CURRENT TOPICS.

Lyttelton Times, Volume XCVII, Issue 11210, 6 March 1897, Page 5

CURRENT TOPICS.

The American newspapers sensational seem, to use one of their journalism, own colloquialisms, to be “ running ” the man Butler, who stands accused of the Glenbrook murders, “for all he is worth.” They lave devoted columns upon columns of their space to gruesome particulars of the fugitive’s career—drawn, we must suppose, to a large extent from the imaginations of the writers—and pages to the illustration of his personal appearance and private effects. The San Francisco Examiner, which may be taken as a type of the best class of journals that deal in this sort of thing, describes with the greatest minuteness every detail of the prisoner’s arrest from the arrival of the Swanhilda off the Golden Gate to the disappearance of Butler behind the strong bars of the city gaol. The opening paragraph of its sensational story is worth quoting, if only to show to what a fine art the American journalist has elevated this style of writing. “ Swanhilda ahoy!” it begins; “ in the gloom of the grey dawn a flash that came before a dull boom from Fort Point lit up the sullen sky and woke the slumbering echoes of the red loosing hills of the Marin shore. It was sunrise and the stars and stripes shot up above the embattled slopes of Alcatraz. Over against Lime Point there floated idly on the tide a revenue cutter, the Hartley. It was she that hailed the ship iuw’ardbouud from Australia, and on the cutter were half a score policemen, with their nerves on a wire edge, lest after their patient, slow,, remorseless wait and watch the man they wanted might escape and cheat the gallows at the very lip of destiny.” This is really very fine in its way, quite a poetic prelude to a most sensational piece of composition, but its effect is rather lessened by the introduction of pictures of the various articles found in Butler’s wardrobe. There are sketches of the “ murderer’s ” hat, his pants—much the worse for wear—his shirt, his scarf and a dozen other articles that have no poetry about them at all. It is characteristic of American journalism, by the way, that all the San Francisco newspapers take the prisoner’s guilt for granted. Butler is described as “ the Australian murderer,” “the fiend of the Blue Mountains,” as “ the bloodthirsty robber,” and as a great many other things that would make in an action for libel several fortunes for an innocent man. But American newspapers would risk a great deal more than this for a live sensation, and the arrest of Butler has presented an opportunity which no self-respecting journalist of the great republic would think of neglecting. It is difficult to conceive A miraculous why the cable agent should conversion, have thought fit to burden the wires with such a message as that just received, to the effect that Miss Ada Ward, an actress, has abandoned the stage for Salvation Army work, after having a vision of the Saviour. The supernatural vision was perhaps looked upon as an incident worth cabling, and it was

probably considered all tbe more wonderful because it had been seen by one whose calling is usually classed as “ worldly,” if not positively wicked. There is absolutely nothing unusual about tbe thing, for subjective visions of the kind described are matters of everyday occurrence among persona of a certain temperament. And as for an actress being loss susceptible to them than other people, it is notorious that, from the time of St Paul until now, the most unlikely people, according to superficial judgment, have most readily become tbe subjects of these peculiar experiences. The modern spiritualists have dimly apprehended the physiological or psychological principle underlying this fact, for when they desire to make converts to their cult, they always say “ The more sceptical and materialistic you are, wo shall be the better pleased to submit the spiritual phenomena to your judgment.” No one requires to be told how some of our most acute scientists have fallen easy victims to “ spiritual ” demonstrations which have afterwards been proved to be tbe clumsiest trickery. On the same principle, religious partisans, persecutors, or people whose whole attitude has, heretofore, been one of antagonism are most liable to sudden conversion, with or without tbe concomitant of striking dream, vision, or warning voice. Those sad materialists, the scientists, explain such sudden changes of mind by tbe theory that the brainhemisphere formerly in use has suddenly taken a rest, and the other, coming into action, has determined its owner to a “ new life.” The state of ecstasy or exaltation in which one sees or hears strange things, is also referred to physical conditions, and it does, therefore, seem absurd to telegraph round the world the purely personal experiences of Miss Ward.

The incident just comstage and mented upon appears to pulpit. emphasise the eternal antagonism between the stage and the pulpit, by making it seem necessary for a “converted” actress to abandon her calling, the same as would be expected in the case of a converted burglar, or other law-breaker. This is surely an exaggerated conception of the matter, and in itself proves the actress in question to he labouring under some strong and abnormal influence. The fact is that a public entertainer may be as devout in mind and as correct in conduct as any other person. Unfortunately, the idea still lingers—surviving, no doubt, from the time when play-actors were practically regarded as outlaws that stage performers are a separate class of beings, either having no souls to save or being irredeemably given over to the Evil One. An extraordinary instance of this has just been afforded in the United States, where the French music-hall favourite, Yvette Guilbert, has been performing. Mr Moody, the evangelist, with the words of one of her songs before him, wrote: “It seems to me that tho devil' himself could not devise a more corrupting message to send to this city. It is hell let loose. * * * If there is one thing human that deserves to be held sacred it is a mother’s love. And here we have a French woman coming among us with her damning and demoralising performances, and she receives the applause of some of our leading citizens.” The song which elicited this sweeping condemnation is so striking and withal so brief that we give it in full:

There was once a lad—alack for his lot I And he loved one who loved him not. She said to him, “ Go bring to mv feet Thy mother’s heart for my dog’s meat. Get thee home; slay her, nor wait! ” He took the heart and ran with it straight. As he ran he fell to the ground. And in the clay the heart rolled round. As the heart rolled round in the clay The heart said, and he heard it say— Ho heard the heart say in his ear, “Hast hurt thyself, my dear, ob, my dear ? " How, it should be perfectly evident to any person of average intelligence that there is nothing here either devilish or As Mdlle. Guilbert has pointed out, M. Eiohepin, the writer of the original words, has sought to depict, first, the selfishness of a heartless coquette; next, the complete slavery of hopeless love; and, finally, the all comprehensiveness, so to speak, of a mother’s love, which gives freely everything to please its object, however unworthy . the latter may be. Of course, the last is the crowning idea of the song, up to which, indeed, the others only pave the way. The lady artiste has shown more of the true Christian spirit than her censor hy saying that Mr Moody’s “ crudities are forgiven him because he is believed to be sincere.” It is clear that if the stage sometimes has need of the purifying influence of religion, some religious teachers might learn a lesson of sweet tolerance from even a music-hall singer.

An English newspaper a the decline few weeks ago commented of upon the apparent decline SABBATABr of Sabbatarian rigour, as ianism. evidenced by a leading article in The Presbyterian. The article consisted of a summary, without the least unfavourable criticism, of a recent Quarterly Review article, showing that “ neither in connection with Sabbath observance amongst the Jews, nor by the early Christians when the Lord’s Day superseded the Sabbath of the Jews, was there any of that strictness and severity of observance which has gradually come to be associated with it through priestcraft on the one hand and Puritanism on the other.” The conclusion reached by The Presbyterian is that, while the day should be kept by Christians as a privilege in honour of their Lord, they ought to be “ more charitable ” in their judgments on those who do not choose to keep it as they do,, and to remember that “ for many of the special restrictions and prohibitions with which the day has become overladen there is no Divine sanction or authority. The English editor who quotes this, jocularly hopes that “ the time may yet come, then, when it will be lawful to whistle in the streets on a Sunday.” Whoever wishes to enjoy that liberty had better, however, keep away from the Transvaal. A new Sunday observance law, recently passed in that republic, imposes penalties varying from a lino of £5 to six months’ imprisonment for “ working in the field or garden,’ or for “ causing any disturbing noise, by driving or otherwise, on the Lord’s Day.’ The maximum penalty may be imposed on anyone who trades on Sunday, or “ works as a barber or hairdresser” on that day. This new statute is one of the laws that bear oppressively on the gold-mining industry, for it forbids Sunday work at mines, even automatic quartz-crushing that would cause “a disturbance to neighbouring churches,” and only allows necessary work like the pumping of water to be done when such is, in the opinion of the Government Inspector, necessary to prevent the closing down of the mine. Even in Sabbatarian Scotland there is nothing so strict as this in tiro case of industrial operations, and I thousands of men and boys work in that I country every Sunday in the year.

The lament that “the standard standard novelists are no novelists — longer read,” has just been and others, proved to be unfounded.

Impressed by the enormous sales which are obtained by modern and often very rubbishy novels, people imagine that the older and better authors are forsaken. An interesting “symposium of booksellers in different parts of England published in a recent number of The Academy shows that the standard novelists more than hold their own. The older novelists “do not sell in rushes,” as one bookseller puts it, but the sale of them is much more steady and lasting ; the tendency of the modern novel is to blaze and die, the successes of last year are the dead stock of today.” On the main question, the testimony of the booksellers is overwhelming: the older novelists are not merely not losing ground, but are actually increasing in favour. Tho three who by common consent easily head the list are Dickens, Scott and Thackeray. In a second class come Kingsley and tho ladies—George Eliot, Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen. In the case of Ainsworth, Cooper, Wilkie Collins, Lytton, Marryat, Whyte Melville, Charles Keade and Anthony Trollope, the evidence shows them to be declining in favour. A striking fact brought out by this “symposium” is that tho sale of novels is regulated more by supply than by demand. Thackeray, for instance, is still nearly at tho head of the list; but the supply is said to bo inadequate. “ What is wanted is a cheap onevolume edition of each of his novels.” Anthony Trollope, according to another bookseller, has no chance; “no edition of his works is to he bad in an attractive form.” Turn out a cheap and pretty edition of any standard novelist, and he will find his public again immediately. All the booksellers attribute the increased demand for Miss Austen’s works to the issue of “ well-printed and daintilyillustrated editions,” and moralising on this phenomenon, a London paper is led to the not very flattering conclusion that “just as much journalism, and especially much Illustrated journalism, has become of late years a branch to all intents and purposes of the stationery trade, so in the case of books the author is far more dependent than many publishers yet recognise on the arts and graces of the bookbinder.” That is true, of course, only in a strictly limited sense, for the reading public is still possessed of taste and discrimination, and chooses its newspapers and its novels for their intrinsic worth, and not for the paper, illustrations or outward appearance.