THEATRICAL AND LITERARY NOTES.

Auckland Star, Volume XXI, Issue 276, 22 November 1890, Page 4 (Supplement)

THEATRICAL AND LITERARY NOTES.

(from our special correspondent.)

London, September 26. There was a lively scene at Drury Lan e Theatre on Saturday evening last, when that eccentric genius, Mr James McNeil ' Whistler, undertook to personally chastise ' Mr Augustus Moore, the editor of the ' "Hawk," for certain reflections in that journal on the character of a deceased j friend. The entire fracas did not take up five minutes, bub it was, as soldiers say, \ "a sharp thing" whilst it lasted. Both ■ parties were indulging in cigarettes in the , lobby of the theatre after the secoud act of "A Million of Money," when they caught j sight of each obher. Moore whispered something to a friend, and then turned away with a rather supercilious ehrug, This apparently aroused the great James's slumbering wrath to boiling point. Walking after the etalwarb j journalist, he spluttered, "Mr Augustus Moore, I think," and sirr.ultaneou'aly com- ' menced raining down blows with a thin malacca cane on his surprised adversary's head, back and face. Mr Moore, dazed by the unexpected attack, could ab firat only try and"ward off the blows, which Mr Whistler accompanied with a war-cry of "Hawk ! Hawk ! Hawk I" A number ot bystanders promptly intervened, and Whistler in the scuffle got bowled over, bub whether Mr Mooro (ac he alleges) actually knocked him down seems doubtful. When the pair, were separated, Moore, with doubled fists, cried: " Put that cane down and I'll give you the best hiding you ever gob in your life." Mr "Whistler's response was to strike at tho weaponless editor again. " You coward, you attacked mo from behind," foamed Mr Moore. "So does the ' Hawk,' " readily responded James, " the ' Hawk' always attacks from behind." He then flung a card with much effect in Mr Moore's face, and retreated, accompanied by an admiring phalanx of friends. Amongst the onlookers viewing these proceedings Mas our old friend Mr Horace Lingard, whose wife has a part in the piece. Ifc soon appeared he, too, had grievances against the unlucky Moore, and Whistler and Co. having gone, he loudly commenced to air them. By this time, however, Augustus' blood was up, and ha promptly consigned Horace and wife to even a hotter place than the lobby at Drury Lane. Then Lingard " wenb for " him, and another pratby scuffle took place, the two men wrestling till they rolled on the ground, and (as a bystander observed) "stvore 'orrible." The police now pub in a belated appearance and separated the combatants. Lingard wae too dishevelled to return to his stall, bub Moore, apparently unruffled, sab the piece out. The Drury Lane melodrama is a venerable story skilfully rehashed by experienced manipulators and superbly mounted with really remarkable realistic effects. On this point the critics aeern agreed. The piece itself would probably have failed without the scenic adjuncts, but aa things eband, all London will go to witness the racing tableau "On Epsom Downs, and the Departure of Guards from Wellington Barracks." The plot can be described in half-a-dozen lines which all experienced play-goers will easily till in. Harry Dunstable, a young guardsman, married to a little woman he really loves, suddenly comes into a million of money. What will he do with it? This question is decided by his enemy and evil genius, Major Belgrave, who" plots with the adventuress Stella St. Clair to rnin Dunstable in body, soul and pocket. From one scene of dissipation we are hurried to another Epsom, a South Kensington fete, a gaming house. Then comes the crisis. Dunstable is ruined, Bolgrava ia proclaimed in his bruo colours by a broken-down sport, and Stella St. Clair fails to tempt the enanb husband finally from his wife. The Guards are ordered abroad and Dunstablo must go with them. Naturally his ship gets wrecked, and we" presently discover poor Harry dvins; of thirst on a tropic reef. Need I mention that a sail crops up jueb in time to save him, or tell you that Dunstable's money was sunk in a supposed rotten gold mine, which to the dismay of the wicked Bolgravo turns out trumpß ? Virtue is rewarded, vice discredited, and down comes the curtain. The great scene on Epsom Downs is the best of the many attempts ab reproducing racing sensations which Dturiolanns has made at our national theatre. Charles Warner describes the conteeb (of which the finish alone is visible) from tho box seat of his drag, and lu3 horse (the favourite) having won amidsfa frantic cheers, he drives off the course as the curtain comes down. Hansoms have frequently been manipulated on the Stage both at Drury La-\o and the Adelphi, bub this is the first time a fourfcorse coach has been absolutely driven (not merely started) on the boards. Naturally, Mr Warner was a little nervous on Saturday. Perhaps that was why he bawled so. The horses, fortunately, were perfectly trained, and the incidsnb passed off without } Miss Millward, as the injured wife, had little to do, and did that little indifferently. Her personality was, indeed, completely eclipsed by the superb presence of Miss Lingard, who looked sufficiently fascinating in a"seriea of Worth's costumes to excuse a much stronger man than Dunstable going mad aboub her. Herbert Standing has few living rivals in such parts as the awell scoundrel Belgravo, wicked as Satan and cool as a cucumber. Fanny Brough, Harry Nicholls, and some score obher experienced aetore and actresses were thrown away in parts which provincial nobodiea could equally as well have filled. Bub then, of course,,their names draw. " Told After Supper" is the title of Jerome K. Jerome's new book to be published next week by Field and Tver. Let us hope it. will be a more entertaining production than the " Diary of a Pilgrimage to Oberammergau" at present running through the " Daily Graphic. In this Mr Jerome's humour is of the thinnest possible character.and when he becomes serious—as in a florid description of the " Passion 'Play , '—he is even more trying. Mogb of our leading journalists and litterateurs have now written descriptions of the function at Oberaramergau, but none of their efforts approach that of the muchabused W. T. Stead. The success of the " Review of Reviews " has tempted several rivals into the field, bub none of them are up to the present worth mentioning. " Pearson's Weekly " eeerns to have hit the mark if the guaranteed returns of its circulation can be relied on. Mr P. boasts that he' sells 60,000 regularly. The great manufacturing towns of the north are the principal sale-grounds of the "snippet" weeklies. Every mill-hand buys two or three, and the prizes, etc., offered are eagerly competed for. Pearson's has invented a really novel prize in the shape of a £10 honorarium which is awarded weekly to the happy man whose enterprising wife presents him with twins or triplets Boonesfe after the publication of the paper. One week there were no fe-ver than 14 applicants for this prize, which fell (upon examination of the respective claims) to a brawny Scotchman. Mr Clement Scott's " Poppy Land " has proved singularly successful for a volume of random essays. The publishers announce that three editions cf 1,000 each have been disposed of. Why this should be I cannot say, as the work is quite ordinary " journalese," and in no sense " leeterature." Mr Oscar Fingal O'Flaherbie Wilde is still engaged in newspager warfare on the stale subject of the transcendent merits of hie singularly nasty "shilling shocker." Shut up by the "St. James" and the "Scots Observer," Oscar betook himself to the provinces, and now bewails the & " literary cliqueistn of the metropolis "in a ■ small northern weekly.