TOPICS OF THE DAY.

Evening Star, Issue 8404, 3 January 1891, Page 1 (Supplement)

TOPICS OF THE DAY.

[From Cub Special Correspondent,] London, November 14, The limits of fatuous self-conceit have surely been reached by Mr Rider Haggard, who writes to ‘The Times’ to give Bonny the lie over the ghastly cannibalism business, because, forsooth, he (the incomparable author of ‘ She ’) once met the late Mr Jameson travelling, and found him mild, pleasant, and gentlemanly. Sir Robert Fowler’s reasons for discrediting Major Barttelot’s atrocities are even more absurd. Such things, he opines, cannot be true, because the deceased major’s parent, grand old Sir Waiter Barttelot, has sat beside him (an Alderman and ex-Lord Mayor) in the House for forty years. Both these gentlemen remind me forcibly of the credulous and kindly old Goldfinch’s speech in ‘A Pair of Spectacles.’ “Dear old Dickson rained?” he cries. “ It’s impossible; why (triumphantly and conclusively) I knew hia father.” the cannibalism story. _ Mrs Jameson’s attempt to vindicate her husband’s memory has not so far been more successful than Mr Walter Barttelot’s efforts to whitewash hia brother. She has had to admit the existence of a number of cannibalism sketches, but declares stoutly they were not made in the manner Bonny and the Arab interpreter alleges, THE HAMPSTEAD MURDER. The wretched woman Pearcey alias Wheeler, who stands accused of the murder of Mrs Hogg and her child, was again before the magistrates on Monday, when the terrible story revealed at the coroner’s inquest was continued. The witnesses were the same as on that occasion, save in the case of the prison searcher, Sarah Sawhill. It had been reported that to her the prisoner had made a very grave admission ; but some doubt had been expressed as to the accuracy of this. Sarah Sawhill got into the box and repeated word for word as bad beeu reported of her. The witness seemed very dull of apprehension or dull of hearing, or both, and did not succeed in making it very clear precisely under what circumstances the prisoner had made the admission attributed to her, and it was not shown whether at the time she did or did not perceive the importance of the words used. Mrs Pearcey, she said, had told her while being searched in the cell at Kentish Town that Mrs Hogg had come t» tea with her between four and a quarter past on the fatal day, and had made a remark she, the prisoner, didn’t like. One word brought up another, said the prisoner, and then made a stop, adding “ Perhaps I had better not say any more.” This had been said on the Saturday, the day after the murder, but the witness had said nothing about it until the following Thursday, A good deal of curiosity was naturally felt upon this point. If so important a thing had really been said, why was it not at once reported ? The question put by the solicitor for the prosecution and the answer to it gave no very satisfactory solution of the riddle. Inspector Banister had instructed the searcher what to do, and it was in consequence of his instructions that she did not mention this conversation earlier. Clearly that only disposes of one question by setting up another. What could possibly have been the nature or object of instructions forbidding the searcher to report even to Inspector Banister himself ? And if she was forbidden, why did she make the report when she did ? It came out, she said, accidentally, but under what circumstances did not transpire, The evidence of this woman was by no means clear or satisfactory. Unfortunately for the prisoner, however, there seems to be no reason to clsubt that she made the admission attributed to her, and the gravity of the evidence can hardly be over estimated. As the afternoon wore on, and the shadows began to deepen, a number of ghastly objects were displayed in court, giving renewed piquancy and intensity to the interest of the throng of spectators and witnesses, in front of whom the motionless figure in black stood out a terribly pathetic looking object. First came the perambulator, still bedabbled with the victim’s blood. As it was hoisted up to the view of the magistrate the prisoner turned a momentary glance upon it, but instantly dropped her eyes. It had been questioned whether this vehicle had been strong enough to bear the weight of mother and child. Inspector Banister, who had gone into the witness box, created some little sensation by stating that he had tested this by lying down upon it himself, being covered over with the blood-stained rug, and being wheeled about in it, He had also with great ease wheeled a similar perambulator from the street into the prisoner’s back kitchen and out again, thus setting at rest any doubt as to the possibility of getting it in. Mr Banister had come with his pockets full of mute witnesses against the hapless woman in the shape of the various objects found about her rooms, and an assistant behind him handed up blood-stained rags, a couple of knives (one of them also stained), and various other objects, one of them being the charred remainder of a hat or bonnet found among the ashes, which he produced from a little tin box. He spoke also of blood-stained articles, or articles assumed to be blood-stained, that had been sent to the analyst for examination—all of them testify apparently to a murderous struggle in that dismal little back kitchen in the dismal-looking little home in Priory street. In the course of the day doctors had given evidence of the awful ferocity with which the poor creature’s head had been all but separated from her body, and her child had probably been smothered, and other witnesses in a terrible series had added detail after detail, and then, as if to whet curiosity and sustain public interest in this thrilling tragedy, came the packet of letters sworn to be in the prisoner’s handwriting, but which Mr Gill Hid not think it necessary at that stage of the proceedings to reveal the nature of. And through it all the prisoner sat seemingly quite unmoved, though now and again there was, or one fancied there was, a hard, fixed rigidity about the face and a shadow of abject misery about the lines of the eyes which apparently testified to at least a momentary realisation of the dreadful peril of her position, It was only now and again, however, and when from time to time her solicitor had occasion to communicate with her, she rose and bent over to him with entire selfpossession. [The murderess was convicted and executed.] THE MURDEROUS ASSAULT AT OXFORD. A tremendous sensation has, as you may imagine, been caused at Oxford by the murderous assault upon the master of University College (Dr Bright). For some time all that was known was that a mysterious female, said to be young and not illlooking, had called upon the master between five and six on Thursday evening, and after a brief and animated, not to say angry, conversation fired a revolver at the old gentleman. Subsequently it transpired that the lady’s visit was not intended for Dr Bright at all, but for his son-in-law in posse , Mr J, Y. A. Haines, M.A., Fallow and Junior Dean of the college, who is engaged to Miss Bright, and admits “auld acquaintance ” with the fair “ ahootist,” Mr Haines, it appears, declined to see Miss Riordan (that is the young person’s name) on Tuesday afternoon, end she was twice or thrice turned away from bis rooms by the college porter before she sought the master’s house. Promsomeppprobriousexpresßions Miss Riordan made use of concerningMissßright to the porter, it is judged she must be jealous of the new dean’s fiancee, Mr Haines, however, positively states he was never engaged to her. She is, he declares, mad as a hatter, and possessed of some insane delusion. When arrested at her rooms in London on Friday Miss Riordan quietly maintained her innocence, avowing—and in this her maid backed her up—that she had net been oat of bed the whole of Thursday, Nevertheless, butler and porter both identified her as the culprit. At the Vice-Chancellor’s Court on Monday Mias Riordan was fully committed to take her trial before assizes thfa week, A letter was read from the prisoner to Mr Paines, dated from the look-up the previous afternoon, and confessing to the shooting, blit saying she merely wished to frighten Dr Bright. The medical men unfortunately testified that she had only escaped killing him outright on the spot by a bur’s breadth. Mr Haines produced a number of threatening letters from Miss Riordan, in which she Sed herself to murder the whole Bright y. There was also one to a barmaid in

Oxford (whom accused does not even know), saying that if the learnef doctor thought he was going to get his daughter married without a scandal he was much mistaken. Miss Riordan declares she holds a “ certificate ” of promise of marriage from Haines. The police cannot find a letter or document of any kind attributable to Haines, and the latter gentleman has sworn again and again the woman is mad, and that he is a victim. During the hearing onMonday, Miss Riordan seemed utterly dazed, and scarcely conscious of what was going on. A solicitor was provided for her defence and reserved same till trial. STEAD ON MOBLEY, In the new ‘ Review of Reviews ’ Mr Stead devotes no fewer than fifteen pages to the first part (only) of a lengthy analytical character sketch of his erstwhile ohiaf on the ‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ John Morley. There are some delightful bits about the journalistic relations of the two men. Morley accepted Stead as a sub. rather to oblige Mr Gladstone than because he personally “took” to him. Two personalities, indeed, more opposite than the editor of the ‘ Pall Mall ’ and his assistant it would have been hard to find. They differed on every conceivable subject, from the providential government of the world to the best way to display a contents bill. One can well imagine, indeed, that to cool cultured Mr Morley the scent of the. gospel of the new journalism then simmering in Mr Stead’s brainpan must have been about as agreeable as the smell of fried onions to a gourmet. “ He was no doubt,” says Mr Stead, “very often a chilly frost on the exuberance of my more youthful enthusiasm. ‘No Dithyrambs, s'il vom plait,’ he would remark drily, as he returned me my article witii all the moat telling passages struck out. He was a great stickler for severity of style, and restraint and sobriety of expression. He was always down upon my besetting temptation to bawl when a word in an ordinary tone would be sufficient. Bat there was never any trouble in the office. He believed in authority, and I believed as implicitly in obedience. No one ever took liberties with Mr Morley. Everyone went more or less in awe of him.” When Mr Morley took a holiday Mr Stead made things fly. He kept bis editor in torture. “ No fanaticism about vivisection,” writes Mr Morley ; or “It is against our rale to quarrel with the ‘Daily News ’”; “Don’t scarify Harcourt” ; “ Yonr article to-night rather takes my breath away” ; and “Your article to-night turned my hair grey.” No wonder that Mr Stead says: “ I mast have been an unusual trial to him in those days with my exuberance and my fads.” Mr Stead’s verdict is that Mr Morley lacked journalistic instinct. “He was not a born journalist. He was deficient in the range of his sympathies. No power on earth could command Mr Morley’s interest in threefourths of the matter that fills the papers. He is in intellect an aristocrat. He looked down with infinite contempt upon most of the trifles that interest the British tomfool, as the general reader used sometimes to be playfully designated when considerations of management clashed with editorial aspirations, He had no eye for news, and he was totally devoid of the journalistic instinct. To him a newspaper was simply a pulpit from which he could preach, and, as a preacher, like all of us who are absorbed in our own Ideas, he was apt at times to be a little monotonous.” But surely he had the instinct of right views — e,g., on the Irish question. One delusion concerning Mr Morley which Mr Stead corrects is that he is “an austere, stern, unsympathetic person.” “ I admit,” says Mr Stead, “ that there is a certain sombreneaa about Mr Morley’s character which fosters the delusion that he is an austere man. But although he is one of the most genial of hosts and most cordial and delightful of companions, there is in him a great lack ; he has no amusements.” Nor does Mr Morley care for the theatre, but he is fond of music.

The editor of the * Review of Reviews ’ evidently keenly relishes this analysis of his old chief, hence the abnormal length of the article, which is “to be continued in our next.”

'GENERAL BOOTH’S PBOGBESS,

The eh arches, both orthodox and unorthodox, are responding heartily to “ General ” Booth’s appeal, and there can be little doubt now that this truly grand old man will easily raise the money required to give his great scheme a fair qhance. The most material objection I have heard to the plan yet is that it will fail, as Mansion Bouse funds have always failed, and for precisely the same reason: Directly it becomes known that a philanthropic scheme on a large scale is being worked in London, tens of thousands of the lowest scum now spread over the provinces flock to the metropolis, and (as in 1887) your last state is worse than your first, A young clergyman associated with the distribution of the recent Mansion House fund tells me that, though all possible precautions were taken, its abortiveness was simply heart-breaking. The deserving, self-respect-ing poor, whom the fund was intended to reach, preferred starving quietly to coming forward and perhaps being confounded with the clamorous professional paupers, who turned up from all quarters of Great Britain to “ get a bit.” If, then, “ General ” Booth had to deal with the present “submerged tenth ” of London only, he might hope in time to ameliorate the condition of things. But one result of the scheme (so far as the metropolis is concerned) must be (at first at any rate) to seriously aggravate the very evil he is attacking. Other practical philanthropists object that it is not necessary, nor even desirable, to test the possibility of the project on such a huge scale. THEATRICAL NOTES. ‘ Called Back ’ was reproduced at the Haymarket Theatre on Monday evening with complete success. Next to Mr Tree’s impersonation of the vitriolic Maoari, the hit of the piece was Miss Julia Neilson’s Pauline. Like Miss Fortesoue, MissUlmar, and other of Gilbert’s proteges, Miss Neilsoh began to show conspicuous ability directly the great man ceased to stagemanage her. He will not allow his actors and actresses to think for themselves, Mr Bancroft has been much struck by the nobleness of General Booth’s scheme, and, “without any desire to hang on to the skirts of philanthropy,” offers to give LI,OOO thereto if ninety-nine other rich men can be found to do likewise. The general, you remember, says he wants LIOO,OOO to commence operations with, Mrs Lancaster Wallis’s attempt to bolster up Buchanan’s latest failure with sensational advertisements has failed, and the ‘ Sixth Commandment ’ will next week make way for a piece by Malcolm Watson called ‘ The Pharisee.’ In this a hard, Pharisaical husband (acted by Lewis Waller) wi’l refuse to forgive an erring wife (acted by Miss Wallis), and Lothe Venne, Sophie Larkin, Herbert Waring, and others have minor parts. Miss Norreys, who has not had a good part for some time, joins Hawtrey’s company at the Comedy Theatre for 1 May and December,’ produced to-morrow evening.

‘ WOBMWOOD ’ : A KOVEL OB A KIGHTMABE ?

Ladies and gentlemen with indifferent digestion and consciences, ’ware ‘Wormwood,’ Miss Marie Corelli has collected a number of painful facts concerning the use, or rather the abase, of absinthe by Parisians, and on these she has brought to bear a singularly powerful and gloomy imagination. The result is the most blood-curling, marrowcongealing, hair-raising, and altogether ghastly realistic novel 1 have read for ages. The hero, Gaston Beauvais, an honorable and generous young Parisian, is shamefully betrayed by Dora De Gharmilles’ fomcte. Almost on the eve of their marriage the girl confessed to him that Silvion, a saintly young student preparing tor the priesthood, has seduced her, and that she loves this abandoned youth beyond anything in heaven or on earth. The betrayed child hopes Gaston will release her from her engagement, and permit young Silvion to marry her. Unfortunately Beanvias happens to know that the seducer has already entered the priesthood, and will consequently never be able to marry anyone. Under the circumstances he generously resolves, after a struggle, to carry ont his engagement with Mdlle. DeCharroiUea in order to save her good name and the old family to which she belongs from shame. In the interim, however, between Doris’s confession and the signing of the marriage eontract, the miserable Gaston in persuaded by a notorious aidnihtvx into trying that insidious potipn w a core for heartache, Be presently indulges in an absinthe oaronse, «qd'H has appalling effect on his morale.

The liqueur congeals every genarona thought and impulse, withers all the natural Instincts of a gentleman and a man of honor, and plants in his heart a demon of malevolent mischief. Gaston goes to the wedding, or rather contract-signing, out* wardly cool and indifferent, inwardly an incarnate fiend of cruelty. With frigid brutality he shames the pale and shrinking child-bride before the assembled company and the world. “1 must decline, M. De Charmilles,” he says to the proud old ariato* crat, “to accept your daughter's hand. I cannot marry the cast-off mistress of the priest Silvion, n From the period of this teirible outbreak, which of coarse utterly shatters the Char* milles family, killing the father, breaking the mother’s heart, and driving the poor little victim herself into the vortex, Gaston delivers himself, body and soul, over to absinthe. At length, one night by the Seine, he meets Silvion, who is bitterly remorseful and penitent. The desire to tor* ture him immediately consumes Beauvais, He harrows the wretched young priest’s heart and conscience with diabolic skill, and then, falling upon him suddenly, throttles his enemy with glee|pl ferocity, and throws the disfigured corpse into the river. Then the murderer haunts the morgue, and whea at length the river returns Silvion’s putrid carcase he gloats hideously over the ghastly condition of this erstwhile Apollo. Later on. amidst slam surroundings* Beauvais, grown uncleanly and degraded and accompanied at all times by namelets spectral horrors, meets poor little Dora De Charmilles. She is living a hard and humble life of houest labor, and existing on the hope that she may some day again meet her beloved Silvion, This confession iuatantly withers the demoralised Gaston’s dawning pity. With grim complacency he describes exactly how the priest was murdered, and where he flung the body into the Seine. ■ Shrieking with horror, Dora flies from him. He pursues her, but, before he can get np, the misery maddened girl has reached the spot where her lover’s corpse was engnlfed by the river, and followed it. Stupefied by the catastrophe, Gaston gaze helplessly at the spot where Dora disappeared, and then laughs, the large sanguinary leopard and other grisly familiars created of absinthe joining cheerily in his hilarity. Dora and Silvion being dead, Gaston be* thinks himself of the poor old priest, who loved both and brought up the latter. To him he goes and confesses all. Then avowedly impenitent, the callous wretch mocks the holy father and taunts him with longing to break the seal of confession and give him up. The poor priest, whom the horror of the situation utterly deprives of speech, can only gather np strength to stagger feebly away. And now, I think, I’ve told you enough about ‘ Wormwood ’ to show it is a fearsome story. Gaston ends of course like most absintheurs a raving maniac. The chief blemish of the plot is the suddenness with which the man’s demoralisation comes about. The spells of absinthe are doubtless potent; still, I doubt whether indulgence for a few days would change Gaston Beauvais as it does from a generous and kindly young Parisian to the heartless, crnel, and nnmanly cynic who publicly shames the stricken girl he a week previously worshipped and forgave. LITEBABT NOTES, Amongst the legion of new boys’ books I can safely recommend the following as, both in the matter of letterpress and illustrations, sound ‘ A Rough Shaking,’ by G. M'Donald (N.fi. —This ran through ‘ Ata* lanta ’ this year); ‘By England’s Aid, or Freeing the Netherlands,’ by G. A. Henty, 6s ; * Hussein the Hostage, a Boy’s Adventures in Persia,’ ss; ‘ Cutlass and Cudgel, a Tale of the South Coast,’ by G. M. Fenn, ss; and ‘ The Rajah’s Legacy, a Hindoo Secret,’ by David Kerr, 2s 6d. A cheap edition of poor Richard Jefferies’s popular boys’ book- ' Bevis ’ has at length been published, but dealing, as both it and the ’Gamekeeper at Home’ does, purely with the life of the fields and woods in England, 1 am doubtful whether they would appeal to colonial youths. Half the interest to boys of reading of the habits of the squirrel, say, lies in the fact that it may assist you presently to discover the where* abouts of one of the species. The cheapest and best of the smaller picture books of the ‘ Chatterbox ’ sort is, in my opinion, the ‘ Child’s Pictorial ’ of the S.P.C.K. ‘ A Double Knot ’ is the title of Manville Fenn’s new novel, out this day, TUB? CHAT. Considering the excellence of Lady Rosebery’s chance on paper for the Liverpool Autumn Cup, the hostility of the Ring to the mare up to an hour or so before the start (when she became first favorite) was inexplicable. One heard later the frolicsome Abington was on the rampage, and not fancying Lady Rosebery’s chance himself had threatened to scratch her. None of the stable connections in conseqnence dared to back the mare till the last moment, when “ The Squire ” (who didn’t come to Liverpool) was guaranteed safe asleep at home. Then, indeed, a regular furore to be on set in, and from 8 to 1 offered she was supported dowts to 4’s, taken freely. “ Sloates” (as Sammy Loates is playfully called) had the mount, and, according to instructions, made the whole of the running. At the distance, Captain MacheU’s Mortaigne, Mr Milner’s Shall-We-Remember, and Baron Hirsch’s Vasistas seemed alone to menace the favorite. Upon Mortaigne compounding opposite the enclosure an almost universal shout proclaimed the victory of Shall-We-Remember. Crack ! crack ! crack ! however, went “Sloates’s” whip, and answering gamely to his call Lady Rosebery just managed to hold her advantage to the end, and for the second time in three years won the Liverpool Autumn Cup by a neck, Vasistas secured the place for which he was much fancied, but Theophilus (for a long time first favorite, and backed for tons of coin) ran very badly, and so did old Reve d’Or, who goes forthwith to the stud.