Our New York Letter.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 914, 6 September 1889, Page 8

Our New York Letter.

‘ Prisoner stand up,’ said the crier, and Charles J. De Baun, the faithless paying teller of the National Park Bank of the City of New York advanced to the front of the Judge. He stood accused of the crime' of forgery ; but that was the least of his offences ; for occupying ooe of the most exalted positions in the financial world, the third officer of one of the most stable banks in the union, he was not only a forger, but for ten years he had been a common thief. It seems almost inconceivable that this man, associated with the foremost financiers of the day, the trusted officer of one of the greatest moneyed corporations in the United States, and who was handling millions and millions of dollars, should have been a common thief. His robberies ran back over ten years, and all this time he was a leader in fashionable society, a member of several of the swell clubs, a yachtsman, and a prominent cburch man. who occasionally read homilies to the Young Men’s Christian Association to direct our unwary youth to the straight and narrow path. Looking at tbe man as he stood in the dock it was difficult to understand why the mental strain of such a terrible life did nob kill him. Hundreds of men have killed themselves right here, in this city, to he relieved of a thousandth part of the dreadful anxiety that he must have suffered for 'years. Yet as those who were most closely associated with him look back, they remember nothing but the cool, calm, self-poised man who, living a life of conseibus rectitude, defied the chances of fate. His family was one of the best known of the fashionable Hill, district of Brooklyn, and his wife, a beautiful woman, was proud of her husband, proud of her home, and proud of her ohilclren, and when the crushing news was brought home

to her, by bis flight, that he was a thief, it nearly killed her ; but when she realized that he was not only a thief, but bad been systematically robbing the bank that trusted him for ten years, her despair knew no bounds. She was forced to give up her beautiful home—her children were taken from the schools they had been attending, for the other childt. h taunted them with their father’s crime. But the end name this Week. Assured that if he put the country to the expense of a trial that his accumulated sentences would be equivalent 'to imprisonment for life, he was allowed to plead guilty to forgery iu the third degree, and so escape with a sentence of nine years, which his good conduct may reduce to seven. When will young men realize the truth of that homely old adage. ‘ Honesty is the beat policy.’ I know it’s old fogyish ; it is not fast, but it is true. Mr De Bauu realizes it this morning as he marches with cropped hair to the lock step With murdterers and thieves who for the next few years will be hi 3 only companions. His heart-broken wife realizes it as she sits weeping in the midst of her children whom their father has forever disgraced. Think of this, my youthful friend, and if you feel inclined to go in for a jack-pot, or a horserace, or a flyer on stocks, if you can’t do it on your own money don’t try it on anybody’s else’s. Take my advice—Don’t. A singular case came to light in the Surrogates Court this week which might fur nish grouudwork for a novel by Wilkie Collins or Harrison Ainsworth. A few years ago an old merchant named Peck died, leaving a fortune of about a hundred thousand dollars to his widow. The couple never had any children, but had lived for each other in a very hurnbie way, roilingup the dollars whioh ate now the subject of a suit, till death tapped at the door, and Mr Peck answered the call. When Mr Peck was safely deposited beneath the daisies, Mrs Peck felt exceedingly lonesome, but lonesome as she felt she showed no great desiro to find a successor to the departed Peek, nor indeed were there many applicants for the vacancy, for after Mr Peck’s demise Mrs P. began to display an inordinate love for good old rye, and as she lived all alone in ber big house without even the companionship of a oat, or a dog, or a dickey bird, she bad nothing to do but get up in the morning, .fill herself up like a demijoho, and when she was full lie clown on the floor or any other convenient place, and prepare herself for a second dose. What few relations she had gave the old lidy a pretty wide berth ; for when she was in her tantrums even the butcher boy hardly dared to look over the fence, for it was her habit to let drive a skillet, a pot lid, or whatever came handy at any one she found looking at her. The only person who enjoyed any kind of immunity was the doctor, and as she was in a very muddled condition ail the time, the doctor proceeded to feather his nest, ’fie induced the old lady to make a will, giving him all her property, and when the will was finished he tried to get her committed, to a lunatic asylum so that she could never make another. When the will was made the old lady put it away, and refused to let the doctor take caro of it, but he was equal to the occasion, and stole tho will, offering it for probate after Mrs Peck’s death. There is no doubt but the will must be rejected, and that the property will go to Mrs Peck’s relatives, who are very poor. Moral: if any of your rich relations are dying keep your eye on tho doctor. For several years we have been blessed with a Josh House that would have lighted the heart of Confucius ; but it is only this week for the first time in our history that we have had a genuine Chinese Theatre. Some stupid persons I know will begin to laugh at the idea of a Chinese Shakespeare or a celestial Gilbert and Sullivan, but it is no laughing matter, my friend. I doubt if you understand the first principles of dramatic construction. Think of -a tragedy in a hundred and forty-nine acts, and a musical comedy in two hundred aud ninety, eight. JV’one of your ‘Patience,’ or ‘Pinafore,’ or ‘Pirates of Penzance,’ that is all over in a couple of hours, but a good solid musical entertainment that wkl last you for six months, and then like Oliver Twist make you ask for more. And tragedy means tragedy with them and no scollops. When yon look at the heavy tragedian in his war paint you feel iu your heart that he would just as soon eat you as cut off your head. He tells you so himself, and you never doubt his word, for he looks just like that sort of man. Then there is a delightful unconventioaality about the Chinese drama which is very refreshing to a barbarian. During the performance of the Warrior Life and Deeds of the Great Chung Hi Foo Lun Kee, one of the orchestra, whioh sits at the back of the stage on a raised platform, felt a flea in bis stocking. He stopped in the middle, of an exquisite solo on hia brazen tom tom, and went for that flea. He was a hustler from Hustlerville, and he made it so lively for that flea that no doubt he wished himself back on the banks of the Yang Wy Foo. A thunderous burst of applause rewarded the capture, aud it certainly was one of the most interesting features of the performance. The piece which was begun thia week will end some time between Christmas and New Year. The tragedy is very high toned, and the actors me all first class. There, are no women in the company, the female parts being performed by young men, as they were in England a couple of centuries ago. The orchestra is one of the best that has ever left China, the performers being all Court musicians, and away, away up. The instruments are very fine, consisting of a brass gong, a pair of chopsticks, two horse fiddles, and a miniature banjo. Some of the overtures reminded me very much of Wagner when all the Rhine bogies aud elfle3 and other uncanny spirits get to raising thunder under the waters of the Rhine, when the waves roar and the winds howl and the lightning flash, and the thunders roll. Yc-s, it is very Wagnerian. The follow with the chopsticks puts in some very fine work, and alwaj's in the wrong place, but the brass gong is the thing to lead an orchestra with after all. You can’t fool a Chinese leader for a cent, for he can bring hie orchestra up every time with a round turn. Once they start there is no nonsensical changea of scene; in fact they don’t want any scenery at all.

Tbe costumes are gorgeous and props, first class. The house has been crowded every night; outside barbarians paying a dollar a pap for the privilege of seeing this Celestial performance. Toni Doe, a wealthy inhabitant of Chinatown; is proprietor of the show, and if matters go on with him as he has begun, there is little doubt bub Thomas may clear fifty or a hundred thousand dollars by his venture. Broadbrim.