LONDON TABLE TALK.

Evening Star, Issue 9727, 8 June 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

LONDON TABLE TALK.

[From Our Special Correspondent;] London, April 26. IN THE DOCK. The apostle of culture, whose dicta on Art (don’t forget the big A) have for nearly a quarter of a century been accepted unchallenged by one of the largest sections of London society, stands to day in the dock at the grimy, grisly, and painfully prosaic Old Bailey. The historic fall of Humpty Dumpty was a trifle to Oscar Wilde’s, bub the catastrophes are alike in one respect.' Isot all the Queen’s horses nor all the Queen’s men could set this fallen prophet on his pedestal again, The jury may con* ceivably (though I don’t think It likely) refuse to convict him on the evidence of such unspeakable swine as Parker, Mavor, and Co; bub the public have already tried and sentenced the man, and whether found innocent or guilty at the Central Criminal Court his doom is sealed. he could live if acquitted I can’t imagine. Bankrupt in money and friends, and with his remarkable literary and dramatic gifts rendered valueless and his notorious personality become a curse to him, where could he go, what asylum could he seek ? The British Public, now passing through one of its occasional spasms of ri<dd won’t even read the accused man’s criticisms or be entertained by his innocent plays. These were in the height of prosperous runs when Wilde was arrested and arraigned, and business having fallen to nothing, both were taken off. A PLUCKY NEW ZEALAND AUTHORESS., Inquiry as to the whereabouts in England of Mrs Baker, the Christchurch lady whose remarkable novel ‘ The Majesty of Man ’ is attracting so much attention just now, discovered the fact that she is a great invalid, having been ill with influenza, bronchitis, and, finally, asthma ever since some months back she arrived in England. Ihat is why the Agent-General and the Anglo-colonial set knew nothing about her. Mrs Baker was unable to go out of doors or to call on Lady Perceval till quite recently, and she made her first appearance at any social function in England at the latter’s reception in honor of the Wards. I think the struggle this New Zealand lady Ims made against adverse

circumstances completing one novel and writing another whilst racked with mental anxiety and physical suffering—one of the pluckiest things of the sort I ever heard or read of. Only those who know the difficulty of conscientious literary labor when the least unwell can realise its significance. Mrs Baker worked against time whilst producing ‘ The Majesty of Man,’ as the book was imperatively required for the spring publishing season. She wrote fourteen (and sometimes sixteen) hours a day, grinding out the “ copy ” from her aching head with infinite difficulty, yet persevering steadfastly. The mental excitement kept her up whilst at work, but when at last at night the pen dropped from the poor lady’s band her weary brain refused to act further, ami all seemed darkness and chaos. Mrs Baker had no friends at all in . England at the time she and her daughter arrived, and nob the least notion how to get a book published. When ‘ A Daughter of the King’ was finished she felt puzzled how to act. She could, of course, have consulted the Agent-General, or Mr Rous-Marlen, or myself, but a combination of pride and diffidence prevented this. The lady didn’t want to trouble strangers with her affairs, and did want her book to stand or fall on its merits. Ultimately a copy of ‘A Yellow Aster’ which happened to fall into Mrs Baker’s hands decided her to despatch the MSS. of ‘ A Daughter of the King ’ to Messrs Hutchinson. She had no introduction to the firm, and expected to have to wait many weeks for a decision. That is, indeed, the common experience. But Mrs Baker’s novel was read by “ lota,” who reported so strongly on its remarkable merits that within a fortnight Mr Hutchinson offered to publish it. Moreover, he evidently expected the story to “ catch on,” for he stipulated that he should have a second book on the same terms as the first. You will observe how’ entirely this experience of the Christchurch authoress confirms my oft-repeated dicta. If a book has merit —genuine merit, mind—neither introductions nor influence matter a jot. It may be that occasionally, amidst the mass of manuscripts with which a publisher has to deal, a good thing gets overlooked; but that this happens often I don’t for a moment believe. The publisher is too anxiously on the look out for a possible ‘Yellow Aster’ or ‘Heavenly Twins’ to risk missing such a stroke of luck.

Mrs Baker dissents frompopular tradition amongst literary folk to the effect that Bara Bas was d published She states that from first to last Mr Hutchinson bits been most kind to her, and treated her with as much fairness and consideration as though she had had the great A. P.‘ Watt actio» as her agent. Honor to whom honor, is due, and so much has been said and'writteh hneut the unscrupulous ways of publishers that I think this example of an opposite instance deserves the amplest publicity. Mrs Baker is at present reader for Messs Hutchinson—weary work, requiring great Jiatieuce and perseverance, and not, ueedess to say, highly remunerative. Only once in the conventional “ blue moon ” do you come upon a MSS which it is. •possible to even mildly commend, and the really good book is the rarest of rare experiences. One such Mrs Baker was able to cordially commend to her principals. I refer to Miss Moutremr’s ‘ Into the Highways and Hedges,’ which I have commended once or twice in my ‘ Literary Notes,’ and which is now in a third edition.

The immediate recognition which both Mrs Baker’s stories secured from the ‘Academy,’ the ‘Spectator,’ the ‘British Weekly,’the ‘ Daily Chronicle,’and other undoubted authorities has, despite her illhealth, greatly encouraged the New Zealand authoress, and that she will—if she recovers thoroughly—make a big name one cannot doubt. If such a remarkable and original story as ‘The Majesty of Man’ could be produced under the trying circumstances I have described, what may Mrs Baker not do when health and surroundings become—as let us hope they will soon—eminently favorable. Our authoress is going to Margate to stay with friends at Whitsuntide, and when she returns her next book is to, be commenced. Like all the great masters and mistresses of fiction, she dreams about a story for weeks and months before putting pen to paper, so that the actual writing (when she feels well) comes easy. Unfortunately hitherto in England she never has been quite well. The titles under consideration for the new novel were ‘ A Woman’s Sin’ or ‘A Born Coquette,’ but as both have been used somethiug else will have to be chosen. Mrs Baker looks forward anxiously to reading the New Zealand reviews of ‘ The Majesty of Man,’ aud hopes it may please

in the colony as here. All who desire to encourage native talent ought to buy the book and persuade others to buy it. If a colonial writer rises from the ruck and makes a mark—however modest—in the great world of letters, and his brother and sister Antipodeans fail to lend him or her a helping hand to the best of their abilities, they are not really loyal or patriotic. It is your interest as well as your duty to foster talent and stimulate latent genius. How can you expect your son or daughter to clamber up the rugged rocks of the Parnassian heights if they note that you withhold generous recognition from the comrade who has, amidst storm and stress, reached the top. Mrs Baker and her daughter will certainly remain another twelvemonth in England, .and may possibly settle altogether here. Much will naturally depend on whether the authoress secures satisfactory literary foothold. _ THE I’EEL WKUWINI!. Mr Rochfort Maguire, M.P. for West Clare, whose marriage to the ex-Speaker’s daughter is. the social event of this the opening week of the London season, resembles the ordinary Parnellite member not at all. In the first place, Mr Maguire is very wealthy. His father left him the traditional “ pot of money,” and by judicious enterprise and adventure he in a few years trebled it. Furthermore, he is handsome, clever, well-groomed, witty, and delightfully cool and insouciant. At Oxford, Rochfort Maguire gained a name for proficiency in mathematics and generosity to youngsters in gambling difficulties. On two, if not three, occasions, when a comrade was in the depths through debt and pending dishonor, the Irishman rescued him from Jews and Philistines, and gave him a fresh start. He himself attained to great dexterity in the manipulation of cards, and as a conjurer could give Bertram points. This gift stood him in good stead later, when, on Mr Cecil Rhodes’s behalf, Maguire journeyed into Matabelelaud to cajole concessions out of Lobenguela. The enterprise was one of extreme danger and difficulty, but the Patlander’s sangfroid proved unconquerable. On arrival at the King’s kraal he was dusty and dirty, so bathed in the lake, the Matabele standing round in stupified amazement. They viewed the stranger’s washing himself with dark suspicion; and when, producing a bottle of fair and fragrant floriline, he began to clean his teeth,

and to seemingly foam at the mouth, suspicion of evil became a certainty. The white man was a magician, so they seized his clothes and carried them off to Lobenguela. Emerging from the lake, Mr Maguire, with undisturbed calm* put on his hat (the duly garment left him) and,followed. He found the King sitting on a throne of champagne boxes, anil consuming a buttle of that beverage with stolid solcinnhy. A heal man accused the visitor of black magic. His conduct had been most suspicion-!. Fortunately, Mr Maguire had hi'd.n a pack ,of cards in his hat. He told the head inan he was another, and accused him of having pictures concealed about his person, the said person being naked as the day the man was born. Lobenguela pronounced this accusation rather thin. “ Npt at all,” said Maguire; “you can’t see ’em, but I can, :) and he commeuced to pdm court cards out of the distracted Native. He whisked them out of his headj his back, from beneath his arms, and his loin®. The Native simply howled with terror. As for Lobenguela, heordered the man to be taken out and- boiled in oil, or something of the sort. This seemed to Maguire carrying a joke rather far, so he privately explained to the chief it was a trick, and offered to teach him many similar wonders. Lobenguela took a great fancy to Maguire—indeed, he became so popular with the Matabele he had some difficulty in getting away. At last, however, he did so, and with the concession which presently blossomed into the Chartered Company in his pocket. 1 His reward was a big holding of shares in the enterprise, and presently he returned home to sit on the Board and enter Parliament as a follower of Mr Parnell. Rochfort Maguire seldom speaks in the House save on South African topics, and beyond voting straight, and supplying the sinews of war, does not take very intense interest in Parnellism. Politically, the “ buccaneering member for West Clare” and “ the grabber of Matabcleland ” is Labby’s special bete voire ; but personally he and Macguire are excellent friends, and to hear them chaffing in the smoking room is as entertaining as an act of Oscarian comedy. In London society Miss Peel’s fiance is enormously' popular —iu fact, match-making mammas fairly hunted him out of it for a time. Mr Maguire settles a fortune equal to £B,OOO a year on his wife.

I he bride, Miss Beatrice Peel, is deservedly one of the most popular women m London society. But outside the best people few know her, as she has always absolutely refused to be “interviewed” or to admit pressmen (save as private guests) to the Speaker’s house. Since her mother’s death Miss Peel has presided at the First Commoner’s dinners and receptions ; indeed, it was her marriage finally fixed the date for Mr Peel’s retirement. She is very highly educated, and her keen intellect has been polished with frequent intercourse with all the most notaldc men and women of the day. MILS IiESANT. I was somehow under the impression that Mrs Besunt and her bamboozling allies the Mahatmas did not make many converts in your part of the world, but an interview with the returned lecturessiu the ‘Chronicle’ rather contradicts this view. She says that the colonial Theosophists were sufficiently numerous to organise into a section, and that they and the English section are backing her demand for an explanation from the wdy W. Q. Judge of the sorry conjuring tricks and petty fooling exposed in the ‘ Westminster.’ Mrs Besant’s attitude towards the latter journal has undergone a somewhat striking change. She is now grateful to Mr Garrett (author of ‘lsis Very Much Unveiled’) for giving her au opportunity’ to defend her seeming insincerity and gullibility. The lady c’an bear the insinuation (never really seriously advanced) that she dishonestly connived with Judge to deceive robustly credulous disciples, but the suggestion that she too was completely fooled by that apostle touches her on the raw. Mrs Besant wishes us to know that she got her first positive proof of Mahatmas in 1889, before she met the wily Judge at all. From 1889 she both saw .the Master frequently and he talked to her, taught her, and told her what was to happen. This prophetic ghost, for example, forewarned Mrs B. of her comrade Bradlaugh’s death, which, occurring somewhat suddenly, would otherwise have come to her as a terrible shock. A sceptic suggests that after all far the easiest way for Mrs Besant to justify at once her common sense and her Mahatma would be for the latter to give us through her mouth sundry sample prophecies. If they came off we should be greatly impressed, and might even be convinced. But the Queen of Theosophy shakes her head:

“If they believed not H. P. BlaVatsfy sdd her miracles, neither would they credit my Mahatma audhis mighty woiks.' We should be moohed at.” I thought that quite possible myself. You may have noticed that in one particular all spirits, ghosts, familiars, aud Mahatmas are alike. Though they, can aud do prophesy the most astonishing facts to their disciples, and, though ihe disciples , are cqnstafilly boasting of their fulfilled predfctio’ns, they defer give outsiders a chance of eobversioh. It is always after the opera—l mean th£ prophecy—is over one hears about it. Moreover, when a too enterprising shade does venture to prophecy publicly, he or she or it comes to grief oftener than not, like a mere mortal. On dil a coolness has arisen between Mr Stead and his Julia owing to this up-to-date spook having, with lamentable confidence, tipped Cloister for the Grand National. The ‘ Review of Reviews’ staff loyally stood bjr the office ghost, and backed Mr Duff’s u mare. What happened when she was taken mysteriously ill and scratched deponent knoyveth. not. I suspect, however, the dupes of Julia’s sportive fancy' used unrepprtable expressions. SIR JAMES FERGDSSON. .• : It will be a long time before Sir James Fergusson can shake his reputation free of the New Zealand Loan and Mercantile fiasco. At Manchester last week, when addressing his constituents, ha was asked “ Whether the stability and prosperity of the Empire depended on the promotion of bubble companies ?” To this the right hon. gentleman replied that (ie never belonged to a bubble company. As to the New Zealand Loan Company, he was glad io take that opportunity of saying that there was nothing he ever did as a,director which, with his knowledge at the time, he did not believe he was right in doing. When he became a director of the New Zealand Loan Company and the Bank of New Zealand they were institutions .of the highest standing, and were doing an immense amount of good. From Australia ho went to India, aud on bis return he was asked to join those companies. Times had changed owing to a fall iu the value of property, and loans of 40 per cent, on the value of property had proved unprofitable. He was not going to desert the companies though he was a Minister of the Crown at that time.

He continued to do his best for them, but he regretted to say he was a very heavy loser himself by having had to pay thousands of pounds in calls. He only wished he had been able to pay enough to compensate anyone who had lost under his management, but he had nothing whatever to be ashamed of.