
Eichelieu, Cromwell, Parnell, and " B. F." have been, and
are, possessed by superstition and believe in premonition.
Lord Eosebery's superstition I refer to in another place,
but amongst the disciples of superstition may be reckoned
a far greater personage than he, that Grand Old Man
— Mr. Gladstone — for even he believed that the mystic
number, 13 bodes something uncanny and disastrous,
although if that number happened to prove favourable to
the cause he so energetically espoused, he was quite willing
to regard it with an eye of approval. In April, 1890, re
ferring, in a speech, to the seats gained by his party since

ON "SPOOKS" 227
the General Election, Mr. Gladstone made the following
remark :
" I reckon at 13 the balance (of seats) gained, and accept
the number thankfully, even with its old ill associations."
In my speech I therefore pointed out the following
curious facts: —
Home Rule Bill introduced on 13th of February.
Eead first time on a Friday.
Fassed third reading on a Friday.
And thrown out by the Lords on a Friday.
On a Friday Mr. Gladstone refused an interview with
the Irish Unionists.
March 13, second reading originally fixed.
July 13, Mr. Balfour opposed In-and-out Clause.
Friday, Duke of Devonshire spoke at the great meeting
at Edinburgh.
Home Rule rejected. House adjourned on a Friday.
The great Coal Strike the same year, began on a Friday.
Government arranged conference on a Friday.
Settled on a Friday.
Shall I never hear the end of the Thirteen Club Dinner ?
Every post I received thirteen letters, each enclosing thir
teen requests, and I want thirteen Secretaries, for thirteen
hours a day, to reply to the correspondence. Allow me, in a
few lines (limit them to thirteen, Mr. Erinter, please) once
more to say that I merely presided as an Honorary Member
at that famous dinner; that I never met the members before
or since, and had nothing to do with the Club, and that all
communications should have been addressed to the prime
mover and President of the Club, the late Mr. William
Harnett Blanch. I have had letters from all over the
United Kingdom, Holland, Spain, France, and Germany,
from those wishing to start a Thirteen Club. It would
seem that about 13,000 were joining the movement against
thirteen persons opposing it.
Among other interesting letters, I received the following,
which is worth quoting as a warning to householders : —

228 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
" During Christmas week a well-dressed man called on a
lady who resides in a fashionable square. She was busy
reading the paper about frauds in general, and the man was
shown in. He said he was the Secretary of a Psychical
Society, and had called to ask if the house was haunted,
or if there were any mysterious noises or any ghosts about
it. The lady, who knew her London
well, promptly informed the caller
that he had come to the wrong
place, and ushered him off the pre
mises. He had come apparently
after 'Spooks,' but the lady was
well up to the tricks of the town, and
knew that he would spell 'Spooks'
with an 'n' and not with a 'k,' and
that it was spoons not Spooks that
the man was after."
There was nothing I could tell the members relating to
the supernatural, that they did not know already; nothing
they could do, that they had not done, to show their profound
contempt for ignorant superstition. But our object in meet
ing was not a selfish one. It was to advertise the Club and
its purpose, and thereby reach, and if possible reform, our
silly, superstition-stricken friends outside, and being a
practical body we knew that this could only be effected
through the medium of the Press, and not by a Spiritual
District Messenger Company, unauthorised by the Post
master-General, and managed by Mr. Stead and Mrs.
Besant. So, during my speech that night, I fixed my eye —
my evil eye — upon the table at which sat thirteen gentlemen
of the Press, and I implored my brother journalists, if in
that eye they detected a certain redness, not to put it down,
as the classic writers, of ancient days, were wont to do, and
as the painters, of the early ages, we are told did also, to the
reflection of the fires of Hades in the ghostly optic, for, I
suggested, if any such redness were visible it was probably
due to the effects of the hospitality of the members of the

ON "SPOOKS" 229
Thirteen Club. Not that I for a moment passed any reflec
tion upon the caterer, who, by the way, had thoroughly
entered into the spirit of that anti-spiritualistic feast.
Unfortunately, as I have shown, all editors were not in
sympathy with the Club. Some, though, were members, and
there was one, in particular, who could balance a peacock's
feather on the tip of his nose, with the same skill, with which
he wielded a goosequill, who spilt salt with the same freedom
as he spilt ink, crossed knives on the dinner table with the
same contempt as he metaphorically crossed swords, in his
paper, with a public opponent, and walked under the Thirteen
Club ladder with a heart as light as that with which he
climbed the ladder of fame in the profession he adorned.
But he was not in the room. Saturday night is the actor's
delight, but Saturday afternoon and evening is the hard-
worked editor's only period of deliverance from incessant
toil, so it was too much to expect him among us. So
that that celebrated dinner did not receive editorial fair-
play. The "gruesome" and uncanny proceedings of that
Thirteen Club banquet had evidently some effect upon the
nerves of the representatives of the Press, who, of course,
were not members, and were therefore not at ease in such
an audacious assembly ; so they may be pardoned for not
taking down correctly those lucky, or unlucky proceedings,
with which my name has been connected.
One, letter written but not stamped, and left by hand,
was given me, and proved to be a missive from the begging-
letter fiend. I suppose it is one of the dodges of the London
cadger (and therefore worth publishing) to find out the name
of the chairman at a public dinner, and to send in an appeal
to him. Perhaps it was the dodge of some poor devil who
had taken the chair himself once at a public dinner, and
who consequently knew the "take anything, but don't
bother me ! " feeling that possesses the chairman. Per
haps I may have to atone, similarly, in the future for
my sins !

230 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Here is the appeal : —
" Dear Sir, — I am a clerk out of employment, completely
broken down, knowing you to be kind to those in distress I
appeal to you for a small trifle for a little food and shelter
to-night, as I am tired of walking the streets. Hoping you
will pardon my liberty. "C  H  ."

He evidently knew little about me, for I am not one of
those idiotic persons who encourage begging, and the
greatest enemy true charity has is
the cadger. Still, I was struck by
the novelty of the appeal ; it was
in keeping with the impudence of
the whole affair, and had the tele
gram form been scented with otto
of roses instead of that odour pecu
liar to the begging letter, I should
have invited the owner to come in
and sit down for luck. However,
he had his request granted, and, I
trust, found shelter in some lodg
ing-house numbered 13.
The cry is " Still they come."
Eecently I received the following : —

r^£-

A CADGER.

"Dear Sir, — Although I am not
known to you personally, I have for
many years known you by reputa
tion, and heard your name men
tioned in connection with a society, which I believe is
called the Thirteen Club, of which both my wife and I are,
I think, well qualified to become members. I hope there
fore you will excuse the liberty 1 now take of writing you.
"Before proceeding further I wish you to understand
that, although I am a gentleman who, through no fault of

ON "SPOOKS' 231
his own, has lost his capital and has a delicate wife and two
young children who, owing to his inability to obtain employ
ment, are really, to put it plainly, in semi-starvation, I do
not ask you for pecuniary help, but I do ask you, and
through you the members of the society I have named,
if you will kindly assist me in securing employment. I
am still young, am of good character, thoroughly temperate
in every particular, as I have been all my life, am by no
means lacking in abilities, a first-class manager and
organiser, able to control a large staff of men, and write
and speak Spanish fluently. I therefore feel and know that
if I could only get a start I should have no difficulty in
getting along and earning that which would enable me to
give my wife the change and good food which she so much
requires. I fear if this be not procured for her at once it
will end in her going into consumption, a calamity I have
been repeatedly warned about. She is even now only the
shadow of what she wTas, a plump, bright, and happy Irish
girl. Although I could not possibly, by letter, go into all
the details, I can give you an idea of how matters were
and are.
"I may tell you I was born with a caul and so was
supposed to have been born lucky, and as a matter of fact I
was always most fortunate and prosperous until I married
on 13th March /95. My wife was born on a 13th, and on
13th March /96, exactly on the first anniversary of our
wedding, she gave birth to our first child. My father
and one of my sisters were born on a 13th, and I on a
26th — say twice 13. I might say, immediately after our
marriage things began to go wrong with me, but since /96
they have steadily gone from bad to worse, and nothing I
did or tried has gone right. We have had from time to
time to sell our belongings, and have now absolutely
nothing, and have had to come to this place to live in
a couple of rooms without assistance or servants which,
with the worry and anxiety, has told very considerably
upon us, but especially upon my unfortunate wife, who is

232 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
really in a bad way. I have tried in every way to secure
employment, many times it appeared as if it would be with
success, our hopes so- being raised only to be dashed, as it
were, to the ground again. The number 13 again many times
seeming as if it had its particular influence over us. I am
now very much disheartened, and feel that, unless I can be
assisted, even should it be by strangers, I can never get
along nor matters improve with us, hence my reason for
writing you. I have no one to give me a helping hand —
having no friends — I have lived abroad from /81 until /96.
My wife, although coming from the best Irish families going
right back to Cromwell's time, is of the poor side of the
House, one of her cousins is titled (hereditarily) and he,
two years ago, married the daughter of a well-known
sporting Irish Earl, another cousin holds a created title
and is a judge, but those cannot be approached, although
I can give good Irish references who can verify my
statements. " Neither of us have any superstition as regards the
number 13, nor did we ever have, and have in no way tried
to avoid it, but many have told us our misfortunes have
come of it, and one cannot but admit that it is a strange
coincidence. Since our misfortunes we have learned what
we should never have done in the days of our prosperity, we
now know who are and who are not our friends, and this
may prove useful later.
" I have taken a great liberty, I know, in having written
you but I have done so in desperation simply, and I again
ask you to excuse me for having troubled you with my
affairs. I sincerely trust that you will see your way to do
something for me, I assure you I shall be more than
grateful. " I have given you my confidences feeling assured that
they shall be respected. Thanking you in anticipation.
"I am, Yours faithfully,
(signed) " W. H."

ON "SPOOKS" 233
Another correspondent writes :
" Dear Sir, —Thinking attached may interest you, I
send it along. With apologies, Yours, &c, F. B.
" ' Thirteen.
" ' Those who believe that thirteen is an unlucky number
should fight shy of the American 25-cent piece. It has
thirteen stars, thirteen letters in the scroll held in the
eagle's beak, thirteen marginal feathers on each wing,
thirteen tail feathers, thirteen parallel lines in the shield,
thirteen horizontal bars, thirteen arrow-heads, and thirteen
letters in the " quarter dollar." But most of us are mighty
glad to get them, thirteen or no thirteen.' "
Of a widely different character was the following
communication, received by me, on the night of the
Thirteen Club Dinner :
" The members of No. 13 dressing-room, Savoy Theatre
— 13 dressing in it — the 13th Opera — on the 13th of the
month — send best wishes and compliments."
Some communications were in doggerel.
THE BEAVE THIETEEN.
"Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than war."
Crossed knives to right of them
Crossed forks to left of them
Crossed spoons in front of them
Lowered as they would thunder
Awed by cross bones and skull
Boldly they supped their full —
Into the jaws of death
Into the ebony cell
Fish, flesh and fowl could tell
How groaned the table under.
29

234 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Dipped all at once in salt
Dipped and routed it about
Dipped thirteen times in and out
Without a single blunder
Fearless on every course they fell
With knife and fork and spoon as well
Whilst every Death's-head like a yawning hell
Grinned and wondered
Wondered whence their courage came
Wondered if thirteen bottles held the same
Wondered if waiter could spell the spirit's name
That fired the dauntless number.

Some one, with nothing better to do, has discovered that
Lord Eoberts has his " lucky day." Tuesday, October 1,
1895, appointed commander of the forces in Ireland. Tues
day, February 27th, great success at Koodoosrand Drift, on
the Modder Eiver. Tuesday, March 13th (13th! too)
occupied Bloemfontein. Tuesday, June 5th, occupied Pre
toria. Tuesday, December 11th, sailed for England. The
writer adds :
' ' Many great men of days gone by have had their special
days which they regarded as peculiarly fortunate or the
reverse. Sometimes it was a particular day of a certain
month ; in other cases it was a day of the week. Lord
Eoberts is probably the first famous man whose fortunes
have been associated with Tuesday. Monday has been
lucky, or otherwise, with more than one man of note, and
Friday's ill-luck has become proverbial ; but Tuesday has
never made much figure in this kind of lore."
But these remarks were published before the War Office
Commission announced their decision to do away with the
Commander-in-Chiefship — which was also on a Tuesday.
My friend the fearless K.C., M.P., Marshall Hall super
stitious ? I came across this serious announcement in
some legal news, apropos of the Bar Council election, in
May, 1901 :—
" Mr. Marshall Hall, K.C., M.P., is among the rejected.
It is evident that his luck in connection with eleven and its

ON "SPOOKS" 235
multiples has deserted him. Most people have heard that
he first visited Southport on August 11, that the election
was held on October 11, that he polled 5,522 votes and
won by a majority of 209 — both of which numbers are
multiples of 11 — and that the first hymn he came to when
he casually opened a hymn-book in church on the following-
Sunday was No. 209, the first line he read being, "The fight
is o'er, the battle done." The number of K.C.s returned to
the Bar Council is 11, but Mr. Marshall Hall is not among
them." I have done battle with the versatile K.C., on the golf
links, on Sunday, but I must confess we never went to
church or shared a hymn-book. When " the fight wras o'er,
the battle " — lost by me on the eighteenth hole, we shared a
bottle of champagne, and sat over dinner till exactly 11 p.m.
And so on, ad lib. But enough. All I ask is, some
consideration for others. What is the use of keeping super
stition alive ? It may be amusing to " growTn-ups " to revel
in " Spooks," but to torture children with the subject is to
my mind little short of criminal. To publish superstitious
matter for the young — no matter how picturesquely it is
done — is nearly as bad.

The very week in which the Thirteen Club held their
dinner, I found a nervous little girl reading St. Nicholas, a

236 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
delightful American magazine for young folks. Now in
America, where they have no ghosts, children can read trash
about witches, &c, with impunity, but in this country, where
our children are, unfortunately, brought up on superstition, it
is hardly right to give publication to a verse such as the
one which I shall not quote — The Witch in the Candle :
" I found one night, In my candle's light," &c. — and if you
care to turn to the January number of St. Nicholas 18
and compare the pictures, you will see the difference in the
effect upon the child of England and on the child of
America produced by reading about witches in candles.
And now I shall snuff out the subject of Spooks.

CHAPTEE IX
A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY

CHAPTEE IX

A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY

Pen Pictures : Whitaker Wright — The " Kiffir Boom " — The Athenaeum
City Club — Ups and Downs — City Signs — Slumming — Barny Bar-
nato — A City Dinner — Music after Meals — Blue Coat boys.
"Any one who can learn to write can learn to draw" is a
very old, and very false saying. Especially false is it when
" to write " is used in the sense of "to indite," and has no
reference to skilful penmanship.
"Fen Pictures," is a title the modern journalist is fond
of giving to printed accounts of scenes, and descriptions of
persons ; but, frequently this title only seems to draw atten
tion to the fact that people, who have learned how to write,
for the latest style of Americanised journalism, have no eye
for portraiture, and are incapable of drawing. A case in
point, comes to my mind, at the sound of the word " write."
It is that of Whitaker Wright. I spent an hour in court,
for the purpose of seeing what kind of man he was ; for I
put not my trust in the " special," of to-day, whether he
works with pen, pencil or camera; and the following " Pen
Picture," illustrates how right I am.
" Possibly, a comparison may be permitted whereby a
physical description may bring him within the comprehension
of the majority to whom he can never be more than a name.
Those who are familiar with portraits of Mr. Grover Cleve
land, the ex-President of the United States, may picture

240 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Mr. Whitaker Wright as a man of the same large girth,
of the same ruddy complexion and large features. The
arrangement of the beard and moustaches gives a likeness
to another public character — Colonel Cody, of ' Buffalo
Bill' fame."
Now I am one of "those familiar with" — not the
portraits, but the actual — features of Mr. Grover Cleveland,
and also with those of Colonel Cody. I have had the
pleasure of meeting both, of spending some time with them,
and of sketching them. If two men, could, possibly, be
more unlike Whitaker Wright, I ask who are they ? Here is
the contrast ; the reader can judge. President Cleveland
was not "ruddy," when I saw him, but as white as the
official House, in which he, as President, resided ; and Col.
Cody is one of the handsomest men I ever met, while
Whitaker Wright was one of the ugliest. The only particle
of resemblance, is that all three are American — that is all.
Perhaps the writer of the Pen Picture is another.
I have been present at the White House, Washington,
when President Cleveland was holding court, and conversed
with him long, enough
to carry away a vivid
recollection of his face.
I have met Buffalo
Bill, in Earl's Court,
and at several other
places, and have spent
hours with him ; and I
saw Whitaker Wright in Court, during his trial. And I do
not hesitate to say, that one might search the Globe, and
not find three courts more unlike, than our High Court,
Earl's Court, and the Presidential Court at Washington, or
conceive three men, more unlike than Wright, Cody and
Cleveland ; except, perhaps, Whitaker Wright's three
ornamental Directors ; Lord Loch, Lord Dufferin and Lord
Dunamore. The late Lord Dunamore, familiarly known as
" D," was one of the most popular of Irish gentlemen, and

A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY 241
no one could tell an Irish story better than poor " D." He
died before his eyes were opened to the real character of
Wright. I have seldom used the City, as a hunting ground for
subjects to caricature, and yet there is bigger game to be
found there than in any other place in the world.
The scene in Throgmorton Street, when the "House"
closes its doors and the market is held in the street, is a
sight to be remembered ; more particularly at the winter
time of the year, if you happen to turn into the " thorough
fare " out of Broad Street at closing time, when the sun is
setting in the
west. You then ,,_,„
behold the scene
in silhouette, and
the "Kaffirs"
appear as I have
shown them in
this sketch — as
black, indeed, as
those from whom
they take their
names and their
gold. There was
a sufficient pa
trol of police present, to keep the whole population of
Johannesburg moving on, when I was there, during the
exciting time, in October '95, and as much noise and
activity as there is when the South Africans are having a
war-dance. This was my first impression, when I arrived to
take my first notes for Caricatures in the City. The sun,
and, I was informed, the market were going down together,
and the crowd looked black from the combined cause —
merely, of course, in a pictorial sense. In silhouette, were
pointed out to me, the familiar forms of " Packy " and
" Tommy " Marks. The first-named popular member hid
his smaller friend from his bete noire, the police, as they
30

AFTER THE "HOUSE" CLOSES.

242 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
strolled to their Club; Thither I was invited to follow. It
is a mistake to imagine that the hospitality of the City is
confined to the Mansion House and to the gorgeous and
generous City Guilds, as most strangers to the City suppose.
When the guests bidden to these famous banquets wend
their way Citywards, the City is practically deserted.
Throgmorton Street, which an hour before was so alive that
a string of police kept a passage with difficulty, is now left
to one constable, who eyes Mr: Paxton, hurrying from the
Athenaeum Club, that charming retreat of the best in this
particular City circle, a club which has done its share of
hospitality before Guild

hall or the numerous
companies opened their
doors. And I had not
been in the City half an
hour, before I was seized
upon and introduced to
" The Club," and to its
prominent members, in
cluding the famous
founder of the club, the

' THE CLUB."

late "Barney" Barnato. My eyes had not got quite clear
of the effect of the sun, when I saw the great B. B. in
silhouette, in the Athenseum Club. There he sat the centre
of attraction, the most-talked-of and the most-written-about
man in London, just then, the Great Barnato !
There was a long table in the centre of the room, and
from where I sat, at a smaller table under the window,
I saw nothing but a gigantic back. I made a rapid note of
it, when it moved slightly to one side, and disclosed a group
at the other end of the table round Barnato. Before I could
see much through the smoke, or make a note of those com
posing the interesting party, I was one of them. I looked
round, anxiously, for my friend Stony Broker who had
brought me in. ' Suppose, methought, I am cross-examined
upon the mysteries of the financial world, where shall I be ?

A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY 243
I was looking at the scene, merely as I would look at a play,
and was about to say so, when I discovered that " the play
is the thing." The play which was then being written by
Barney Barnato and Haddon Chambers, and the play
monopolised all our conversation for a very pleasant hour.
I had the advantage of hearing all about it from the joint
authors, for the ever youthful Haddon Chambers was there;
but I am not going to disclose the secrets of the dramatists.
They told me a lot, I guessed more. I guessed that the
Kaffir market would be a scene to be remembered, and that

the burning of " Gorgonzola Hall

would bring down the

BARNATO.

house. I was also at liberty to mention that Mr. Barney
Barnato would play a leading part, and that Mr. Faxton
had in my hearing applied for a minor one. He fancied
himself as a footman — good lace and knee-breeches, and all
that ; why not appear as a City policeman ? But if the
play was the thing, Mr. Barnato was to be the play, as
he was then- the City. Here is a sketch of him from
memory. He was an athletic-looking man, of medium size
— the size for strength ; with a keen, kindly face, a broad
nose — which indicates a lot ; and a strong, determined face
— which meant more — a quick eye, and a firm mouth. His
eyes were one moment aided by pince-nez, and the next by
an eye-glass ; his mouth one moment held a cigar, the next
a cigarette — though probably, when next we met, he would
be smoking a pipe ; for although you can make fortunes, in

244

HARRY FURNISS AT HOME

nnance, over a cigar or a cigarette, no one yet ever wrote
a successful play without the aid. of a pipe. We all know
that he played in a tragedy, a one-part play — with a very
sad and tragic ending, shortly after.
As I explained to Stony Broker, my difficulty in sketch
ing City men, he kindly pointed out to me some well-known
figures in Throgmorton Street. Here is one, " Charlie
Isaacs," the picture of prosperity. The following day I
looked for the affable, swaggering Mr. Charles Isaacs, to
make a note of him. What do
I see? Why, this. The too
too solid flesh has evidently
melted with the market he is in.
Such are the ups and downs of
the City. "Yes," said Stony
Broker, " during the last week
half the men have lost their
heads." " No use an artist
coming here until they have
found them," I remarked, and
jumped into a hansom, leaving
him to deal with the cause of this falling-off, and I never
visited the City again.
" Never ? "
" Well, hardly ever," to quote Gilbert. Yes, occasionally
to assist at a City Dinner. Now and then, also, when I was
writing my "London Laughter," and could not find anything
amusing in the West End. The postponed Coronation had
just the same effect in the city. That market of jokes, the
Stock Exchange, had only one laugh all the season. Its
members discovered a London policeman wearing a white
helmet. Out of this much fun was extracted. The hand
of the policeman was grasped, by the Stock Exchange wits
of the pavement market, who cheered him and welcomed
him back from the war. The real laugh, however, is at the
official red tape ; for a few weeks before, when London
weather was tropical, the poor policemen had dark helmets

A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY 245
provided ; then when we had wintry, wet weather, and no
sun whatever, for days, white helmets were supplied !
By the way, it is a pity that those Signs which were
originally erected as Coronation decorations, in Lombard
Street, did not remain, in their places, permanently. To
keep them would have been an excellent idea. In time, no
doubt, the authorities that be will be forced to develop the
idea of signs, and at the same time make them not only
ornamental but also useful ; thus adding considerably to
their interest. The sign of " The Web, the Spider, and the
poor Fly " might warn many a poor, foolish speculator to
pause, before passing through the door of the Brokers.
"The City Shark" would be another sign of practical use,
endowed with artistic merit. Then there are the " Black
Mail " sign, the " Goose " sign, the " Book and the
Pigeon," and scores of others. At present, there is no sign
to give any clue to the true character of the business trans
acted in the various offices in the City. The City, always
artistic, will now be more so. The trees and the birds
always add to its many delightful charms, and supply an
element of interest to the sordid money grubber. A flock
of birds, flying over the heads of two City merchants, one
of them exclaimed, " How happy those creatures are, they
have no acceptances to pay!" "You are mistaken,"
replied the other, "they have their bills, to provide for, as
well as we."
I was forgetting that in the days when I acted as special
artist for the Illustrated London News I did some City
slumming, and my experience was that the City clergymen
are most interesting men, so different from the West End
person with his society small talk. The City worker has
to deal with life of a more interesting kind. At City Dinners
I used to meet dear old " Damnation Sogers," Gladstone's
friend. Then I have met that popular man, Dr. Billing,
late Bishop of Bedford, who so earnestly looked after the
East London district, which contains, as he stated, a
population of a million and a half, nearly all poor. To

246 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
many non-business, West End men the Bishop was only a
genial clergyman whom one met, occasionally, at the gorgeous
City Banquets, and they were rather surprised if, in the
course of a speech, Dr. Billing pleaded for his thousands of
poor — for the society stranger seems to think that a little
cheque for a million and a half or so can be got from any
of " those City chaps," for the asking ! It would be as well
to see for oneself by doing a little " slumming," but that
craze did not last long, and the few that did " slum " made
the great mistake of dressing in the orthodox, hideous
goody-goody, slip-shod fashion; in fact, some ladies put
away their fine things, and would not even borrow those
of their maids, which would be too good, but the old dresses
of their charwomen. The poor resent that sort of thing.
The wife of an East End vicar, herself a lady of fashion,
who devotes herself to her poor, East End sister, does not
do that. She will dress, at home, in the quietest of gowns,
but goes to visit her
poor in the most
fashionable attire, as if
ready for a drive in the
Eow. "I am paying
my people a compli
ment," she says, "and
they respect me for
it." The City gained,
and the House of
Commons lost, one of
its most attractive
Members, in the retire
ment of Mr. James Alexander Eentoul, K.C., LL.D., the
Member for East Down, who accepted a judicial post in the
City of London. It was not in the House, that Mr. Eentoul
was at his best ; nor even on the platform ; though he was a
powerful and eloquent platform speaker. Where he shone,
and where I suppose he will continue to shine, was at the

CITY ELOQUENCE.

A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY 247
tables of the City Banquets. For some years Mr. Eentoul
has been the piece de resistance, at nearly every City Dinner
I have been to. His speeches were always witty, eloquent,
and, I imagine, well prepared. In fact, one of the City
" magnets," as Robert would call them, clapped me on the
back, one evening, after Mr. Rentoul had made his speech,
and said : — " Well, my boy, what do you think of that ? "
"I think it means a City Judgeship," I replied. And
it did. As I have already said, most people outside City circles
would never know the City but for its Banquets ; and my
most frequent visits to the east of Temple Bar have been to
attend some of these functions.
At a City Banquet, one evening, I noticed an American
on my right, who was taking a keen interest in all that went
on. The Worshipful Master was in the seat of honour, and
the Lord Mayor sat on his right, but the Toast Master,
apparently interested my American neighbour much more
than all the members of the Guild and their guests put
together. His style of giving the toast, " coupled with the
name of" some dignitary, struck me as being rather curious,
for he commenced in a voice of the deepest bass and wound
up in high falsetto, the effect of which seemed to me to
be much more grotesque than impressive. He regulated
the cheering like a leader conducting an orchestra, calling
for " One more, gentlemen ! Hip, hip, hurrah ! "
I informed my American neighbour, that our National
air is inseparable from, and indispensable to, all British
banquets, but more especially those given by City Com
panies ; for it was one of those bodies (the Merchant
Taylors') who commissioned Ben Jonson and Dr. Bull to
compose " God Save the King " for the entertainment given
on July 16, 1607, by that Company to King James I. But
this is digression.
At a City Dinner the speech-making is, as a rule, inter
larded with excellent music. Glees and madrigals, of
course, form part of the programme, but it consisted chiefly,

248 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
on this, occasion, of the more welcome rendering of well-
known songs, by accomplished lady and gentleman solo
singers. The lady who treated us to the first song " Eobert,
0 tu che adoro," preferred to render it in Italian, presum
ably, lest "Eobert" on being thus passionately addressed,
in his mother tongue, should accept the announcement
literally and " act according."
With like discretion another lady sang in French. She
was young enough to know. better, but assured us, emphati
cally, and repeatedly, that "L' Amour est enfant de
Boheme." Eef erring to the programme I found that we
were not provided with a translation of the Irish-Italian ¦
young lady's enthusiastic surrender to the all-conquering
Eobert ; our hosts, however, thoughtfully guarded against
our coming to any misunderstanding with the second singer,
a Swede, by translating, for us, her French definition of love
and its vagaries in the most cautious phraseology imagin
able. I must say that the fair songstress looked rather
roguish as she sang :
" L'Amour est enfant de Boheme,
II n'a jamais connu de loi,
Si tu ne m'aimez pas, je t'aime,
Si je t'aime prends garde a toi ! "
but on looking at my translation I found it only meant —
" Ah, Love ! Yes, Love's a vagrant at the best,
A lawless vagabond I fear is he,"
and I sighed a sigh of endorsement, for I also was afraid
that this observation was only too true when you came to
consider it.
At this juncture, as though by general request, the songs
lapsed from mellifluous Italian, and piquant French, into
our own every-day English, and stayed there for the
remainder of the evening.

A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY 249
No sooner had this alteration taken place, than an
equally sudden change came o'er the spirit of the songs.
No more trembling and imploring, no more lawless young
Bohemians; it was now all "bees" and "trees" and
"song" and "all day long," and even when we reached
naughty Tom Moore, it was not of " Love's young dream,
&c," that we heard, but the beautiful " Oft in the stilly

"AH, LOVE!"

night," where the word " love " occurs only once, and
then is merely mentioned in the most casual way.
As the end of the programme drew nigh, I was rather
amused, to see the tall, fair-haired, handsome songstress,
as she stood at the end of the table, gaze down, without
a smile at the surfeited reveller, peacefully sleeping on her
31

250 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
left, as she sang, in a voice of sweet, tearful intensity, from
one of Weatherley's tender lyrics :
" You will grow old like me, my darling,
Time will whiten your golden hair,
Sitting at eve in the chimney corner,
Dreaming and watching each empty chair."
At last, however, the singing and speechifying were
over, and we had admired the Company's curious and valu
able silver-gilt treasures, which were brought out for that
evening only, for that was Corpus Christi Day, the occasion
of the year, whereon the Master and Wardens for the coming
year were elected. The Guild was justifiably proud of its
" Ornamental Plate," of which a list, a brief history and an
illustration, were provided in the programme. Here the
ignorant might learn the exact nature of "patens," and
what the City knows as " cinq cents " and " Eaphaelesque,"
whilst those interested in snuff-boxes, salt-cellars, rose-
water dishes, and what not, might feast their eyes, to the
full, upon the fine examples of various styles here liberally
displayed. Meantime, there were sent on their circular tour
the loving cups — five cups in the shape of five Chanticleers
standing each on a turtle, which were presented to the
Company by one Cockayne. The heads of the cocks were
removable, to enable you to drink from their necks. I
wondered, as they were passed round, that the long-suffering-
turtles, with their necks strained to see what was going on,
did not discover that their oppressors had lost their heads
and seize the opportunity to dislodge them, but I suppose
that after twenty years they were getting used to it.
Preparations were made for the ceremony of the evening.
Pending that, I glanced up at the ladies who occupied a
gallery above the hall. I wondered at the apparent enormity
of keeping them there, hungry spectators, the while their
brothers, cousins, and nephews heartlessly revelled in good
cheer, and I hoped, for their sakes, that there was a snug
gery somewhere, in the unexplored inner economy of the

A CARICATURIST IN THE CITY 251
mansion, wherein the members' gentler relatives might
"unofficially" partake.
The band of the Coldstream Guards had been discoursing
sweet music during the progress of the banquet, and now
descended to the body of the hall. A procession was formed,
headed by a functionary — I nearly said "the Beadle" — of
whose proper style and title I must confess my ignorance,
but he might be more exalted than a thousand beadles for
aught I know ; then came other officials, followed by the
band ; next, ten or a dozen Bluecoat boys, the rear being-
brought up by, I think, more officials.
This procession marched around the hall, the band
playing a weird air which one could never forget, and which
must certainly have a history. It was as haunting as, but
perhaps a shade more cheerful than, the "Ghost Melody"
in " The Corsican Brothers."
Like big children, the processionists now commenced a
game of "musical chairs." One of them carried a number
of curious objects resembling- huge velvet quoits, which in
reality wrere hats of ancient date, though each of them
seemed to me capable of encircling a small barrel. One of
these was handed to the Master, who, knowing that his
reign of authority was rapidly approaching its termination,
made the most of the opportunity to have his little joke,
which he did by trying the hat on sundry of the diners and
pretended, the while, to have a difficulty in finding a head to
fit it. The band marched round, playing the half weird, half
comical, diddledee, diddledee, diddledee, and suddenly stopped
the instant the Master placed the hat upon the head of the
elected new Warden. And so the game proceeded, until all
the hats were disposed of and all the Wardens, as well as the
Worshipful Master for the coming year, were duly crowned.
In the olden days, it was the custom for those at the
table to fill the pockets of the Bluecoat boys, as they passed
round, with sweetmeats and any other good things left from
the feast. Facetious diners would also often pour sweet
meats into the instruments, as the musicians went by, until

252 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
the blower of the bassoon would nearly burst with his Borean
efforts to drive sweet music through some pounds of the
toothsome delicacies. All these frolicsome customs, how
ever, have passed away, with the rest of the "good old"
nonsense. The Bluecoat boys are not the losers by the
decadence of the custom, though ; indeed, they are much
better off, for we see them presently sitting outside with
large bags, into which are crammed all the indigestibles
they can carry, and at ten o'clock they struggle off with
them to the dormitories of Christ's College to hold high
revel. The Bluecoat boys are not the only partakers in the
Company's prodigality of " goodies," on Corpus Christi Day.
In bygone days money was placed under the plate of each
guest, but nowadays the guests are each given a huge box
of sweets !
The ceremonies were over and the guests were leaving,
and as I passed down Newgate Street, in the carriage of one
of the City dignitaries, my mind re
verted to the young gourmands of
Christ's College, and I asked my com
panion how long he thought they
would be in disposing of their bagsful
of good things, and gave it as my
opinion that they would be in clover
for weeks.
" I don't know exactly," said he, " but in my day we got
rid of them in rather less than two hours ; there never was
anything left at twelve o'clock that night. Each boy shared
with the occupants of the beds at either side of him, and we
used to get right through ! "

CHAPTEE X
AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM

CHAPTEE X

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM
The Definition of an Autograph — Dan Leno's Joke — The American Form
— Cousin Harry — Sir Alexander Mackenzie's — George Grossmith's —
At Tennis — At Lord's — " Miss May Melrose " — My Confession— How
I Drew the Public — "Cheek" — 3,000 in 17 Volumes! — Suspicious
Hunters — A Humorous Hunter.

It is necessary to quote some of
the remarks I made in a magazine
article on " Autograph Hunters "
before confessing my motive in writing it.
Is there any inoculation possible to avert autograph
fever? It is a disease always prevalent in the United

255

256 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
States, but of late years has become quite an epidemic in
England. Tattooing the patient's own autograph on the
arm suggests itself to a Pasteur of graphology. The worst
of this disease , is that it is not painful to those attacked by
it, but punishes those they correspond with. In the case of
people who worry artists for sketches as well as autographs,
a picture might be pin-pricked on the arm as well, to cure
them of pin-pricking their fellow-creatures. It is flattering
to me that I am being constantly hunted by the autograph
fiend. And, in return for the compliment, I do not hesitate
to send an autograph when the hunter accompanies the dart
by a stamped and directed envelope. Others I quickly dis
patch to the W.P.B. One of these latter, just to hand, I
have saved from destruction to keep as a curiosity — after
fumigation — for its contents are startling : —
" Sick Boom, Monkton School.
"Dear Sir, — A squad of us are down with German
measles, and we are trying to run a Monkton Chronicle to
cheer us up a bit. Can you very kindly send us something
for this week's number ? We are trying to make it funny,
and a little sketch from you would be awfully jolly.
" Yours truly,
" The Occupants of the Sick Eoom.
" Please send answer to the Editor, Monkton Measles
Chronicle, &c."
The funniest description of an autograph was given at
my own house. My daughter was entertaining some little
girls at tea, when I overheard the following conversation
between two of her small guests : —
Winnie (aged eleven) : " Do you collect autographs ? "
Girlie (aged nine) : "No, I would not collect them on
any account; they are nasty, horrid things."
Winnie: "I don't think you know what an autograph
is."

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM 257
Girlie : " Oh, yes, I do. It's a nasty, green, slimy thing
that grows in water."
Well, it is quite as difficult to get "a green, slimy"
actinia off a rock, under water, as it is to get an autograph
off some celebrities. Those whom the autograph hunter
chases are generally very busy people indeed. Still, not too
busy to sign their names, provided a stamped and addressed
Cw-£> ^^>~r^Z^^»5^ y-j-4"* -<*»t-< 5-*>a\i \-

envelope is sent with the request. Some of those hunted
are humourists, others are practical, others eccentric. Mr.
Dan Leno is a humourist, unequalled on the boards, and,
judging from a note I received from a schoolboy a short time
ago, he carries his jokes on, just as successfully in private
life: "Dear Sir, — Will you kindly favour me with your
autograph, and, if not asking too much, will you add a
32

258 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
funny little sketch ? You must not be as funny as Mr.
Dan Leno, for in reply to my request he sent his autograph,
as he always does, by telegraph ! " But I had my little joke
with the little stranger who asked for a little sketch. My
reply was something like the above, which a looking-glass
will render legible.
The practioal side of giving autographs cannot be better
illustrated than by the system practised, and, I believe,
originated, by Miss Ellen Terry. The hunter must send a
shilling (or is it half a crown?) for Miss Terry's charity
fund, and the delightful actress's autograph is received in
return. A cheap bargain, for the hunter, and an excellent
idea of this clever and charitable lady. The eccentric list
is a long one. To illustrate the pretty side of eccentricity,
and at the same time the difficulty there is in obtaining
some autographs, I cannot do better than cite the follow
ing incident, which was recently reported: "Autograph
hunters are very keen about getting the Sultan's signature.
It is said that both the German Emperor and the Duke of
Edinburgh tried in vain. But a short while ago the Sultan
entertained the American Minister, his wife, and daughters
at dinner, and, at the request of Mrs. Leishman, wrote his
signature on her fan. It was only scribbled in pencil, and
the next day he sent for the fan, on the pretence of rewriting
it in ink. But on its return it was found that the pencil
marks had been carefully erased, and a tiny "A. H." (Abdul
Hamid) set in diamonds had taken its place." It is interest
ing to note that where a German Emperor and an English
Duke had failed, those from the country of autograph
hunters succeeded.
In America, one is besieged by autograph collectors, per
fectly startling in their persistency. On arrival at the hall
or theatre, to give an entertainment, you find a row of
autograph books, and their owners, waiting for your
autograph. Some books are too precious to be left, so
the owner calls personally at your hotel. Many send their
appeals through the post. Others have their appeals printed

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM 259
in neat type. Here is a specimen ; complimentary to a
degree; but what the sender means by "something better
than an autograph " is somewhat vague. A photograph,
however, will suffice if — as I take it the writer infers — one
has not a full-length portrait, in oils, ready to be dispatched
FROM
B W. A N,
TEXAS.
 J- 3o i8qt--

%r^r%Aju-t C/UAJtVLAA
Q. 3 &T~€e(/rrLLuu>b> •^asrm-UL/
<=UJtivf§lf< I WOULD LIKE VERY MUCH TO PLACE A LETTER
OR OTHER PA1EH WRITTEN BY YOU IN MY COLLECTION OF AUTOGRAPHS. SOMETHING
BETTER THAN THE SIGNATURE ALONE WOULD EE GREATLY APPRECIATED. A PHO
TOGRAPH or Portrait also, if you can spare one, would add very much to
the interest of thh collp.ction. Sincerk.lv Yours,

THE AMERICAN STTTjE.

immediately to Texas. This reminds me that a cousin
of mine, in South Africa, when on a visit to England
asked me for my photograph and autograph for his little
girl. "I have brought you cousin Harry's portrait and
autograph," he told her on his return to Africa.
" Oh, we have had them, father, for ever so long."
"Indeed! Where?"
" Just come up to the nursery. He is framed there, and
his portrait is signed by himself."
In all earnestness, my cousin was shown, by his children

260 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
an advertisement (which was, unknown to me, taken for
that purpose by the proprietors of a soap, from a drawing of
mine in Punch) : "I used your soap two years ago; since
then I have used no other."

COUSIN MARX>

N/

The critical mind is content with writing the most
modest, and neatest, of hands. Writers of all kinds, even
the cynics, as a rule, write the smallest. Taking one at
haphazard, I find an autograph of George Bernard Shaw,
which fully illustrates this fact. It is, however, not so
eccentric as the writer of it. Eccentric autographs often
emanate from the artistic mind. The artist sends his,
embellished with a sketch, to the musician, an$ the
musician — the seriously clever Sir Alexander Mackenzie,

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM 261
or the ever humorous George Grossmith — sends back his,
set to music.
The common
practice, of (\ /
signing menus, (J l(A^p~UJ n -C\^
at public din- /
ners, is a modern ^ \
nuisance, also
copied from
America. To
have to sign
dozens of cards,

Si

lUjj-f*' ^^^

MB. GEORGE GROSSMITH'S AUTOGRAPH.

after one has sat
through a long
dinner and
dreary speeches, is anything but a pleasant occupation to
wind up with.
I shall never forget one request for my autograph. I
was playing lawn tennis, on the lawn of a country house — a
real match for a prize. It was the semi-final, and the score
was " love all." I was the favourite. Excitement ran
high. I was opposed by the youngest daughter, aged
twelve, and had only her uncle, an M.P., with a poor
idea of the game, to meet in the final. I had just de
feated one of the young ladies, who gave me thirty, and the
German governess, who played me even ; when, at that
critical moment, the head gardener, Mr. MacPherson,
walked straight on to the tennis lawn, with his autograph
book wrapped up in tissue paper, and, provided with a
gardener's pencil — something like a builder's — about an
inch wide, and having a stubby point, one-eighth of an
inch long, and there and then demanded my auto
graph, "with just a wee bit of the face of the Grand
Old Man."
I lost the match.
When I was sketching at Lord's, one Eton and Harrow
match day, some years ago, a sheet of my sketch-book fell

262 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
out. A very young lady, I had just sketched, picked it up.
" Will you kindly sign this and give it to me?" Could I
refuse, after her
politeness in
bringing it to
me ? But these
are trifles among
the trials of
those autogra-
phically hunted.
I have dis
covered a not

very uncommon
manoeuvre of the
autograph col
lector, who, find
ing that writing
for autographs
does not always
meet with a re-

A YOUNG AUTOGRAPH HUNTER.

sponse, writes to
ask some business question : the price of a picture ; your fee
to give an entertainment ; and may, in fact, should his
family be collectors too, carry on a correspondence till the
autographs are obtained. Then one hears no more. This
coolly impertinent process I have known carried still
further. Some artists cannot resist adorning their letters
with sketches. To obtain that sketch, requires more careful
fishing on the part of the stranger. The sport, to him, is,
therefore, all the greater. On more than one occasion, I
have received letters, from well-to-do strangers, asking me to
accept a commission for a drawing.
" A slight sketch of the subject will oblige." I take the
bait ; the slight, subject sketch is sent, and there the cor
respondence ceases. But my sketch is not returned. I have
a letter, to this effect, which may explain the reason why. It
is adorned with a coat of arms and three separate addresses,
after the following fashion : —

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM

263

"Hav'em Hall, Do'em-
shire. "The Rookery, Chisle-
hurst. " 6, Bounder Court, May-
fair. " Sir, — Lady Sharper and
I have changed our minds.

We fear your price for the
drawing is more than we care
to give ; and as we only
wanted a specimen of your
work for our collection, you
will be glad to learn that we
have decided to frame your
autograph letter, including
the sketch."
The frame-maker, at least,
earns something for his family.
One should be careful, in
sending an autograph. For
instance, a pretty little note sharper.
from " Miss May Melrose," or
from " Miss Lottie Lightfoot," written on primrose-tinted
paper, enclosing a stamped and addressed envelope — care
of The Creamery, West End Villas, Highgate — is not
always from an enthusiastic young lady, in her teens, who
is, in spite of her parents' protests, collecting the autographs
of celebrities. It is just possible, that that flattering little
note, is penned in the coffee-shop or public-house, next door
to the "Creamery" by a thorough-paced blackguard, who
either sells the autograph or, worse still, uses your signature
to rob you or yours. It is therefore, most unwise, to sign
your autograph, carelessly, in the centre of paper.
What is to prevent "Miss May" or "Miss Lottie" 
in other words, the practised thief ; as practised, no doubt
in imitating handwriting as an Ireland or a Pigott — placing,

264 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
over your signature, "I 0 U," or even something more
elaborate, to be presented to your executors, after your
death, if not
actually mani
pulated at once?
It is, therefore,
well to bear this
in mind ; and
when writing
your signature,
not to leave a
space above it,
but place it well
on the top of the
page. A safe
form is as fol
lows: "Mr.
S  has much
pleasure in com
plying with the
request for his
autograph."
(Here sign the name.)
There can be no hanky-panky tricks played with that.
There is nothing more difficult to draw than a tall hat.
There is nothing easier to draw than the British Public ;
particularly that section of the public with bees in their
bonnets, and those who find, in one's sketches, caps that
will fit their idiosyncrasies.
I have succeeded in drawing a considerable number,
from among the large public, reading the Strand Magazine,
in which the foregoing "Confessions" appeared, and what
is more, they have been drawn to depict themselves, in
letters. For a huge budget of epistles — some that I may
call — autocaricatures, has come in, since the appearance of
my article on " Autograph hunters." A selection from
these letters may interest my readers, as, judging by the

"MISS MAT MELROSE.'

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM 265
way in which the article was received, the subject seems a
very popular one. Even had I the power to endow my
various correspondents' letters with journalistic merit, I
would not attempt any such feat ; but rather content
myself, and I trust, interest their fellow-readers, by
making a few " elegant extracts," in the very words of
some of the many hundred autograph hunters, who have
written to me, from all parts of the world, and publishing
them without any addition, collusion or even permission.
In giving a lady correspondent first place, I have not
merely studied etiquette, for, as a matter of fact, the best
letters, I have received, are written by lady readers of the
Strand. Characteristically, this lady, although assuring me in her
letter; that " after seeing in your experiences the manner in
which some people make their requests, words fail me,"
fills four pages of a letter with the following words : —
" Being myself one amongst many of those too terrible
creatures — viz. ' The autograph hunters ' I could not fail
to be naturally much interested by your article in the
Strand Magazine. Doubtless on reaching this juncture of
the letter, you'll be on the point of looking for the usual
stamped, addressed, envelope ; but please do not, for it isn't
enclosed and am not in any way contemplating worrying
you in that direction.
"Now I may safely proceed. Being the possessor of a.
much valued album, should like just to mention to you a
little about it. In all there are about 50 contributions
from celebrities, — actors, music-hall artistes, authors, &c,
which take the form of extracts from plays, songs, and in
nearly each case accompanied by a photo of the original
— so you may imagine it is a real, good collection. And
now please do not think that what I am about to add is
said in any spirit of conceit — it is really true. In every
case the gentleman whose kindness I have taxed re
autograph sent me a letter before the book was handed
along expressing his pleasure in permitting me to do so,,
33

266 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
so that in addition to the entry in the album, I have a
most interesting collection of letters also autographed —
hence am real proud of them — receiving such exceeding
kindness from, in most cases, strangers (one or two of the
professionals I am acquainted with) has often appealed to
me, but after seeing in your own experiences the manner in
which some people make their requests, words fail me — one
can only breathe hard at the cool audacity displayed and
agree with you that the waste P. B. is the only article
required to complete the picture. Cheek ! well, it's
abominable. A very well known personage told me how
he was tackled one evening. In Charing Cross post office
he was sending a wire, when right across the form he was
writing on, a book was thrown and a sweet damsel said : —
'Your autograph, please, Mr.  ,' in such a ' do or die'
style that he said he was absolutely flabagasted — and he
signed the album in sheer desperation. It's really too bad
to carry the craze to this pitch — it becomes a perfect pest.
Now I do trust Mr. Furniss that this chat (unasked for by
you) will not have bored you too terribly, but I have taken
such an interest in this autographing business that on
seeing your article directly I determined just to write to
you— feeling sure you will overlook the liberty taken and
forgive  ' '
This lady, who takes such an interest in the " auto
graphing business," hails, I think, from the land of business,
and "autographing," America, as she is "real proud," and
I am glad she determined "just to write to me," and I
assure her, her confession did not bore me " too terribly,"
on the contrary it reminds me somewhat of a chat I had,
" on the other side," with a lady autograph hunter who
showed me an album full of autographs, a tablecloth
covered with them, and some she had worked in silk, on
her huge sleeves. "It is really too bad to carry the craze
to this pitch." I wonder if my fair correspondent knows
that New York belle with the sleeves? Or if she ever
crossed, from the States, on board a certain White Star

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM 267
ship, the Purser of which, I venture to think, must surely
hold the record for Autographing : he writes me : —
" I have for some years been collecting the Autographs
of eminent and celebrated Men and Women, and I venture
to take the liberty of approaching you with the object of
adding your name to the number, over 3,000 in 17 volumes.
In conclusion I should like to remark, it is purely a private
collection and not intended, at any time, for disposal."
Seventeen volumes ; over 3,000 autographs ! I wonder
are they authentic ; for while he hurries up to approach me
for mine, in time I trust for the hundredth thousand
volume, he spells my name wrongly ! Above all things,
my dear autographist, get your victim's name correct, do
not add insult to injury.
Next to getting your name wrong there is nothing less
soothing to the ruffled victim than to get his portrait

"Having read your very interesting article in this
month's Strand, I am writing to say that I should feel
greatly honoured if you would oblige me by sending your
Autograph on the sheet enclosed, and for the return of
which I enclose a stamped addressed envelope ? and I
must add that a small sketch (however hurried) would be
esteemed a special favour, but a short comment of the
sketch on the sheet to be signed will do, for
"Yours respectfully,

" PS. — Whilst looking at the said sketch it may interest
you to know that it was done in little over J of an hour,
entirely by myself, and that I am 18 years old."
This eighteen-year old artist-correspondent, may spend a
quarter of an hour, in comparing his flattering sketch with
the caricature I sent him.
Many correspondents, strongly object to my casting a
doubt upon their genuineness. A young lady, of Hong

268 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
Eong, is much exercised by my hinting that rogues and
vagabonds write for autographs to use feloniously, signing
their appeals "Miss May Melrose," &c, and she verifies
her claim as follows : —
"I have a grand collection, nearly seven hundred, a lot
given to me by friends, such as Sir Eobert Peel's, dated
1830. " I should so much like yours, and hope when you have
a little time to spare you will not forget me.
" I enclose you a page of the Directory, so you will know
I am not a ' Miss May Melrose,' but the second daughter,
born Oct. 9, 1881, in Hong Eong.
" Thanking you beforehand, I am, &c. . . ."
Another, equally suspicious, does not even trouble to
consult a Directory, but adds a postscript : —
"PS. — I am sending this C/o the Editor of the Strand,
as I am not sure if the address in the middle of your article
is a real one or not. . . ."
Another suspicious collector, doubts even the authenticity
of autographs. He writes, strange to say, not from Ireland,
but from Brighton : —
" Could you do me such a favour as to send me a small
autograph, executed by you, for my collection. ..."
A young lady, with a pretty name and a pretty,
enticing, as well as determined, way of putting the matter,
writes : —
"I should be so very pleased if you would favour me
with your autograph. I read your article in the Strand
Magazine, and felt all the more determined to ask you for
your autograph. I am afraid that you will feel very much
inclined to put this in the waste-paper basket, but I am
enclosing a stamped envelope, and I am sure that you will
not be so unkind as to refuse me.
" If you could do me a little drawing as well as your
signature I should be so pleased.

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM 269
" But please don't draw a picture of the back of your head
with your signature backwards."
That is all very sweet and to the point ; but this little
maid, at school, is also confidential, and at the same time
artfully flattering. She wants a sketch, as a consolation,
prize — " a booby prize " in the game of progressive learning
at her college — for she adds : —
"I daresay you read in the papers that Her Royal
Highness, Princess Christian, presented the prizes at
Princess Helena's College, Ealing.
" I go to the College, but did not get a prize. . . ."
I did not read the important announcement she referred
to, in the papers, but she got her "booby prize" all the
same. On the other hand, schoolboys sadly lack the tact and
ingenuity of the schoolgirl. Here is a specimen of cheek
from Eton.
No name — no reply. An autograph for an autograph,
young gentleman, is the least one expects. I trust I have
flattered you, more than you have flattered me. I do not
resent cheek, if it is intentionally funny — or unconsciously
humorous ; which of the two this letter, from a young lady
of Athlone, is I fail to discover. (I imagine all my corre
spondents are young. Happy thought, no autograph with
out a photograph, then, if my surmise is correct, there
would be some quid pro quo.)
" It was delightfully considerate of you, to inform me, by
means of the Strand Magazine that you will bestow your
autograph on any one who will give you the means of
returning it to him, her, or it (if it's ever make such
requests !).
" I beg you will send me two of your signatures, accom
panied by two little sketches of yourself, one for your
humble servant, the other for a small but senior aunt of
mine who is too shy to write herself. Please send them
soon. I enclose stamped envelope. I received on Wednes-

270 HARRY FURNISS AT HOME
day the signature of ' that delightful actress,' Miss T.,
though owing to what a kind cousin calls my l unsurpass
able ignorance,' I was not aware of the existence of her
' Charity fund.' Please don't trouble to write your auto
graph backwards, nor send me a telegraph clerk's
autograph. " If my writing appears illegible it is that I am like my
(or somebody's else's) grandsire, ' cut in alabaster,' and I'm
frozen so (goodbye)

" PS. — Could please let me have the address of Mr. Phil
May, and oblige."
It seems, I have been guilty of starting a young lady, on
her wild career in Autograph Hunting. She is Irish, and
richly endowed with native wit.
"  College, Dublin,
Merrion Square, Dublin.
" After reading your article on Autograph Hunters, I feel
emboldened to write and ask for your autograph (a thing
I've never done before), and taking the hint that ' very
busy people are still not too busy to sign their names pro
vided a stamped and addressed envelope is sent,' I enclose
the above. I am nineteen, a girl — an Irish girl — and live
in a respectable place in Dublin. You may know Merrion
Square ?
" My father's name is in ' Who's Who,' 1901, and I have
absolutely no sinister designs to use your signature for
felonious purposes !
" Having now done all in my power to allay all suspicion,
and make smooth your path, may I hope — if you are in a
good humour ! — a ' little sketch ' may be included ? I
await your answer in some anxiety, for as I said, I have
never had the temerity to write for an autograph before, and

AN AUTOGRAPH VICTIM 271
wouldn't have now but for your article, so — be it on your
own head !

" PS.- — There is no subtle meaning in the two addresses
given above."
No — but a goodly sprinkle of subtle humour.
This novice is also polite, (strange for autograph hunters),
she writes and thanks her willing victim !

% fesfmm |jrtgSi
CJTWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED,
WOKING AND LONDON.

BOOKS FOR
RECREATION
And STUDY

*«r

PUBLISHED BY
r FISHER UNWIN
u, paternoster
BUILDINGS, LON
DON K C . . . .

34

Mr. T. FISHER UNWIN'S

.*

POPULAR NOVELS

1903—4.

MR. T. FISHER UNWIN has much pleasure in an
nouncing the publication of the following Novels.
Notes thereon will be found overleaf : —
SIX SHILLINGS EACH.
THE DAYSPRING. A Romance. . . William Barry.
A DRAMA OF SUNSHINE— Played in Horn-
burg  Mrs. Aubrey Richardson.
THE SITUATIONS OF LADY PATRICIA W. R. H. Trowbridge.
THAT FAST MISS BLOUNT .... Roy Horniman.
ANGLO-AMERICANS . . ... Lucas Cleeve
THE MISCHIEF OF A GLOVE . . . Mrs. Philip Champion de
Crespigny.
HELEN ADAIR  Louis Becke.
ROSEMONDE  Beatrice Stott.
LAURA'S LEGACY  E. H. Strain.
THE BLACK SHILLING  Amelia E. Barr.
THE VINEYARD  John Oliver Hobbes.
THE MIS-RULE OF THREE .... Florence Warden.
THROUGH SORROWS GATES . . . Halliwell Sutcliffe.
KITTY COSTELLO  . Mrs. Alexander.
NYRIA ...  Mrs. Campbell Praed.
COURT CARDS  Austin Clare.
THE KINGDOM OF TWILIGHT . . . Forrest Reid.
A BACHELOR IN ARCADY .... Halliwell Sutcliffe.
THE FILIGREE BALL  Anna k. Green.
MYRA OF THE PINES . . ... Herman K. Viele.
THYRA VARRICK  Amelia E Barr.
THE SONG OF A SINGLE NOTE . . . Amei u E. Barr.
A. BUSH HONEYMOON  Laura M. Palmer Archer
THE 'WATCHER ON THE TOWER . .AG. Hales.
THE CARDINAL'S PAWN  K. L. Montgomery.
TUSSOCK LAND . . ... Arthur H. Adams.
THE FOOL-KILLER  Lucas Cleeve.
LOVE TRIUMPHANT  Mrs. L. T. Meade.
MOTHERHOOD  L. Parry Truscott.
HE THAT HAD RECEIVED THE FIVE
TALENTS  Angus Clark.
CHINKIE'S FLAT AND OTHER STORIES Louis Becke.

T. FISHER UNWIN, 11, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, LONDON, E.C.

T. FISHER UNWIN'S NEW NOVELS.
THROUGH SORROW'S GATES. A Tale of the Wintry Heath. By
Halliwell Sutcliffe, Author of ' Ricroft of Withens,' etc.
The scene is laid in Halliwell Sutclifle's favourite country, the moors of the West
Riding, though in the present book he goes even further into the heart of the b^ath,
nearer to that simplicity of feeling and passion which 13 the real mark of the moor-
folk. His characters spring from the moor, as it were, and grow out of it ; and not
least of these characters is Hester, the impulsive, erring farm lass, who dreamed
wild dreams at Windy Farm, and saw herself supplanted by a little, well-born woman
rescued from the snow.
KITTY COSTELLO. By Mrs. Alexander.
This story— the last that was written by Mrs. Alexander— tells the experiences oi
a well-born, beautiful Irish girl suddenly plunged, somewhere about the 'forties,'
into commercial circles in a busy English port. The attraction of the book consists
rather in the brightly-drawn contrast of the Irish and English temperaments, with their
widely differing views of life, than in exciting incidents, though the reader can hardly
fail to feel the fascination of the heroine or to be interested in all that befalls her.
NYRIA. By Mrs. Campbell Praed.
The author considers this the most important book she has yet written. Its
preparation has engaged her for a long time, and in it she gives her readers the very
best of herself. The scene is laid in Rome in the first century A D., and among the
characters are many historical figures, The period ofiers magnificent opportunities
for the writer of romance, and of Mrs. Campbell Praed's imaginative gifts and power
of vivid description it is, of course, needless to speak at this time of day. The story,
which is a lengthy one, will be found to be full of dramatic situations and thrilling
incidents.
COURT CARDS. By Austin Clare, Author of ' The Carved Cartoon,'
' Pandora's Portion,' ' The Tideway/ etc.
A romance dated in the closing years of the sixteenth century, and placed on
both sides of the border. The time, a stirring one, when the old order changing had
not yet wholly yielded place to the new admits of romantic incidents of every kind,
from raiding, kidnapping and goal-breaking, to mysterious love-making and midnight
murder. The intrigues between the English and Scottish Courts form a plot
sufficiently intricate, which is here likened to a game of whist, the court-cards chiefly
used therein being Queen Elizabeth of England, James VI of Scotland and the cele
brated Archie Armstrong, called ' The Knave of Hearts,' who by a series of extra
ordinary adventures, rose from the condition of a wanderer and sheep stealer on the
border side to the position of chief jester and ruling favourite at the Scottish Court.
THE KINGDOM OF TWILIGHT. By Forrest Reid. (First Novel
Library).
This is the history of the earlier half of the life of a man ot genius, following him
through boyhood and youth to maturity. It is a book in which the form, the atmos
phere, count for much. Essentially the study of a temperament — a temperament
subtle, delicate, rare — it has more in common, perhaps, with the work of D'Annunzio
than that of any English novelist ; the author's aim, at all events, having been to
describe, from within, the gradual development of a human soul — to trace the
wanderings of a spirit as it passes from light to light in search of that great light
' that never was on sea or land.'
A BACHELOR IN ARCADY. By Halliwell Sutcliffe, Author of
* Ricroft of Withens,' ' Mistress Barbara Cunliffe,' etc.
In this book Mr. Sutclifle abandons his strenuous manner of adventure, feui,
iwordplay and fierce wooing, and gives us an English idyll. The bachelor is a man
of some thirty odd years, who dwells in rural peace among his animals, birds, fields
and flowers, and, assisted by his faithful henchman, sows his seeds, mows an. J
prunes in complacent contempt for such as have succumbed to the delights of matri
mony. And so he fares through spring and summer, seedtime and harvest, his chiei
companions the squire across the fields and his young daughter, till as time goes on
he discovers that the girl is all the world to him, and the curtain descends on the
bachelor— a bachelor nn more.

T. FISHER UNWIN'S NEW NOVELS.
THE MISCHIEF OF A GLOVE. By Mrs. Philip Champion de
Crespigny, Author of ' From behind the Arras.'
This story deals with the adventures of a man and a maid in the time of Mary I
of England. The heroine, the daughter of a wild and reckless father, inherits his
bold spirit, and by her woman's wit and courage, assists her lover to elude the pursuit
of his enemies. She sallies forth in man's attire for his sake, and has many adven
lures, both humorous and otherwise, before the end is attained.
HELEN ADAIK. By Louis Becke.
This story, which is largely based on fact, describes the career of a young Irish
girl whose father was transported to Botany Bay for being concerned in the publi
cation of a 'seditious ' newspaper. Helen Adair, so that she may follow her father
to the Antipodes, and share, or at least alleviate, his misfortunes under the dreaded
' Convict System,' passes counterfeit coin in Dubl'in, is tried and convicted under an
assumed name, and is sent out in a transport. Her adventures in Australia form an
exciting romance.
ROSEMONDE. By Beatrice Stott. (First Novel Library).
This is the story of a gifted, sensitive woman, her husband who wa* a genius,
and the unquenchable love for each other which was their torture and their bane.
LAURA'S LEGACY. By E. H. Strain, Author of -A Man's Foes.'
The ' Innocent Impostor ' of the title is a very charming girl who has grown up
in the full belief of herself and the world that she is Miss Barclay of Eaglesfaulds ; her
mother dotes on her, she is seemingly heiress to large property, even the Queen is in
terested in her, how can she guess that she is in reality the daughter of a b^ggai
woman, and is keeping the rightful heir out of his inheritance? How this extra
ordinary situation came about and the trouble and tangle it brought into ihe life of a
sensitive and noble-natured girl, is narrated by E. H. Strain after the fashion which
has already endeared her to many readers,
THE BLACK SHILLING. By Amelia E. Barr.
Critics who have read this novel in manuscript speak of it as the best story
Mrs. Barr has yet written. Its central character — Cotton Mather, preacher,
scholar, philanthropist and persecutor— is one of the most picturesque figures in
American history, while the period — that of the witchcraft scare at the opening of the
eighteenth century, when numbers of men and women suffered cruel persecution for
their supposed trafficking with the Evil One — is full of dramatic possibilities.
THE VINEYARD. By John Oliver Hobbes.
In this novel Mrs. Craieie turns from the glittering world of finance, which she
depicted so brilliantly in ' Love and the Soul Hunters,' and gives us a story of life in
an English provincial town. As in all her books the love interest is strong, and under
che ' signoria d'Amore ' her characters are led into situations of the deepest interest,
demanding for their treatment all the subtlety of insight which her previous works
have shewn her to possess.
THE MIS-RULE OF THREE. By Florence Warden, Author of
' The House on the Marsh,' etc.
This is the story of three young men, living together in London lodgings, of the
ideals of womanhood which they have formed, and of the singular fashion in which
each falls a victim to the charms of a woman in all respects the opposite to his ideal.
The story takes the reader from London to the most romantic region of the Channel
Islands, and is connected with a mystery which surrounds the owner of one of these
inlands.

T. FISHER UNWIN'S NEW NOVELS.
THE DAYSPRING— A Romance. By William Barry, D.D . Author
of ' The Wizard's Knot,' etc., etc.
This is the lite story of an eager, earnest young soul, rising at length above the
illusion of the senses to the clear heights of faith. Noble aims, misconstrued in the
mirage of modern Paris, under the charm of a deluding spirituality, bring us to the
moment of choice between two paths, one that of so-called Free Love, the other that
of supreme self sacrifice. The dreamy mysticism, the sparkling humour, the sudden
brilliances, the delicate fancies which characterise the work of the author of 'The
New Antigone' are to be found in this newest and perhaps most fascinating of Dr.
Barry's books. A background of adventure is set by the last days of the Second
Empire and the Commune of 1S71.
A DRAMA OF SUNSHINE— Played in Hornburg. By Mrs. Aubrey
Richardson. (First Novel Library).
A dramatic episode of life In Homburg, at the height of the English season. The
characters represent types of men and women actually to be met with in tbe high
social and political world of to-day. A Society Beauty and a Sister of an Anglican
Community personify the rtd Rose of Love, Pride and Gaiety, and the pale Lily oi
Purity, Aspiration and Repression. In the heart of the Rose, a lily bud unfoHs, and
in the calyx of the Lily, a rose blossoms. The incidents of the story succeeds each
other swiftly, reaching a strong cUnetiement, and working out to a satisfying
termination.
THE SITUATIONS OF LADY PATRICIA: A Satire for Idle People
By W. R. H. Trowbridge, Author of 'The Letters of Hei
Mother to Elizabeth.'
Lady Patricia is an Englishwoman of a noble but impoverished family, whose
girlhood has been spent on the Continent. Left an orphan she comes to England
with the independent intention of seeking her own living. Sometimes under her
own, sometimes under an assumed name, she takes various situations in Eng'and
and France, and is brought in contact with many different sets of society both in the
upper and the middle classes. In this volume she relates her experiences, and
comments upon them with caustic wit. The plan of the work affords the author of
'The Letters of Her Mother to Elizabeth' an excellent opportunity of satirising the
aristocracy and the bourgeois gentilshommes of England and France, and readen
of the earlier volume will be prepared for a book full of piquancy and daring,
THAT FAST MISS BLOUNT. A Novel. By Roy Horniman, Author
of 'The Living Buddha,' 'The Sin of Atlantis,' etc.
There is nothing easier for a girl who has been born in a garrison town of hard -up
Service parents than to drift, especially if, as in the case of Philippa, she has been
disappointed in her first romance and is left a little soured and hardened. It is so
easy to enjoy the tawdry amusements that come her way; and if, like Philippa she is
beautiful, flirtation follows flirtation, men come and go, till it becomes the habit to
talk of her as ' that fast Miss Blount.' She is not the sort of girl as a rule who gets
married. There is something in the atmosphere about her which makes marrying
men fight shy of her. Philippa, however, is saved from social shipwreck by marrying
in such a way as to rouse the envy of all those who have been her traducers. The
background of the story is concerned with the family life of Captain and M rs. Blount's
household. There are a'so some exciting chapters dealing with the South African war.
ANGLO-AMERICANS. By Lucas Cleeve.
The main theme of this story is the fundamental antagonism existing between two
characters — an American girl educated in ideas-of freedom and independence, and of
the subservience of man to woman, and her husband, an English Lord, who e xpects
his wife to regard his career and interests as her own, and to devote herself 10 them
even to the obliteration of herself. The girl's father is a millionaire, and the story
tells incidentally of the illicit means by which his pile was made.

T. FISHER UNW'N, Publisher,

THE LIBRARY OF LITERARY HISTORY
Each with Photogravure Frontispiece, demy Svo, cloth, 16s.

•»* The idea of the Series is to take the intellectual growth and
artistic achievement of a country and to set out the story of these
in an interesting way. Each volume will be entrusted to a recog
nised scholar, and, when advisable, the aid of foreign men of letters
will be invited. 
i. A Literary History of India. By R. W. Frazer,
LL.B.
" A work which, for the first time, renders it possible for the
English reader to understand the part which literature has played
not only in ancient or in mediaeval or in modern India, but in India
from the earliest times to the present day. . . The sense of deve
lopment is never absent from his story, nor does he fear to touch
on topics from which the ordinary orthodox writer in England
shrinks." — The Times.
2. A Literary History of Ireland. By Dr. Douglas
Hyde.
" If we are not greatly mistaken, this is a book of very exceptional
value and importance. We are quite certain there exists no
book in English which attempts what Dr. Hyde has accomplished,
namely, a clear account of the whole literature produced in Irish
Gaelic, and a reasonable estimate of its value." — Spectator.
3. A Literary History of America. By Barrett Wen
dell.
" Learning it has, and style, and thought ; the information is
full, the order lucid ; in the punctilio which respects living
writers and present institutions, it reminds one almost of an
inaugural address at the French Academy. . . . Professor Wen
dell has put forth an admirable, a suggestive study of his country's
writers. To me every page is interesting." — Bookman.
IN PREPARATION.
4. A Literary History of Persia. By Professor E. G.
Browne.
5. A Literary History of the Jews. By Israel
Abraham.
6. A Literary History of Russia. By Ellis H. Minns.
ii. Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. r

T. FISHER UNWIN, PublUhor,

WORKS BY JOSEPH CONRAD
i.
AN OUTCAST OF THE
ISLANDS
Crown 8vo„ cloth. 6SU
¦' Subject to the qualifications thus disposed oi (vide first pan of notice),
An Outcast of the Islands '. is perhaps f he finest piece of fiction that has been
published this year, as ' Almayer's Folly ' was one of the finest that was pub
lished in 1895 ... Surely this- is real romance— the romance that is real.
Space forbids anything but the merest recapitulation of the other living
realities of Mr. Conrad's invention — of Lingard, of the inimitable Almayer,
the one-eyed Babalatchi, the Naturalist, of the pious Abdulla— all novel, all
authentic. Enough has been written to show Mr. Conrad's quality. He
imagines his scenes and their sequence like a master ; he knows his individu
alities and their hearts ; he has a new and wonderful field in this East Indian
Novel of his. . . . Greatness is deliberately written : the present writer has
read and re-read his two books, and after putting this review aside for some
davi to consider the discretion of it, the word still stands."— iatwriav P'vitm

ALMAYER'S FOLLY
Second Edition. Crown 8vo., cloth, Gs.
"This startling, unique, splendid book."
Mr. T. P. O'Connor, M.P.
"This is a decidely powerful story of an uncommon tvpe, and breaks fresh
ground in fiction. . . . All the leading characters in the book — Almayer, hia
wife, his daughter, and Dain, the daughter's native lover — are well drawn, and
the parting between father and daughter has a pathetic naturalness about it,
unspoiled by straining after effect. There are, too, some admirably graphic
passages in the book. The approach of a monsoon is most effectively
described. . , . The name of Mr. Joseph Conrad is new to us, but it a^ptan
to us as if he might become the Kipling of the Malay Archipelago." — Spectator

11. Paternoster Buildings, London, K.G.

T. FISiiKR UKWI», i-ui>ll»fler,
THE EBBING OF THE
' 1 L) C LOUIS BECKE
Author of " By Reef and Palm "
'second Edition- Crown »vo.. ciolh 6 s.
• Mr Louis Becke wields a powerful pen, with the additional advantage
that he waves it in unfrequented places, and summons up with it the elemental
passions of human nature. ... It will be seen that Mr. Becke is somewhat
of the fleshly school, but with a pathos and power not given to the ordinary
professors of that school . Altogether for those who like stirring stories
cast in strange scenes, this is a book to be read." — National Observer.

PACIFIC TALES

LOUIS BECKE
With a Portrait of the Author
Second Edition. Crown 8i»o„ cloth, 6a

" The appearance of a new boob by Mr. Becke has become an event of note
— and very justly. No living author, if we except Mr. Kipling, has so amazing
a command of that unhackneyed vitality of phrase that most people call by
the name of realism. Whether it is scenery or character or incident that he
wishes to depict, the touch is ever so dramatic and vivid that the reader is
conscious of a picture and impression that has no parallel save in the record?
of actual sight and memory." — West-minster Gazette.
" Another series ut sketches of island 111 c in the South Seas, not inferior to
those contained in * By Keel and Palm.' " — Speaker.
" The book is well worth reading The author knows what he is talking
about and has a keen eye for the picturesque." — G. B, BURGIN (n To-day
" A notable contribution to the romance of the South Seas."
T. P. O'Connor. M.P., in The Graphic.

11. Pat*»rnnBt«r Bnlldlnp*. London. E.C.

T. FlSJi£R UNWIN, PuWlsiioi,

THE TALES OF JOHN
OLIVER HOBBES
With a Frontispiece Portrait of the Author
Second Editivn. Crown &vo., cloth, 6 a.

" The cleverness of them all is extraordinary." — Guardian.
" The volume proves how little ~nd how great a thing it is to write t.
' Pseudonym.' Four whole ' Pseudonyms ... are easily contained
within its not extravagant limits, and these four little books have given
John Oliver Hobbes a recognized position as a master of epigram and
narrative comedy." — St. James's Gaiettr,
" As her star has been sudden in its rise so may it stay long with us )
Some day she may give us something better than these tingling, pulsing,
mocking, epigrammatic morsels." — Times.
" There are several literary ladies, of recent origin, who have tried
to come up to the society ideal ; but John Oliver Hobbes is by far the
best writer of them all, by far the most capable artist in fiction. . . .
She is clever enough for anything." — Saturday Review.

THE HERB MOON

JOHN OLIVER HOBBES
Third Edition, Crown Svo.. cloth, 6s.

" The jaded reader who needs sauce for his literary appetite cannot
do better than buy ' The Herb Moon ' "—Literary World.
" A book to hail with move than common pleasure. The epigram
matic quality, the power of rapid analysis and brilliant presentation
are there, and added to these a less definable quality, only to be
described as charm. . . . ' The Herb Moon ' is as clever as most of
its predecessors, and far less artificial."— Athenwum

11. Paternoster Buildings, London. K.C.
35

T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,

THE STICKIT MINISTER
AND SOME COMMON
MEN

BY
S. R. CROCKETT

Eleventh Edition. Crown Svo., cloth, 6s.
$&
" Here is one of the books which are at present coming singly and at long
intervals, like early swallows, to herald, it is to be hoped, a larger flight
When the larger flight appears, the winter of our discontent will have passed,
and we shall be able to boast that the short story can make a home east as
well as west of the Atlantic. There is plenty of human nature — of the Scottish
variety, which is a very good variety— in ' The Stickit Minister ' and its com
panion stories ; plenty of humour, too, of that dry, pawky kind which is a
monopoly of ' Caledonia, stern and wild ' ; and, most plentiful of all, a quiet
perception and reticent rendering of that underlying pathos of life which is to
be discovered, not in Scotland alone, but everywhere that a man is found who
can see with the heart and the imagination as well as the brain. Mr. Crockett
has given us a book that is not merely good, it is what his countrymen would
call ' by-ordinar' good,' which, being interpreted into a tongue understanded of
the southern herd, means that it is excellent, with a somewhat exceptional kind
of excellence." — Daily Chronicle.

THE LILAC SUN-
BONNETuv->'i>i>i-.i S. R. CROCKETT
Sixth Edition. Crown &vo„ cloth, 6s.
" Mr. Crockett's ' Lilac Sun-Bonnet needs no bush.' Here is a pretty love
tale, and the landscape and rural descriptions carry the exile back into the
Kingdom of Galloway. Here, indeed, is the scent of bog-myrtle and peat.
After inquiries among the fair, I learn that of all romances, they best love,
not ' sociology,' not ' theology,' still less, open manslaughter, for a motive, but
just love's young dream, chapter after chapter. From Mr. Crockett they get
what they want, ' hot with,' as Thackeray admits that he liked it "
Mr. ANDREW Lang in Longman's Magazine.

11, Paternoster Buildings, London, K.C.

T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,

THE RAIDERS

BT

S. R. CROCKETT
Eighth Edition. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6a.

^

" A thoroughly enjoyable novel, full of fresh, original, and
accurate pictures of life long gone by." — Daily News.
" A strikingly realistic romance." — Morning Post.
" A stirring story. . . . Mr. Crockett's style is charming. My
Baronite never knew how musical and picturesque is Scottish-
English till he read this book." — Punch.
" The youngsters have their Stevenson, their Barrie, and now
a third writer has entered the circle, S. R. Crockett, with a lively
and jolly book of adventures, which the paterfamilias pretends
to buy for his eldest son, but reads greedily himself and won't
let go till he has turned over the last page. . . . Out of such
historical elements and numberless local traditions the author
has put together an exciting tale of adventures on land and sea."
Frankfurter Zeitung.

SOME SCOTCH NOTICES.
" Galloway folk should be proud to rank 'The Raiders' among
the classics of the district." — Scotsman.
" Mr. Crockett's ' The Raiders ' is one of the great literary
successes of the season." — Dundee Advertiser.
"Mr. Crockett has achieved the distinction ot having produced
the book of the season." — Dumfries and Galloway Standard.
"The story told in it is, as a story, nearly perfect."
Aberdeen Daily Free Press.
" ' The Raiders ' is one of the most brilliant efforts of recent
fiction." — Kirkcudbrightshire Advertiser.
11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. '

T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,

THE GREY MAN

BY
S. R. CROCKETT
Crown Svo., cloth, 6s.
Also an Edition de Luxe, with 26 Drawings by
Seymour Lucas, R.A., limited to 250 copies, signed
by Author. Crown \to., cloth gilt, 21s. net.

T*

" It has nearly all the qualities which go to make a book
of the first-ciass. Before you have read twenty pages you
know that you are reading a classic." — Literaiy World.
" All of that vast and increasing host of readers who
prefer the novel of action to any other form of fiction
should, nay, indeed, must, make a point of reading this
exceedingly fine example of its class." — Daily Chronicle.
" With such passages as these [referring to quotations],
glowing with tender passion, or murky with power,
even the most insatiate lover of romance may feel that
Mr. Crockett has given him good measure, well pressed
down and running over." — Daily Telegraph
ll, Paternoster Buildings, London. E.C. (

T. riSHEK UNWIN, Publisher,

BUILDERS OF GREATER
BRITAIN «d™ »t
H. F. WILSON
a S/l of 10 PVa"io, ?<it/* u<M Photogravun Frontispiece,
and Map, large crown %vo., cloth, 5 a. each

The completion of the Sixtieth year of the Queen's reign will be the occasion of mncb
¦ etrospect and review, in the coarse of which the great men who, under the auspices of He"
Majesty and her predecessors, have helped to make the British Empire what it is to-day,
will naturally be brought to mind. Hence the idea of the present series. These biographic*.
concise bnt fall, popular but authoritative, have been designed with the view of giving in
tach case an adequate picture of the builder in relation to his work.
The series will be under the general editorship of Mr. H. F. Wilson formerly Fellow
of Trinity College, Cambridge, and now private secretary to the Right Hon. J. Chamberlain
at the Colonial Office. Each volume will be placed in competent hands, and will contain
the best porra" obtainable of its subject, and a map showing his special contribution to
the Imperial edifice. The first to appear will be a Life of Sir Walter Ralegh, by Major
Hume, the learned author of " The Year after the Armada." Others in contemplation will
deal with the Cabnts, the quarter-centenary of whose sailing from Bristol is has recently been
celebrated in that city, as well as in Canada and Newfoundland ; Sir Thomas Maitland, tfw
King Tom " of the Mediterranean ; Rajah Brooke. Sir Stamford Raffles. Lord Cliv«,
Edward Gibbon Wakefield. Zachary Macaulay, <fec, &c.
The Series has taken for its motto the Miltonic prayer : —
~ ?9ou ©8o ot €6f free grace >(»»f flu(R> up f0tB rgrtttannk*
igmpire to a gforiouB ano enBtaBft BeigBfi}. Eifl} aft 6c<
®aug8f« 3sfant>8 a6ouf Jer. »fae ug in frjto fefiafit."

i. SIR WALTER RALEQH. By Martin A. S. Hume, Author
of "The Courtships of Queen Elizabeth." &c
J. SIR THOMAS MAITLAND; the Mastery of the Mediterranean.
By Walter Frewen Lord.
}. JOHN CABOT AND HIS SONS; the Discovery of North
America. By C. Raymond Beazlky, M.A.
*. EDWARD GIBBON WAKEFIELD; the Colonisation of South
Australia and New Zealand. By R. Garnett, C.B., L.L.D.
%. LORD CLIVE; the Foundation of British Rule in India. By Sir
A. J. Arbuthnot, K.C.S.I., CLE.
RAJAH BROOKE; the Englishman as Ruler of an Eastern
State. By hir Svenser St. John, G.C.M.G
ADMIRAL PHILIP; the Founding of New South Wales. By
Louis Becke and Walter Jeffery.
SIR STAMFORD RAFFLES; England in the Far East. By
the Editor. 11, T ataraoster Buildings, London, E.C. U

T. FISHER UHWIM, Publlstier,

MASTERS OF MEDICINE
EDITED BT
ERNEST HART, D.C.L.,
Editor of "The British Medical Joamal"
Large crovm S*o.t doth, 3s 6d. t-itk
Medical discoveries more directly concern the well-being and happiness at the bamaii
i*cc than any victories of science. They appeal to one of the primary instincts of human
nature, that of self-preservation. The importance of health as the most valuable of
our national assets is coming to be more and more recognised, and the place of the doctoi
in Society and in the State is becoming one of steadily increasing prominence ; indeed,
Mr. Gladstone said not many years ago that the time would surely come when the medical
profession would take precedence of all the others in authority as well as in dignity. The
development of medicine from an empiric art to an exact science is one of the mos-
important and also one of the most interesting chapters in the history of civilisation. The
histories of medicine which exist are for the most pan only fitted for the intellectna
digestion of Dryasdust and his congeners. Of the men who made the discoveries whicJ
have saved incalculable numbers of human lives, and which have lengthened the span of
human existence, there is often no record at all accessible to the general reader. Yet the
story of these men's lives, of their struggles and of their triumphs, is not only interesting
but in the highest degree stimulating and educative. Many of them could have said with
literal truth what Sir Thomas Browne said figuratively, that their lives were a romance.
Hitherto there have been no accounts of the lives of medical discoverers in d form at one*
convenient and uniform, and sold at a popular price. The "Masters of Medicine" is a
•cries of b.ographies written by " eminent hands " intended to supply this want It is
intended that the man shall be depicted as he moved and lived and had his being, and thai
the scope and gist of his work, as well as ihe steps by which he reached his result*, shall
w «f r forth in a clear, readable ityle.

The following is a condensed list ot s"tue of the earlier volumes
AUTHOR. TITLE.

Stephen Paget
D^Arcy Power
H. Laing Gordon .
John G. McKendrick
Sir William Stokes
Michael Foster
Timothy Holmes .
J. F. Payne
C. L. Taylor .

John Hunter
William Harvey
Sir James Simpson
Hermann von Helmholtz
William Stokes
Claude Bernard
Sir Benjamin Brodic
Thomas Sydenham
Vesalius

11. Paternoster Buildings, London, K.G.

T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,

THE ADVENTURE SERIES
POPULAR RE-ISSUE.
Each large crown %vo, fully Illustrated. Popular re-issue, 3s. 6d.
per vol. ; in two styles of binding, viz., decorative cover, cut edges ; and
plain library style, untouched edges.

i. ADVENTURES OF A YOUNGER SON. By Edward
J. Trelavvney. Introduction by Edward Garnett.
2. MADAGASCAR ; or, Robert Drury's Journal during his
Captivity on that Island. Preface and Notes by Captain
S. P. Oliver, R.A.
3. MEMOIRS OF THE EXTRAORDINARY MILI
TARY CAREER OF JOHN SHIPP.
4. THE BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF
AMERICA. Edited and Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
5. THE LOG OF A JACK TAR : Being the Life of James
Choyce, Master Mariner. Edited by Commander V. Lovett
Cameron.
6. FERDINAND MENDEZ PINTO, THE PORTU
GUESE ADVENTURER. New Edition. Annotated
by Prof. A. Vambery
7. ADVENTURES OF A BLOCKADE RUNNER. By
William Watson. Illustrated by Arthur Byng, R.N.
8. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JAMES
BECKWOURTH, Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, and Chief
of Crow Nation Indians. Edited by Chas. G. Leland.
9. A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE EUROPEAN
MILITARY ADVENTURERS OF HINDUSTAN.
Compiled by Henry Compton.
10. THE MEMOIRS AND TRAVELS OF COUNT DE
BENYOWSKY in Siberia, Kamdchatka, Japan, the Linkiu
Islands, and Formosa. Edited by Captain S. P. Oliver, R.A.
11. A MASTER MARINER: The Life of Captain Robert W
Eastwick. Edited by Herbert Compton.
12. KOLOKOTRONES: KLEPHT AND WARRIOR.
Translated from the Greek by Mrs. Edmonds. Introduction
by M. Gennadius.
ii, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. «

T. FISHER UNWIN, Publlsner,

MASTERS OF MEDICINE
EDITED BT
ERNEST HART, D.C.L.,
Editor of "The British Medical JoarnaL"
Large crimm &9o.t cloth, 3b 6d. tifk
Medical discoveries more directly concern the well-being and happiness of the Daman
imcc than any victories of science. They appeal to one of the primarv instincts of human
nature, that of self-preservation. The importance of health as the most valuable of
our national assets is coming to be more and more recognised, and the place of the doctoi
in Society and in the State is becoming one of steadily increasing prominence ; indeed,
Mr. Gladstone said not many years ago that the time would surely come when the medical
profession would take precedence of all the others in authority as well as in dignity. The
development of medicine from an empiric art to an exact science is one of the mos'
important and also one of the most interesting chapters in the history of civilisation. The
histories of medicine which exist are for the most part only fitted for the intellectua
digestion of Dryasdust and his congeners. Of the men who made the discoveries whicl
have saved incalculable numbers of human lives, and which have lengthened the span of
human existence, there is often no record at all accessible to the general reader. Yet the
story of these men's lives, of their struggles and of their triumphs, is not only interesting
but in the highest degree stimulating and educative. Many of them could have said with
literal truth what Sir Thomas Browne said figuratively, that their lives were a romance.
Hitherto there have been no accounts of the lives of medical discoverers in a form at onct
convenient and uniform, and sold at a popular price. The "Masters of Medicine" is »
•eries of b.ographies written by " eminent hands " intended to supply this want. It ia
intended that the man shall be depicted as he moved and lived and had his being, and that
the scope and gist of his work, as well as the steps by which he reached his result* shall
w *ri forth in a clear, readable ityle-

The following is a condensed list ot some of the earlier volumes
AUTHOR. TITLE,

Stephen Paget
D^Arcy Power
H. Laing Gordon .
John G. McKendrick
Sir William Stokes
Michael Foster
Timothy Holmes .
J. F. Payne
C. L. Taylor .

John Hunter
William Harvey
Sir James Simpson
Hermann von Helmholtz
William Stokes
Claude Bernard
Sir Benjamin Brodie
Thomas Sydenham
Vesalius

11, Paternoster Buildings, London, K.C.

T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,

THE ADVENTURE SERIES
POPULAR RE-ISSUE.
Each large crown %vo, fully Illustrated. Popular re-issue, 3s. 6d.
per vol. ; in two styles of binding, viz., decorative cover, cut edges ; and
plain library style, untouched edges.

i. ADVENTURES OF A YOUNGER SON. By Edward
J. Trelawney. Introduction by Edward Garnett.
2. MADAGASCAR ; or, Robert Drury's Journal during his
Captivity on that Island. Preface and Notes by Captain
S. P. Oliver, R.A.
3. MEMOIRS OF THE EXTRAORDINARY MILI
TARY CAREER OF JOHN SHIPP.
4. THE BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF
AMERICA. Edited and Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
5. THE LOG OF A JACK TAR : Being the Life of James
Choyce, Master Mariner. Edited by Commander V. Lovett
Cameron.
6. FERDINAND MENDEZ PINTO, THE PORTU
GUESE ADVENTURER. New Edition. Annotated
by Prof. A. Vambery
7. ADVENTURES OF A BLOCKADE RUNNER. By
William Watson. Illustrated by Arthur Byng, R.N.
8. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JAMES
BECKWOURTH, Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, and Chief
of Crow Nation Indians. Edited by Chas. G. Leland.
9. A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE EUROPEAN
MILITARY ADVENTURERS OF HINDUSTAN.
Compiled by Henry Compton.
10. THE MEMOIRS AND TRAVELS OF COUNT DE
BENYOWSKY in Siberia, Kamdchatka, Japan, the Linkiu
Islands, and Formosa. Edited by Captain S. P. Oliver, R.A.
11. A MASTER MARINER: The Life of Captain Robert W
Eastwick. Edited by Herbert Compton.
12. KOLOKOTRONES: KLEPHT AND WARRIOR.
Translated from the Greek by Mrs. Edmonds. Introduction
by M. Gennadius.
ii, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. a

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