[From Our Special Correspondent.]
London, March 15
“ In vino verilaA.'’ It is now stated by some that Pigott was drunk, or at least in liquor, when he called on Mr Labouchere to confess, and that when “straightened up” later in the day he was aghast at what he had done, and at once contradicted the principal statement anent the forged letters. I don’t for a moment believe this myself. Sala, who is on the staff of a Unionist journal, and could have no object in misrepresenting facts, declares Pigott dictated his confession with perfect lucidity^and selfpossession ; and Labby confirms bala. By the way, it was odd, wasn’t it, that Pigott j should have committed suicide on a Friday, and that the number of his room at the hotel in Madiid should have been thirteen. The old man—like moat bad lots—had some good points, and fondness for his family was one of them. Before finally levanting in despair he sent home to Kingstown for his children’s use all the money he had in his possession with the exception of the sum necessary to take him to Madrid and pay his hotel bill there for a day or two. This explains why so little cash was found on him. The publication of 4 Parnellism and Crime’was wholly the project of Mr Walter, sen., who has, I hear, frequently boasted during the past two years that he would 44 smash” the Irish leader and his party. This confidence was not shared by Mr Buckle, the editor of 4 The Times,’ who from the first protested against the whole business as out of the line of a newspaper, and likely to involve 4 The Times ’ in trouble, Mr Buckle was strongly backed up in these views by his father-in-law, Mr James Payn, also an experienced journalist (as well as novelist), and an old member of the staff; but neither man could influence Mr Walter an iota. The cost of his unprofessional whim to the senior partner in 4 The Times ’ will be the peerage, which would in ordinary course have been conferred this year, but now recedes into the far distance, and about half his fortune. Already Bearwood is said to bo privately on sale. Lord Mandeville, whose failure under far from creditable circumstances has just been chronicled, is the eldest son of the Duke of Manchester, whom you all know. His Grace has always been poor for his rank, and his whole life has been a fight to make money and a struggle against circumstances, Lord Mandeville, on the contrary, is a spendthrift, arid I fear nothing will ever make him anything else. A most remarkable change has come over London music-hall audiences,'whichj tillquite
recently, were rabidly anti-Gladstonian and .inti-Parnellito, and would havfl howled oIT any Binder who ckied to "copioaUy vocate Liberalism or Home Rule. Now, Charlie Collette sings an out-and-cut Home Rule song at several halls nightly, and i« always listened to with toleration, and sometimes loudly applauded. References to ' The Times,' which the fickle mob used a few months back to cheer at, are now received with derisive laughter. " I'IfiOTT AND I." It is not often that the ' Saturday Review' indulges in a jeu d'esprit, but when it does the quality of both wit and satire are excellent. No one who read Labby's article "Pigott and I" in last week's 'Truth' will (bo he Nationalist or Tory) be able to restrain a smile whilst reading the following neat rhymes:— "PlfiOTr AND I." (Hi A 11i;mi!!,k Fkiknd of "Tm'tii.') Pigott and I ! Pigott and I ! That our names must bo com.led Ido notdony, But the modest reserve of my natu o la such That Ido not rejoice in the honor—not much. I would gladly have rested obscure and unknown Had go9tip and runnr but b't mo alone. But they will not; they force me to quit my retreat, They compel me the tale of my artt to repeat, Th.it story of which you may s>y by-and-bye Tint it'a some of it " PigoU," but mo9t of it " 1." Pigott and I! Pijfott and 1 ! I lured to my bouse that conspirator sly, I saw him alone, and with Mr l'-rn 11, And a few minutes after, with L-w-s as well; I brought him to book, and I made him confess, I foiled all his dodges with signal address; In short, tho whole web of cmspirnoy vile I unravelled in such—ihem ! —masterly style, That 'twera downright injustice my tale to decry Ab but 80IHC of L'd " Pigott" and more of it " I." Pigott and T! Pigott and I! What ! bribe the poor wretch to " confession " ! Oh, fie! I repel the foul charge, I ri j-ct it with scorn, I'm as free from such guilt as tho baby unboiu ; But t. f course you m ly give a man money to do Some act or another that binds him to you. Why, of course, if a witness has letters to sell, And yon make him iioitr witnos* by buying tbom—well, You would bid ; and, I thought, if I managed to buy, The reiponsible man would be Pigott—not I. Pigott and I! Pigott. and I! I cannot conceive what indued him to fly. I assure that / didn't wish him to go, Though be hnd but just made a clean bieast of it. No! Nor yet, though his flight of itßt-lf would convince, And I knew not bis tale had revised i-self tiucc.
(For that is iho worst, 'tis not easily seen When tho breast of a witness like Pigott in clean J Still his flight was—suspicious I proudly defy— It was all of it Pigott, and none of it I. Pigott and I! Pigott and I! Who blames our colloguing with nobody by? My innocant cottage is not as tho homes
Of those midnight intipruera M-cd-n-ld and S-ines. Suspicion attaches to them that ho lied ; More btill had ho lived, most of all that he's dead. Sivo myself and my friend?, there is no one wko'a not At the bottom of some dhbollcal plot; Which, had he not rashly elected to die, We would soon have unravelled, wouM Pizittand I. —' Saturday Review.' WIIHOUT I'REJIMUOK. A characteristic story is going the rounds anent ttaoae two eminent ecclesiastical barristers, Mr Jeune, Q C, and Sir Walter Phillimore, Q.C. Both are engaged on behalf of the Bishop of Lincoln in the proceedings now pending, and appeared the other day before the Archbishop's Court, their business being to argue that it had no jurisdiction in the matter. The Archbishop, in full vestments, swept into the chamber, followed by chaplains, secretaries, etc., and opened the case with prayer. Mr Jeune (the sou of a bishop) reverently fell on his knees ; but Sir Walter Phillimore, realising that he was there to take exception to the proceedings, remained standing. When the Court was up Sir Walter upbraided his colleague for his illegal praying. "My dear Phillimore," replied Mr Jeune, "Iwas praying without prejudice." " HPOOI'KD " Amongst the persons whom the late lamented Mr Pigott (to use an expressive word) "spoofed " by committing suicide was the far from wealthy author of the apropos ditty commencing There wos a little piptsie, once an Irish patriot, lie was a warmish member, ao they said he was I'iiC-or, which (as I mentioned last week) that truly great artist, Harry Randall, sang at the Alhambra for the first, last, and only time on the evening before the miserable man's tragic end became known. It was an immense success, aud the fortunate author sold all rights at once to Randall for L2OO, going home with the cheque in his pocket. He naturally celebrated the occasion with a nice littlo supper, lucubrated his friends' larynxes with limitless De Lossy, 1880, and finally retired to bed full of oysters and gratitude to Providence. Next morning came the news of Pigott's suicide, together with instant conviction that the song was abortive and could never be sung agaiD, and that Randall's cheque would have to be returned. Can you wonder if the poor author railed against Pigott for his lack of consideration for others. "It was not," he explained later, " that I grudged the old fraud the right to snuff himself out. I do wish, though, he'd written to me for funds to keep him going instead of to Shannon. It would have paid Randall and myself and the Alhambra management to have provided for Pigott while the song lasted." Randall was almost as much put out by the catastrophe as the author of the new Born? 'Who killed Cock Warren?" is getting stale, and he wanted a fresh sensa< tion badly. THEATRICAL NOTES. Irving's eldest son, Henry Brodribb, though far from deficient in cleverness and dramatic ability, is a conceited young jackanapes, who will have to be taken down several pegs in his own estimation before he becomes tolerable. In voice, gait, and personal appearance Henry B. Irving apes his sire to the verge of burlesque. An undergraduate friend venturing to remark on the likeness reoently, young Irving replied with a drawl! " I dessay you're right. We employ the same tailor." He goes out & good deal at Oxford, and is said to recite uncommonly well. The young man will probably come out at his father's theatre eventually in ' Hamlet' Irving's next revival has not as yet been settled. ' Henry VIIL' is talked of, and bo is ' King Lear ' and 'Richard lII.' Augustus Harris has thoughts of making the first-named hisautumn attraction at Drury Lane, and engaging Mrs Langtry as star. She particularly wants to play Anne Boleyn in London before Ellen Terry does so, and has offered to accept quite moderate terms, everything considered.
The Princess’s Theatre is doing immense business with ‘Nowadays’ in the afternoon and ‘The Good Old Times’in the evening. Both pieces have “ caught on” satisfactorily, the former, on the whole, being the best play and drawing the largest houses. 4 Nowadays’ promises, in point of fact, to he the most successful sporting drama since 4 The Flying Scud.’ Wilson Barrett’s rough, bluff, old Yorkshireman Saxby is on all sides pronounced a singularly clever piece of character acting, and a revelation of the actor’s abilities in this direction. Already he critics are likening him to Phelps, who would play tragedy though his metier was comedy.
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TABLE TALK., Evening Star, Issue 7910, 18 May 1889, Supplement
TABLE TALK. Evening Star, Issue 7910, 18 May 1889, Supplement
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