Punch (88.1885)

98

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 28, 1885.

A DOUBTFUL COMPLIMENT.

Effie. “What! is tbat the beautiful Miss Jones? Why, I admire
YOU mobe than eer, Mamma!” Mamina. “Oh, my Dear!”

Effie. “I think she’s perfectly Hideous!"

PAPERS PROM PUMP-HANDLE COURT.

A MATTER IN CAMERA.

I confess I was not altogether surprised to receive at my Chambers an invita-
tion from a firm of well-known West-End photographers to sit for my portrait as
a “legal celebrity.” Perhaps I should have been better pleased had the letter
not been lithographed with the exception of the word “ legal ” (which had been
filled in with a pen), as then I should have imagined that our forensic notabilities
were not quite so numerous as the Circular seemed to suggest. “ But,” I argued
to myself, “the eminent operators no doubt know their business better than I
do. They are in touch, so to speak, with the Public pulse, and must catch the
celebrity on the hop, or, as in my case, on his legs.” I felt that they must have
heard of a recent brilliant professional triumph (I had successfully moved for
the appointment _ of a Receiver in the Probate Division of the High Court of
Justice), and anxious to meet the immense demand that must, as a consequence,
have been created for my portrait, had taken immediate steps to secure a sitting.
Thinking that perhaps the Public might prefer to see me in the costume I wear
when not engaged in wrestling with those deeply versed in the intricacies of the
Division over which Sir James Hannen so admirably presides, I offered to
appear in Mufti. But no, the eminent Firm (doubtless fully aware that the
multitude prefer to see their heroes of the hour in uniform) begged of me to
bring “ my robes.” Thus petitioned, I requested my clerk—to speak by the
card, my fraction of a clerk—(I share his excellent and valuable services with
others) to fetch my wig and gown from the neighbourhood of Carey Street, as I
had need of them elsewhere. I rather think my fraction of a clerk was impressed,
imagining that I had a brief in some distant part of the country, where I was
not Known.

At 11‘30 a.h. I drove up with my goods and chattels (as Mr. Penley says in
the Private Secretary), and. mounted to the first-floor. Here I was courteously
received by an attendant who, however, informed me that as the Artist was
engaged with “someone else,” I could go into another room “and get ready.”
Deprecating hurry for my sake (I felt that perhaps if the Artist knew I was
waiting for him he might spoil, in his pardonable agitation, the negative he was
then engaged in taking of either the Lord Chancellor or the Master of the
Rolls), I carried my blue bag into the apartment indicated. Here I divested
myself of my hat and necktie, and assumed a wig, a pair of bands, and a gown.

Leaving my chimney-pot sharing a settee with a
lady’s bonnet and a sealskin cloak, I returned to the
room I had just entered, and engaged in an animated
conversation about the very considerable merits of the
specimens of photography hanging from the walls with
an agreeable female attendant. I fear that the fact that
I was “robed” rather frightened my companion, who
answered the questions I put in a tone that might have
been adopted by a nervous witness anxious by concilia-
tory submission to end an unusually brutal line of cross-
examination. It may be that feeling my wig resting on,
not to say tickling my head, I was a little harsh when I
asked whether such and such a group “was not an en-
larged photograph ? ” and did they not “nowadays take
portraits the full size of life ? ” That our conversation was
mutually embarrassing was unquestionable, and therefore
it was a relief when the attendant, having called through
a tube that “ the gentleman was quite ready, and hadn’t
much time to spare,” begged me to go upstairs to the
studio. 1 may remark that I was at first a little hurt (in
my character of a “legal celebrity”) at being simply
called “the gentleman,” but on consideration came to
the conclusion that no doubt the anonymous description
was intended to suit the views of constitutionally timid
Queen's Counsel desirous of preserving as long as possible
their incognito.

On entering the studio I was desired to wait an instant
as the last negative was being taken of the sitter who had
preceded me. Hearing this I assumed an air of deferen-
tial hauteur so as to meet the “ subject ” on his retirement
(I suspected him to be the Lobd Chancellor) with appro-
priate dignity. My trouble was unnecessary, as the sitter
turned out to be not the Lord Chancellor, but a much
younger lady, whose bonnet and cloak were no doubt
those I had observed in the dressing-room on my arrival.

“ Now,” said the Artist, after seating me somewhat un-
steadily on a chair, drawing up a curtain representing the
interior of a palace, and screwing my wig firmly on to a
frame, “I want you to look as you do when you are
questioning a witness.”

This was rather perplexing, as, to tell the truth, my
work is chiefly what I may call Chamber practice.
However, I put on a scowl of intense malignity, which
seemed to me fairly suitable to the given situation.

“No, that will not do at all,” exclaimed the Artist.
He spoke with a slight accent. “ Think of something
pleasant.”

I did. I thought that, in spite of my considerable
Chamber practice, if I ever did have the opportunity of
examining a witness, it would be most gratifying.

“ Ah, that is better! ” And he took off the cover of
the camera, and “fixed” one of the broadest grins in
which I had indulged for years.

“ Thank you,” he continued, “ I think that very good.
And now I want you to get into your ordinary attitude
in Court—when you are addressing a Judge.”

Smiling gently to myself, I assumed an air of winning
candour combined with noble-minded prudence, ana
leant forward with easy grace—in fact, adopting the
very attitude I had used in my celebrated Probate
motion.

“Oh, no—not at all I” almost shouted the Artist.
“ Tou look as if you were frightened out of your life !
Something bolder will be better.”

1 oonfess I was disappointed, as I imagined that the
Public would have preferred to have seen their hero in
his favourite, his only attitude. However, in deference
to the suggestion that I should appear “ bolder,” I rested
my left hand upon my hip, raised my right arm
threateningly, and put on an expression that I think
would have done either for “Ajax defying the Light-
ning,” or “ Jack Sheppard boldly conducting, at the end
of his villanous career, his own defence.”

“ Capital! ” exclaimed the Artist. “ But I think you
want a brief.”

I thought so, too, but kept the reflection to myself.

“ Have you a brief ? ” he asked.

This very direct question rather embarrassed me, and
I was about to reply that I really could not say until I
had consulted my clerk, when he added that he meant
“ with me.”

“ Oh no,” I answered, quickly, and muoh relieved.
“ All my briefs are at my Chambers.”

“ Well, perhaps this will do.” And he gave me a song.

I objected that, if I were taken with a ballad in my
hand, it would savour of disrespect — that even the