OUR LONDON FLANEUR.

Evening Star, Issue 7189, 18 April 1887, Page 4

OUR LONDON FLANEUR.

[From Our Special Correspondent.]

London, February 25,

“ Society ” is either at Nice, Cannes, or Monte Carlo just now; but the brilliant season on the Riviera draws to a close, and with the first of the great State functions at St. James’s set down for an early day next month town will soon fill. Meanwhile, the most wonderful stories are going the round of the clubs relative to Mr Carleton Blythe’s winnings at Monte Carlo. For nearly a month this gentleman has enjoyed a run of luck positively phenomenal, and as the other gamblers copy his play slavishly it follows the bank has had a pretty bad time. Once last week Mr Blythe broke the bank twice in one day. This is an almost unheard-of occurrence, and has caused a tremendous sensation amongst the gambling community. “It can’t last,” you hear everyone saying, referring the Englishman’s luck, but somehow it seems to do so. Even the Prince of Wales condescended to watch Mr Blythe’s “ system” of staking when he was in the rooms the other day. For of course Blythe has a system. All gamblers invent one, and find it infallible —well—just so long as their luck lasts. The Prince of Wales, travelling en garqon, has discovered a new American beauty—a Miss Crabb. He escorted her through the rooms at Monte Carlo personally, and, altogether, paid the young lady a great deal of attention. On dit, the haughty Duchesse de Luyues has irreparably offended His Royal Highness by declining to invite Miss Crabb to her ball. “Tell Monsieur,” she said to Mr Christopher Sykes, who was the Prince’s envoy in the matter, “I shall be very glad to see Mdlle. Crabb (what a name!) when Mdme. la Princesse de Galles has received her at Marlborough House—not, however, till then.” . The Hoxton murder, though a sufficiently cold-blooded and cruel crime, would have

attracted little attention but for theextraordinary exhibition of detective incompetence in connection with the capture of the suspected man. The deceased woman Lydia Green, and Edward Currell (now accused of her murder) had kept company for more than twelve years, and were believed by all their friends to be on excellent terms. Both followed somewhat unusual trades, Currell being a “spongeclipper,’’ whilst Lydia covered the handles of surgical instruments. Early on the morning of the murder Currell borrowed the latch-key of the Greens' house from another of their lodgers, on the ground that he wanted to go and fetch some tools he had accidentally left behind the previous night. Soon after, Mrs Green, who slept in the room above her daughter Lydia, was roused by a startling noise below, and almost simultaneously heard someone slam the front door. She went downstairs and found her daughter fully dressed lying on the ground apparently senseless, but really dead. The doctor summoned made the mistake (a mistake likely to _ cost him dear) of thinking Lydia had died in a fit, and it was not till the police appeared on the scene later in the day that two pistol wounds in her body were discovered, Currell’s morning visit then transpired, and the police were set on his track.

Will it be credited that, though Currell had neither money nor friends, and though he remained in the one quarter of the town where he was well known (all outlets theiefrom being blocked), he nevertheless managed to baffle the combined ingenuity of Scotland Yard and the detective department for ten days, and then only gave himself up because he was starving. Three times during this period outsiders recognised the man and pointed him out to constables, but none of the three policemen cared to risk “ taking ” a wrong person. In this no doubt they were right; but what is one to think of the smartness of the thirty detectives, who were perambulating the streets of Islington all this time with Currell’s photo in their pockets ? _ The sporting world mustered in force at Bow street last Friday afternoon to hear the first stage of Mr Robert Peck’s action for criminal libel against ‘The Bat ’ newspaper. The article complained of contained about as nasty a scries of insinuations as could well be made against a professional turfite. It described Peck as “ hot as the hinges of Hell,” and dilated suspiciously on certain well-known incidents of his career. The sale of Bonnie Scotland for a large sum to Lord Rosebery just before the Derby of 1878 was specially mentioned, the writer more than hinting that Peck knew the colt was worthless when he got rid of him. The complainant went into the witness-box, and was cross-examined at considerable length by James Davis (proprietor of ‘ The Bat,’ and the writer of the article). Re Bonnie Scotland, it was elicited from Peek that he remained uncertain whether Lord Rosebery meant to buy the colt or not till a few minutes before the race for the Derby, when Fred Webb appeared in His Lordship’s colors, and said he had instructions to ride. Peck backed the colt himself to win a large stake—in fact, it started second favorite at 4to 1. After the break-down in the race Peck offered to take the horse back. _ Lord Rosebery, however, preferred to stick to the bargain. Davis maintained that the article was fair comment, hut the Magistrate thought differently, and committed him for trial. The feeling of the spectators was altogether on the side of Peck, who, notwithstanding hi* reticence, is very popular on the turf. The revival of Tom Taylor’s “ Clancarty” at the St. James’s Theatre to-morrow evening promises to be the dramatic event of the ante-Easter season. Extraordinary pains have been taken to ensure accuracy in the matters of scenery and costume (which belong to a period seldom represented on the stage), and the piece has been altogether most carefully cast and rehearsed. “The Lodgers,” which followed “The Pickpocket ” at the Globe Theatre a few weeks back, will give way early next mouth to an adaptation from the German by Mr C. H. Hawtrey entitled “10 U,” and about the same date Miss Grace Hawthorne enters on her leasecship of the Princess’s. Theatre parties, with “supper to follow,” are the fashionable craze of the moment, The host or hostess takes twenty or thirty stalls at a popular play, and asks you to meet her at the theatre. Afterwards the whole party return home to her house to a substantial supper. In these days of heavy afternoon teas at 5.30, this is found a far preferable arrangement to an early dinner before the theatre, which must be hurried through uncomfortably, and from which one has to rush off parched and smokeless. ■‘David Garrick” at the Criterion, and “ Dandy Dick ” at the Court, are the plays most in vogue for theatre parties. Wyndham’s Garrick is far the finest piece of acting that can be seen in London at present. A veteran critic (Mr Beatty-Kingston), who used to consider Sothern’s Garrick perfection, has recently pronounced Wyndham’s a subtler and more thoughtful impersonation. By the way, in remembrance of the “ command ” performance at Saudringham last mouth, Charles Wyndham lias received “from his friend Albert Edward Prince of Wales ” a massive silver “ loving cup,” of which he is (naturally perhaps) extraordinarily—l was going to say abnormally—fond.