TABLE TALK.

Evening Star, Issue 7236, 11 June 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

TABLE TALK.

SOCIAL, THEATRICAL, SPORTING, AND LITERARY. [From Our London Correspondent.] London, April 20. The Easter holiday traffic—Anti-coercion demonstration scene in Hyde Park — Mrs Gladstone and the processionists— The ex-Premier at Harrow—Rudeness of the boys—A glass of water thrown at Mr Gladstone— CurrelFs confession— The King of the Belgians in Parliament —The late Sir Owen Lanyon—The priest in the family—The Duchess of Norfolk—MrNewdegate—The "Red Lamp" —A surprise—Fullerton's victoriesArcher's ghost—The Derby favorite to the fore—Death of Lord Lyon—Black's new novel—"Knight Errant"—a Jewish idyll. Glorious spring weather—the first we have had so far—accompanied the Easter recess, and enabled holiday-makers to enjoy themselves thoroughly. The railway traffic on Monday was heavier than has ever been known at this time of the year. To give you some idea of the difficulties our great lines have to cope with on such occasions, I may mention that the Brighton Company alone despatched sixty-six long special trains, most of which were dragged by two engines. The South Western Company, in addition to its ordinary service, sent off thirty-seven specials to Kempton Park, and several to Windsor, as well as numerous trains to popular suburbs like Hampton, Kew, and Richmond. There were over 120,000 persons at Chingford (Epping Forest), 40,000 at the Crystal Palace, 100,000 on Hampstead Heath, and enormous crowds at Olympia and the Albert and Alexandra Palaces. Notwithstanding this wholesale exodus from the metropolis "the masses" mustered in wonderful force at the anti-coercion demonstration in Hyde Park on Monday afternoon. Opinions'dilfer as to tho precise number present, but it probably exceeded 150,000 people. The crowd was wonderfully good-tempered, thereby presenting a marked contrast to the angry mob which made "Intimidation Monday" of 1884 so ominous. The only name really vigorously hissed was Joe Chamberlain's. Enthusiasts groaned a little over Lord Hartington, and cheered uproariously whenever a speaker mentioned Gladstone, but references to Lord R. Churchill merely provoked laughter. Infinitely the most popular speaker was the irrepressible "Labby," who, for the time being, gleefully adopted the role of "people's tribune." He had arrayed himself, appropriately enough, in an old " sack " coat and low-crowned "pot" hat, and looked for all the world like a working man holiday-making. Mrs Gladstone occupied the balcony of a house in Piccadilly, and, in company with Master Herbert and Lady Majoribanks, bowed greetings to each cheering contingent as it passed along towards the Park. The old lady has a rare spirit, even Conservatives admitted, for though the procession took over two hours marching past, she remained to the last, and greeted the final sections as cheerfully and courteously as the first.

By-the-by there has been a rare " to-do " I at Harrow over Mr Gladstone's recent visit j to the school. He went there, it seems, to chapel. Afterwards the boys were formed in two lines, and the veteran statesman and Mrs Gladstone passed down between them. Hardly any of the young boors (so 'tis said) raised their hats. That was bad enough, but worse remains behind, for, according to an eye-witness, one little ruffian absolutely tried to immortalise himself by throwing a glass of water at the ex-Premier. The G.0.M., luckily, saw what was coining, and stepped aside, with the result that one of the masters received the intended compliment full in his waistcoat. The most deplorable part of the scory, however, is that the lad's conduct was not considered reprehensible by his mates. Clearly things are in very " bad form" at Harrow, or this could not be. Currell has confessed to murdering his sweetheart. He says he was under the influence of opium at the time, and has no notion why he committed the crime. Another dynamite scare has taken possession of Scotland Yard, and the police protection of Westminster Palace and other public buildings has been doubled in consequence. The King of the Belgians occupied a seat in the gallery of the House of Commons during the animated discussion on the Crimes Bill last Tuesday week. On being interrogated subsequently as to whether he had heard any debates, His Majesty replied, " Ah! des beta ; old, il y en avait 2>lusietlrs," Sir Owen Lanyon, who died the other day, was, perhaps, the most popular member of the unpopular Wolseley clique. His rise, though well-deserved, was rapid; and, when after returning from Egypt full of honors he married the great beauty and heiress of the season (Miss Lawson), the goddess of good fortune seemed to have little left to bestow on him. Alas ! a year later his wife and infant son died suddenly and within a few days of one another. Then a slight affection of the throat began to trouble him. It seemed a mere spot, but Sir Owen thought perhaps he had better consult a specialist. "Can you bear the worst?" o,sl?ed Dr Morell M/Kenzie. "I can," was the brief reply. It proved to be malignant cancer of the tonsils, which is practically incurable. At any rate it proved to be so in Sir Owen's case. When his doom became a certainty the gallant soldier bade farewell to his friends and went off to America to die alone. Ristori, who is no\y living quietly in Rome, has just finished the first portion of her autobiography. It will be published in four languages simultaneously. Readers of the niore serious English papers may remember a bitter controversy on " The Priest in the Family," which raged for several weeks some six months ago. It was started by a Captain Carlile, who complained in rather immoderate language of the conduct of a Roman Catholic priest who had broken up his home and ruined his marital happiness by secretly converting Mrs Carlile. The priest defended himself fairly successfully, but the wrathful Carlile refused to be appeased, and protested in moving terms against the interference of Roman Catholic priests with Protestant families. We now read that Captain Carlile himself has just been "received into the Church'' by Cardinal Manning. The death of the Duchess of Norfolk, who succumbed to a painful complaint on Easter Monday, was by no means unexpected. She had been in poor health for years ; in fact, never should have married the Duke, who has himself a poor physique. The match was strongly discountenanced both by the Howards and the Hastings, but the young couple were deeply in love, and took their own way. The birth of the poor little deformed child, known as the Earl of Arundel an( l Surrey, proved a terrible shock to both ; the Duchess, indeed, never properly got over it. The Duke, always as much monk as man, became more of a recluse than ever, giving up his life almost entirely to Mother Church. He is said to be quite heartbroken over the Duchess'e death. Mr Newdegate, who died last week, was for many years a cognate and, on the whole, popular personage \n parliamentary circles. He might have taken a really good position, but for one thing: he had "a bee in his bonnet." Roman Catholics were his abhorrence, and in every movement he distrusted he smelled a Jesuit plot. This craze grew to such a pitch latterly that it became almost mania. For example, Mr Guildford Onslow secured Mr Newdegate's support for " Sir Roger," simply through persuading that champion of Protestantism that the claimant was the victim of Jesuit machinations. Mr Newdegate would always spend any amount of time or money to thwart a Catholic or an Atheist. It was as much his persistent "whipping" as anything that kept Bradlaugh out of the House so long, and the news of that persistent person's ultimate triumph nearly broke his heart. The Prince of Wales has been twice to the Haymarket Theatre in the hope of bolstering up Mrs Brown Potter and " Man and Wife." Nevertheless the British public decline to follow suit. The play people pronounce dull, and the actress a failure. ' Mr Beerbohm-Tree's forthcoming managerial venture at the Comedy Theatre excites universal interest from the fact that

" The Red Lamp " is said to be the first attempt at drama of a highly successful novelist. The scene is laid entirely in Russia, and we are promised an absolute reproduction of " high life " in St. Petersburg. Lady Monckton acts the part of a princess devoted to her husband and the Czar, but cursed with a brother who is a Nihilist. Good parts have also been found for Mr Brookfield, Mr Sugden, and Marion Terry. "Held by the Enemy," the new American play at the Princess's, has hit the popular taste, and will probably run till Miss Grace Hawthorne takes over the house for " Theodora," which Sardou has promised to superintend personally. One of those little surprises which make the turf such a pleasant browsing ground for bookmakers signalised the last race at Kcmpton Park on bank holiday. There were only two starters—Mr Starkey's wellknown "sprinter" Modiste (ridden by George Barrett) and an untried privatelytrained three-year-old called Ripa, on whom a stable-boy named Hobday had his first leg-up. The Ring asked backers of Modiste for odds varying from 4t05t0 1; but so good a thing did it look for the mare that the price was freely laid. Mr Starkey managed to get on about L 5.000 to LI.OOO altogether, and many of his friends also plunged rather wildly. Their feelings may be conceived when the outsider, after making all the running, won in a canter by a couple of lengths. Need I say the Ring yelled till they were hoarse. At Manchester on the same afternoon the victorious career of the famous steeplechaser The Sinner was checked by Kilmeague, an Irish colt of Beasleys'. In this case, as at Kempton, there were only two starters, and long odds (20 to 1) were offered on the favorite. Owing, however, to the Beasleys not fancying Kilmeague very little money changed hands. How unlucky Fullerton was to lose the Lincolnshire Handicap we learnt at Newmarket on Tuesday, when Sir George Chetwynd's horse walked home for theCrawfurd Plate more than twelve lengths in front of anything else. Mr Baird's Doubloon started favorite, but could not get near Fullerton, who is clearly very smart at a mile. In the Three-year-old Biennial the famous " magpie " colors were seen out (for the first time since poor Archer's death) on Blanchland (by Maccaroon—Syringa). Lord Falmouth's colt met a fair field, including Jack o'Lantern, Devilshoof, Simonne, Belisarius 11., and Roger the Monk, and won handsomely in Webb's hands. Blanchland is now backed for the Derby at 20 to 1. On Wednesday, Fullerton gave us another taste of his quality by carrying 101b penalty successfully in the Babraham Plate (handicap) over the Rowley Mile, beating Oberon (4yr5,7.11), Cambusmore, Valentine, and Antonina. Oberon was favorite, and seemed to have the race in hand at the Bushes, but died away opposite the grand stand, leaving Fullerton to win rather easily by a leDgth, Cambrumore third.

A fearsome legend is current just now in the villages surrounding Newmarket Heath. Every night at twelve, so the story goes, the ghost of poor Fred Archer, wearing the Manton scarlet, in which he lost the Cambridgeshire, rides frantically across the Heath, mounted on a grey thoroughbred. Hundreds profess to have seen the spectre, and any scepticism on the point is very ill received. The Derby favorite The Baron (who, by-the-way it may not be generally known in Australia, belongs to Mr Burdett-Coutts) won the Craven Stakes easily on Thursday afternoon, conceding Porter's Kingsclere crack, Carrasco, 101b, and beating a fairish lot of seven. The Ring fielded strongly in the hope of a turn-up, but the odds of 2 to 1 laid on " Mr Fern's" colt were never in danger. The Baron is now freely backed for the big event at Epsom at 3 to 1. Lord Lyon, who won the Two Thousand Guineas, Oaks, and Leger of 18C6, died at Croft Stud on Easter Monday, He was not a great success as a sire, the best of his numerous progeny being Minting, Placida, Touchet, Pursuivant, and Biserta. The novels most asked for at the libraries ju3t now are Black's ' Sabina, Zembra' and Edna Lyall's ' Knight Errant.' The latter, though not so good as 'We Two' or ' Donovan,' well deserves to be widely read. The hero is a young Italian named Carlo Donati, who, in order to watch over a weak and frivolous sister's morals, gives up both a fortune and his lady-love and embraces the (to him) distasteful career of an operasinger. The commonsense of the proceeding is rightly questioned by almost every personage in the book.. One cannot, however, help admiring Donati's character, which Miss Lyall has drawn with true artistic touch. Coarse, cynical, repulsive, and yet in all probability horribly true, is the verdict which most people will pass on ' Dr Phillips,' a realistic study of middle-class life amongst the Jews, which has created a big stir both in stage and Hebraic circles, and now sells like wild - fire. The writer gives his name as Frank Danby, but unless that gentleman and Mr George Moore, of ' Mummer's Wife' notoriety, prove to be identical presently, I shall be surprised. Dr Phillips is a popular Jewish doctor, who nevertheless rather despises Jews. He plays upon thier various little weaknesses, and amuses himself by introducing to his wife and her set as a widow a girl who is really his mistress. Of the woman he eventually grows so fatuously fond that he kills his wife with an injection of morphia in order to marry her. The woman, unfortunately, has never really cared for him, and when the miserable man is making the culminating sacrifice for her sake positively hates b,im. The story ends in a young and perfectly unblemished Christian gentleman marrying this female fiend and carrying her off in triumph. The doctor at first contemplates shooting himself, but thinks better of the resolve, and, according' to the gentle author, finds consolation in the black eyes and animal caresses of a trim little parlormaid.