tives of the Church, the Bench, and the
Bar; of Science, Art, Literature, and the Stage; the beasts and birds
and insects in and out of the Zoological Gardens; figures by the score,
nude and draped; costumes of all ages and every country; soldiers,
sailors, and the uniforms of every army and navy; land and sea and sky;
boating and botany, nuns and clowns, hospital-nurses, musical
instruments, and rifles, locomotives, wheel-barrows, shop-windows, and
everything else besides--everything, in short, as he himself declared,
"from a weasel to a Welshman"--all are photographed mostly by himself,
and all are arranged by himself, in readiness against the demand for
accuracy and the exigencies of haste. But when time permits, Mr.
Sambourne goes to greater trouble still. Does he require a special
uniform? he begs the War Office--not unsuccessfully--to lend him one or
two men, or even a detachment; does he want to represent Mr.
Gladstone--say, as Wellington (as he did November 2nd, 1889)? he
procures the loan of the duke's own raiment, and only stops short at
borrowing Mr. Gladstone himself. For his types, too, he takes pains not
less thorough. For Britannia's helmet, he made working drawings of the
unique Greek piece in the British Museum, and from that had a replica
constructed--one of the most notable items in a notable "property" room.

At the back of his house is a paved courtyard, wherein his servant poses
as every character under the sun while he is photographed by his master,
who then runs inside to develop the plate and make a dash at his
drawing. Or he will photograph himself, or the model in the desired
attitude; or he will get his friends to pose. Among his sitters there is
none more useful than the burly man who serves equally well for
"Policeman A 1" or John Bull, for the Duke of Cambridge or Prince
Bismarck. It was he who sat for one of the finest of Mr. Sambourne's
"junior cartoons" on the occasion when the great ex-Chancellor had said:
"I am like the traveller lost in the snow, who begins to get stiff while
the snow-flakes cover him." This picture of the aged and forlorn
statesman, accompanied only by his faithful hound, is perhaps the best
of the artist's achievements of dignity and pathos--worthy of being
named with "Dropping the Pilot" of Sir John Tenniel. His passion for
realism is so great that, I remember, when he was engaged on his
"Mahogany Tree" for the Jubilee number of _Punch_--one of the most
popular dr