LEIGHTON HOUSE 
I remember once watching this scene—when, somewhere about 
11.80 p.m., when nearly everybody had arrived—a belated pair— 
a lady and gentleman, breathless and eager—hurried up the car- 
peted pathway between the flowers—clear enough by this time— 
to where the President still stood, now almost alone, and deserted 
by the Council. ‘‘ Oh, Sir Frederick,” they panted, ‘‘ we are so 
sorry we’re so late, but we’ve been all the way down to your house 
at Kensington—we thought the party was there!” 
I caught his reply: ‘‘ But this is the Academy soirée!” They 
must have been strangers to London and its ways—though they 
evidently knew him well, and had probably made his acquain- 
tance abroad—and receiving the invitation card—had mistaken 
both the nature of the function, and the scene. 
Leighton’s discourses, delivered to the students at the biennial 
prize distribution of the Royal Academy, when the gold medals in 
painting, sculpture, and architecture, and the travelling student- 
ships, are awarded—his speeches at the Academy banquets and on 
similar occasions, were all marked by the same dignity, finish and 
evidence of punctilious care, as were his pictures. Those pictures, 
in the years of which I have been speaking, were outstanding 
features of the annual exhibitions, and together with Millais’ and 
Alma-Tadema’s, gave to them, if not a greater distinction, 
certainly a greater general interest, than they have at the present 
day—notwithstanding the presence there now of much masterly 
work, especially among the portraits. Yet even in his lifetime, 
many people objected to the excessive smoothness and sometimes 
‘ sugariness”” of the President’s style of painting; and in his 
larger decorative works, and more monumental and classical 
subjects—in spite of the magnificent drawing—the impressiveness 
is marred by a certain want of virility in execution. Yet, as Mr. 
Pepys Cockerell has said, ‘‘ Whatever judgment the future may 
pass upon his own productions, the fact must never be lost sight 
of that even without them, Leighton was a great man. Intellec- 
tually, spiritually, and socially, he was the most brilliant leader 
and a stimulator ‘of artists we have ever seen in England.” 
And this is true. To young artists—the Academy students, 
for whom he cared so much—one of his great charms, lay in his 
accessibility ; his helpful interest in any one of them, once exerted, 
never flagged. I do not suppose he ever refused to receive any 
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