TABLE TALK.

Evening Star, Issue 8399, 27 December 1890, Page 2 (Supplement)

TABLE TALK.

[From Ocb Special Corbbsfondent.] London, November 7. The irritation against Uncle Sam over here caused by the passing of the M'Kinley tariff has been more than allayed by the overwhelming victory of the Democratic party yesterday, and onr newspapers this morning are full of Freetrade paeans. It will, however, be more than a year before the objectionable measnre can bo repealed. At the Savage Club last Saturday evening I beard an interesting discussion on the Stanley•Barttelo'; controversy, the chief talker being little Scudamore, ' The Times' war correspondent, who was with Barttelot in the Soudan, and saw a good deal of that ill-fated soldier. When the major's death was cabled, and before anyone knew how the catastrophe came about, Scudamore said to Mr Buckle: " Depend upon it, Barttelot was shot in a row with the Natives. We al way s said it was bound to happen some day." The major had not (Scudamore explained to us) the faintest notion how to manage colored folk. He looked upon them all as " black trash," and treated them like dogs. Scudamore related a significant incident which happened in the Soudan, and which created considerable stir in the camp at the time. The Soudanese are fond of a frolic, especially in the cool of day, and often play up all sorts of antics. Englishmen who wished to fathom Native ways soon got to understand this, and to realise that there was no more harm iu the Soudanese horseplay than in Tommy Atkins's rough jokes. Barttelot, however, never gave a thought to the Native customs, and, consequently, one fine evening, when he saw a nigger dancing around and about him eccentrically, he erroneously came to the conclusion the poor beggar meant mischief, and, without a word, shot him dead. The little mistake was then explained, and the major, somewhat aghaßt, had the body quickly and hurriedly buried by two English privates. Trie next morning he heard a dreadful howling noise outside his tent, and found several hundred Soudanese, who, it appeared, had discovered their deceased comrade and dug him np. They were now calling for vengeance on his murderer, and followed Barttelot about with the body wherever he went. Sir Evelyn Wood was extremely angry, and only the intercessions of his brother officers saved Lieutenant Barttelot (as he was then) from being cashiered out of the army. Mr Herbert Ward is a black-and-tanned young man upon whom that terriblo time with the rearguard has left an indelible ■nark. He seems to have made numerous acquaintances in New Zealand during his brief stay there some years back, and to be not disinclined to revisit the Antipodes as a lecturer should opportunity offer. In the fn the semi-privacy of club smoking room Ward steaks' far more freely concernipg the rear catastrophe than in his book, From the first each 0/jficer attached to the rear gusrd resented the duty and blamed Stanley for selecting him in particular for this work. They were soon at loggerheads with Barttelot and quarelling with one another. Nevertheless these men endured terrible privation heroically, and ate weevily biscuits and mouldy rice for months though in charge of cases of good food and European comforts of all kinds. Stanley gibes at Barttelot and Co. starving in the midstof plenty, and hints that it was what Mr Mantalini would call " his demnition pride," or an American " pure cusseduess," which induced the major to act thus. Nothing of the sort, sayß Ward, Barttelot thought it hio duly to preserve those cases for Stanley untouched, even though the whole rearguard starved. Stanley had said repeatedly that if these particular loads were lost or stolen by Natives it would be the ruin of the expedition. Could Barttelot face Stanley on his return if after such orders he broke into the loads for his personal needs? Ward considers Stanley speaks very harshly concerning the rearguard, bearing in mind what the officers suffered. Jameson was a richman, and paid LI,OOO to join the expedition, yet he died literally of privation and starvation. Bis widow has now consented to the publication of bis diaries, and these Mr Soudamore opines will oause even a bigger flare-up than Troup's obviously prejudioed disclosures. A large and curious but most indulgent audience sat through the trial performance of Messrs Robert Louis Stevenson and W. E. Henley's four-act play ' Bean Austin' at the Hay market Theatre last Monday evening. It was admirably staged, and with the important exception of the heroine, thoroughly well played. Mrs Tree, whom her husband had weakly cast for a character which would have tried the emotional powers'of actresses such as Winifred Emery, Olga Branson, or Kate Rorke, simply spoilt the piece. The first aot especially depends entirely on the heroine. Whether a really great actress could have pulled the situation through is doubtful. Mrs Tree, whose droning squeak does not suggest either suffering or grief, rained it. Here is the story, SJome sue months before the play begins George Austin, a handsome, fine-mannered, middle-aged dandy and ladykiller, and one of the fist of the so«oalled "beaux," visited Tunbridge Wells, and subjugating Dorothy Musgrave, a young lady of birth and breeding, by his fascinations, wantonly seduced her. When the curtain rises we find the poor girl, who lives with her maiden aunt, brooding over her shame and the Beau's desertion. The arrival of Dorothy's old and faithful lover, John Fenwick, precipitates a crisis. She confesses her shame in a soene_ which should have been painful, but which Mrs Tree made simply maudlin, and is even successful in pledging poor young Fen

wiok not to' ngfit the wigked -Beau. The teoond aot ■hows «l ,1110 Beau to hit dressing room and dr«SMog gown, jj&Hbg his hair ourled by his valet, Mentelth. r*he pair discourae with Stevenaonian amartnesa upon the follies of the age and the defsy of manners, and presently a call from Dortthy's brother Anthony* a hoiking and conceited yonng Guardsman, serves' to accentuate the contrast between the old aohool of gallantry and politeness and the new. Fenwiek u | riow announced, and it soon appears he has come to make a strong appeal to his rival. The interview is conducted with great ceremony on both sides. John explains that np to that morning the great hope of his life had been to make Dorothy Mtugrave his beloved wife, bnt he now learns with sorrow there are good reasons for'her becoming George Austin's instead.' The Bean is at first very restive and wants) to fight. John quietly explains why he cannot j and then, in a capitally written «££*, adroitly works on memories, of Austin's 'old friend, Mtugrave pert, the Bean's obligations to the dead man, and finally on his sense of honor. At length, thoroughly vauqnlshed by his rival's noble and unselfish appeal, Austin gives way, and sends Fen wick off to announce to Dorothy his tardy coming. The act winds up with some natural regrets on the Bean's part at saying adieu to the good times of youth and gallantry and freedom. Aot iii. commences with Anthony Musgrave'a inopportune discovery (through Dorothy's devoted little maid) of the story of his sister's shame. Fnrious he is setting out to' challenge Austin forthwith, when the Beau arrives to ask the lady in marriage. Confused and suspicious, the young aejflier can with difficulty be restrained by Fenwiek, and leaves vowing vengeanoe if the Beau fails to c&rry out his pledge. Then follows the great scene of the play. With the artificial phrases of the period Austin apologises for his tardy arrival, and pompously proposes. Dorothy uncompromisingly refuses him. His cruelty, faithlessness, and desertion have, she declares, wholly alienated her affection, and she no longer even cares to be such a man's wife. This unexpected opposition fans the Beau's dormant passion to white-heat. He pleads, adjures, implores, and finally goes on bis knees to the strange girl, who vows that though she's been his mistress she'll never be his wife.' Flouted, humiliated, and thoroughly repenting the mischief he has wrought Austin at last goes away, and Dorothy (a mask being no longer necessary) falls weeping on the sofa. She has loved him all the time. In aot iv. Anthony Muagrave, disbelieving his sister's preposterous story that she has rejected her seducer, chooses to think she is screening him, and publioly insults the Beau on the Pantiles whilst he is conversing with a royal duke.: Then does Austin make manifest the reality of his repentance, by quietly accepting the blow and explaining to H.B.H. that the yonng man's Bister had rejected him, and he was evidently unaware of the fact. Dorothy, who has watched this scene, can no longen doubt Austin's sincerity, and, coming forward impulsively, seizes his hand. Pleased, but a little shocked at the publicity of the act, the Beau is nevertheless equal to the occasion. " Allow me, your Royal Highness and gentlemen," he says pompously, " to introduce to you the future Mrs George Austin." ' Beau Austin' could be much improved by compression into three acts and ruthless cutting. It will always require (to be successful) at least as good acting as it got at the Haymarket. Tree's make-up and performance are both excellent. In the third aot he struck the right note with precision, and the situation was distinctly a ticklish one. The spectacle of a buxom, middle-aged gentleman amorously pressing an unwelcome suit, on his knees oftener produces hilarity than handkerchiefs. Tears and titters were at several points dangerously adjacent, and only an artist could have prevented the former' lapsing into the latter. Miss Rose Leclercq as the heroine's maiden aunt lacked the repose of a single gentlewoman of the period, and Mr Brookfield's valet was not by many degrees smart enough. Beau Austin's man ought (the text shows) to be a very superfine servant, an imitation of his master. Mr Fred Terry played the ungrateful part of the preachy Fenwiek with conviction, and Mr Edward Maurice made a decided hit as the conceited and rather dense but wellmeaning soldier, Anthony Musgrave. If ' Beau Austin' be tried in Australia, I hope Kyrle Bellew and Mrs Potter may play the Beau and Dorothy. I forgot to say that moderate applause, mingled with a few hisses, followed the fall of the curtain, and some cries for ''author" were not responded to, Mr Henley being in Edinburgh and Mr Stevenson in Australia. Mr R. C. Carton's three-act comedy 'Sunlight and Shadow,' produced with complete success at the Avenue Theatre on Saturday, belongs to the same sohool as ' Sweet Lavender' and 'Two Roses,' and will not improbably rival both those successes in world-wide popularity. A safer dramatic card for a manager to play in any civilised English-speaking portion of this terrestrial globe it would indeed be difficult to imagine. The plot is slight yet sufficient. Mark Denzil, a middle-aged widower and man of the world, who contracted an unfortunate marriage in his youth, and has in consequence grown hard and cynical, comes on .a visit to his old friend Dr Latimer, who is the medico of a delightfully Arcadian country village. The doctor (also a widower) has two captivating daughtersHelen, staid, serious, helpful to all, and exquisitely beautiful, and Maude, a ravishing ingenud, full of qups, quirks, and smart speeches. Denzil talis head over heels in love with Helen, who, it is soon evident, returns his affection. He has, however, a silent rival in George Addis, the village choirmaster and a cripple, who has made Helen's sisterly kindness the groundwork of a grand passion. Addis's affection, however, is thoroughly unselfish, and when he finds Helen's heart set on Denzil the poor fellow resolutely chokes his own feelings and assists the lovers to understand one another. True love is flowing suspiciously smoothly when a repulsive-looking female tramp appears in the village. This appalling creature proves to be Mark Denztl's wretched wife whom he thought dead. Helen catches her in the very aot of thieving, and the consequences precipitate the catastrophe of a sudden and (to Denzil) wholly unexpected revelation. The situation is a natural and a powerful one, and brought the act-drop down with legitimate effect. Thus "the shadow falls." In the second act it deepens. Deozil has gone, and Helen seems half broken-hearted. She leans more and more on poor young George Addis, whose adoring passion is constantly on the verge of bursting bounds. At length a word from the unsuspicious girl unlocks the flood-gates, and Addis half hopelessly pours out his soul to his goddess. Helen feels deeply moved. She so well understands the agony of a blighted love. George offers her a life of devotion, and pity and gratitude plead strongly for him. Helen accepts George, and almost simultaneously the latter secretly learna Denzil's wife has died in a London hospital a nameless outcast. In the third act the shadow fades, but slowly. Addis alone knows that the wretched creature Who expired at the hospital was Mark Denzil's wife. Denzil himself hasn't a suspicion. Addis has merely to forget the three words which accidentally enlightened him and his great happiness is safe. Bat Helen loves Denzil. A terrible straggle ensues in George's mind. The temptation is great. Fortunately the arrival of poor Mark to bid an agonised farewell to the woman he had hoped to make his wife awakes George's better nature. Rising superior to selfish considerations, he onoe again chokes back his love and discloses the all-important discovery whioh brings back sunlight to Helen and Denzil. The sunshine of the piece it supplied by Helen's teasing little sister Maude, and her love affair with a good-natured young nincompoop of the approved "chappie" type, the local squires son. ' Sunlight and Shadow' is admirably acted. Marion Terry as Helen and Maude Mlllett as the ingenui are, of course, perfectly fitted; and a better Mark Denzil than Yorke Stephens it would be hard to find in London, unless, indeed, Forbes Robertson had been available. The hit par excellence of the piece was, however, Alexander's George Addis, a manly and yet exquisitely sympathetic performance. All the company had three recalls after the curtain finally fell, and then the bappy author bowed his acknowledgments amidst well deserved cheers. As an indication of

what • snoeess of this sort means pecuniarily £anLauthor, I may mention that on Saturv evening Mr Carton declined to sell the easSfcStpe provincial rights of his piece for five yean for L 5.000. OHBISTMAS BOOKS. One of the best books for boys (old and yonng) whioh I h»ve oorae across this season is * Magio at Home,' a volume of comprehensible reoipes (each Illustrated with an explanatory illustration) for all sorts of simple scientific and conjuring trioks, the sort of things fellows do with a couple of forks, a bit of cork, an end of string, a wine glass, and such like easily accessible apparatuses. A great many really effective and surprising trioks are described whioh can be done by anyone at an ordinary dinner table without preparation, as well as others requiring care and patience. Among the latter may be mentioned a miniature working steam boat, which will puff about a plunge bath for half an hour or so, and is manufactured out of no more durable material than a pieoe of a cardboard box and two empty eggshells. The magio cork whioh flies ont of the bottle in your face when you attempt to blow it in should certainly cause laughter; and for post-prandial amusement commend me to the paper fish, which can be cut out of an [ old letter and made to swim round and \ round one's finger bowl without being touched or blown upon. ' Magio at Home ' is published by Caßsells at 3s 6d. The newest things in picture books are the movable toybooks of Lother Meggendorfer, whioh have been popular some years in Franoe and Germany, but were difficult to obtain here till recently. They are now published in London by Grevel and Co., of King street, Covent Garden, and though expensive—as picture books go—afford young children such pure delight that I certainly advise all indulgent parents to order one. The best and oldest is ' The Travels of Little Tom Thumb and his man Damian,' but there are also ' Queer Animals' and ' Funny Fellows,' the latter being this season's novelties. Of our old friends the annual volumes of " Good Words,' the • Boy's Own Paper,' the ' Leisure Hour,' and the 'Sunday at Home,' it is only necessary to say that, whilst the first-named two are scarcely so strong ib the matter of serial stories as one has known them, the last-named pair retain all their old characteristics, and have, besides, imported several good new features. The series of personal articles on ' Living Crowned Heads' in the ' Leisure Hour' were specially well done, and have been much quoted month by month as they came out. W. S. Gilbert's 'Songs of a Savoyard' are simply, the best-known ditties from the Gilbertian series of opera librettos illustrated with " Bab Balladesque" designs by the author. They make up a pretty book for the drawing room table, and if you've 6s to spare for such literature I should get the volume, not otherwise. Mrs Margaret L. Woods, who scored such a remarkable success eighteen months back with that sombre yet movingly pathetio | story 'A Village Tragedy,' has written a .hisi torioal novel for ' Murray's Magazine,' which I will run through 1891. lis rather cumberSome title is 'Esther Vanhomrigh,' and the period chosen is that of Swift and Lord Peterborough, both of whom figure in the tale. Mr Lewis Morris's new poem ' A Vision of Saints' will be published next week. It contains twenty poems on twenty saints, and deals with both ancient and modern exemplars. Antoninus Pius (whom I shall be glad to learn something about) opens the ball, and Father £>amien closes it. The ' Scots' Observer ' and ' Saturday Review' are adding largely to their already fairly copious vocabulary of vitriolic satire, in order to give Mr Morris's latest effort a suitable reception. Mudie's Library, or rather libraries, were closed on Saturday in order to allow the employes to attend Charleß Edward Mudie's funeral. In noticing old Mr Mudie's death last week, I omitted to mention that Mr Arthur Mudie, who has managed the business for some years now, was not his father's eldest son. The latter died in 1879 through over work, and from that time old Mudie never held up bis head. The young man had showed symptoms of altogether exceptional abilities, and was the light of his family's eyes, as a memoir by Miss Mudie (privately printed) indicates. Mr Arthur Mudie is also a clever man, and a capital organiser. In a new tale which the übiquitous Kipling is to contribute to ' Macmillan's' about Christmas he will attempt to fathom the mystery of the Whitechapel murder*. This story has been christened ' The Record of Badalia Herodsfoot.' Tvnv cnAT. With Mr Houldsworth's Carrick out of the way, the Australian Ringmaster would have landed a really nice coup for the colonial clique at Lincoln laßt week. This was in the Great Tom Stakes of 500 sovs over a mile, for whioh twenty-two runners faced the starter, including The Rejected and Shimmer, which finished first and second for tbe big handicap in the Spring. Carrick, by Springfield out of Rozelle (3yra, Bst 31b), was first favorite at 100 to 15, and won in a canter by five lengths from Ringmaster (aged, 7st 111b), who was equally far in j front of True Blue 11., placed third. Ringmaster's price was 8 to 1. I The enormous sums paid just now for yearlings of the fashionable St. Simon, Bend Or, and Hampton atrainß remind John Corlett of the days of '6B, when the Beadsman blood (now cheap enough) was equally run after. Sires, like jockeys, have their brief heyday, and are forgotten. King Tom was at the head of a famous line, yet stallions of hia strain seldom now serve at more than ten or twenty guineas. It is noteworthy, by-the-bye, that of the three fashionable sires serving at 250 guineas, Bend Or alone has this season shown good racing form. Most of the crack two-year-olds are by comparatively new and untried sires. The French Gouverneur, which will not improbably win the Derby of 1891, is by Energy, and Corstorphine, the possible heroine of the One Thousand and Oaks, is by Foxhall. The Deemster is by Arbitrator, and Peter Flower by Petrarch. Only Orion and Orvieto are fashionable.