LONDON GOSSIP.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1095, 24 February 1893, Page 31

LONDON GOSSIP.

SPECIAL TO NEW ZEALAND MAIL. (FROlt OTTK SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.) THE NEW YEAR. London, January 6. A soured old bachelor whom convivial frionds persisted in bombarding with * Happy New Years ’ last Saturday evening, thus relieved his mind whilst the joy bells were ringing Call thee * New Year,’ thou ancient shrew, Why e’en thy nickname is not ‘new.’ The timeworn features of thy race Show on thy wrinkled cunning face. ’Tis just the same old joy and pain In other guise renewed again, We’ve ever had to take or leavo Humbly or proudly. And believe ’Tis but the hammer of the strife That shapes at last each human life. . . < Hast thou, old ’93, in store Nothing we have not known before ? Then, Year, at least In speech bo true, ‘ Happy ’ thou may’st be—but not ‘ new.’ The Ohroniole of Monday published a New Year’s Prayer ’ by the so-called mad poet, William Watson, which oontains somo fine lines, and shows the young man is getting better. Hero are five of them : Oh ! Thou whose homestead is eternity, Who seest the hunger and the toil of men, And how the love of life and wife and babe Is brother of hate and sire of deeds of death. Give peace, give peace: peace in our tine, 0 Lord ! MRS MAYBRICK SWALLOWS NEEDLES. Mrs Haybrick’o mother having vehemontly contradicted the rumour that her daughter had attempted to commit suicide, and assailed in violent terms the paper which oiroulaled the rumour, the prison authorities have thought it woll to permit the real facts to transpire. It seems either the Baroness von Roques or some equally indiscreet person told the poor prisoner that women afflicted with a mortal disease, such as consumption, had, in certain instances, been released. The idea of feigning a complaint of the sort, in consequence, suggested itself to Mrs May brick, and, after consultation with other women like herself in hospital, she obtained somehow and, with characteristic pluck, swallowed several needles. The effect was to produce blood-splitting and a serious illness. At first the prison doctor did not suspect any hocus pocus, though needle swallowing is a common enough expedient amongst convicts anxious to be placed on the sick list. In consequence Mrs Maybrick grew pretty bad. Then another prisoner, fearful of what would happen to herself (the donor of the needles) if Mrs Maybriok died, owned up to the doctors, and proper treatment was administered. Mrs Maybrick has for some time now been out of danger, but is in very low spirits at the failure of her scheme. The desperation with which, at great risk and the cost of agonising physical suffering, she carried it through shows her to possess (as thoproseoution at the trial maintained) great foroe of character. MISSING- WORDS. Mr C. Arthur Pearson, who but four Bhort weeks ago was pluming himself on the phenomenal success of the Missing Word Competitions, now wishes he'd never hit upon that much too happy thought. What it will cost him before all’s done no one can even approximately guess. At present Mr Pearson knows that the heavy expenses he was suddenly put toinordertoconduct the competitions carefully, without charging the competitors a farthing, have far more than swamped the profits of his paper’s extra circulation. Furthermore, the Anti-Gambling League has—-now all’s well over —aroused itself to action, and assisted three * victims ’ (what unutterably mean skunks they must be) to bring actions against Pearson to recover their embargoed shillings. Of course, 100, a large proportion of the successful ‘ unaccountable ’ guesaers blame the poor man for all that has happened, in fact, as lie says, * I’ve brought a hornet’s nest about my ears.’ The case of the fortunate person who (I told you throe mails ago) guessed the correct word a largo number of times and won between £6OO and £7OO, makes me smile whenever I think of it. This individual was so proud of his achievement that he didn’t pass his cheque through the bank at once, but kept it to wave in the faces of less lucky beings. Alas! when the cheque did at length reach tho Bank Pearson’s money had all been eiezod, and payment was refused. Nor did threats and profane objurgation* in the smallest degree alter the situation. Even whenthepoorman woefully confessed he’d previously wasted nearly £2OO upon the competitions the authorities were unmoved. THE TWO WILLIAMSES. At the National Liberal tho other evening a friend of Lord Rosebery’s was narrating a yarn the latter had told him the previous day concerning his erstwhile tutor, Robert Williams, who was practising at the Old Bailey Bar about tho same time as poor Montagu Williams was making a great reputation ‘ Bob ’ Williams, like Monty, tried several vocations, but, unlike the latter, he somehow succeeded in none of thorn. From a Fellowship at Oxford, ‘Bob ’ Williams drifted into nice tutorships, * boar leading ’ first Lord Rosebery and theu Lord Lansdowue. Afterwards he tried the Bar, but clients declined to put their trust in a hare brained genius, so Bob devoted his talents to old port and sporting journalism, and finally sank into a pauper's gravo. 1 Bob ’ Williams, genial soul could always laugh at himself, and used to tell with great gusto one of his few experiences at the Old Bailey. ’Twas when prosecuting a notorious thief. ‘ Guilty or not guilty ?’ said the usher to tho prisoner, who responded ‘Ou’s a prosecutin’?’ ‘Mr Williams,’ was tho reply. ‘ Then I pleads guilty !’ Up rose Mr Robert Williams to open the case, but before he could speak the man in the dock growled to the warder, * What the blank bloomin’ blank did yer say Williams were agin me for?'. ‘So ho is.’ ‘ Garn, that ain’t Monty.' ‘No, certainly not; it’s Mr Robert Williams.’ ‘Then I don’t plead guilty,’ bawled tho accused. ‘ Tho little fat

bloke ’ull ’ave to earn ’is quids—not guilty, my lord ?’ Moreover, poor ‘ Bob ’ didn’t find the earning at all easy. Tho thief know far more about the facta and the witnesses than he did, in fact, but for his initial slip ho would hare got off. SCHOOLBOY ‘ HOWLERS.’ Tho University Correspondent recently offered a prize for the boat collection of schoolboy blunders. Here are a fow selected from a lengthy list, which profosses to be absolutely genuine : • Who was Henry 111. ?’ ‘ A zealous Buppporter of the Church who died of Dissentry.’ ‘What is a Papal Bull?'— 1 (1) A cow, only larger and does not give milk; (2) a golden calf.’ A Republican is a sinner mentioned in the Bible. A concise biography of the Protector reads: ‘ Oliver Cromwell was a man who was put into prison for interference in Ireland. When iu gaol he wrote the “ Pilgrim’s Progress ” and married a lady called Kitty O’Shea.’ The youth who wrote the following puts not his faith in princes: ‘Perkin Warbeck said he was the son of a prince, but ho was really the son of respectable people.' Here is a lovely bit of translation : Sola domo maeret vacua —The lonely cow mourns in the house. Or: Faire chemin dans l’autre monde—To make a shirt in the next world. In an essay on Marius a small boy wrote : ‘C. Marius invented a prescription which killod all the principal men iu Rome.’ Hundreds of other instances are given, but they nouo of them equal the famous samples of school board children’s essays in Mr Barker’s amusing book published three years ago. HORATIO BOTTOMLEY. Most of yeur readers will have heard, or at least read, something of Horatio Bottomley, the promoter of that huge—shall we say mistake, the Hansurd Union. Mr Bottomley is variously judged in the City. A great, many do not hesitate to call him a roguish company promoter of the most dangerous type, and to accuse him of gross commercial immorality. On the other hand, the man’s defenders, including financiers of undoubted influence and strictest probity, point out that, whereas endless charges have been brought against Bottomley, none have been proved. In some cases, indeed, the accusers have had to eat their words and apologise, whilst in others tho worst that could be said was that the man had shown himself absurdly overBanguiue. If the Hansard Union came, as popularly supposed, to ‘ almighty smash ’ through Bottomley, he himself lost everything therein. In the preface of an amusing brochure ‘ Horatio Bottomley : Hya Booke,’ which the ex-promoter has just published, he summarised his position thus‘ In the year 1890 I ocoupied a fairly respectable position in eociety. I had a West End residenoe and a little oountry retreat, and enjoyed all the surroundings of unobtrusive prosperity. True, I did not keep racehorses or coursing dogs, and was not a personal friend of the Prince ; but I endeavoured to gi»e good dinners, and to tell good stories, and was therefore looked upon as one of the coming men. , I seldom, however, got intoxicated when entertaining my guests, and consequently littlo wa» known concerning my early career or exact position. In my presence I was spoken of as a great financier—in my absence, as a success ful company promoter. At any rate, I was known to bo connected with certain large financial undertakings, and also to be a candidate for Parliamentary life—so my social credentials were complete; and I was quietly settling down to an admitted place amongst the Upper Nine. In 1891 my companies had come to grief, my affairs were in the Bankruptcy Court, I had ceased to be a candidate for Parliament —all was ruin and desolation around me.’ The greater part of the little book is takon up with an involved history of the inception of the Hansard Union—of its successful promotion, and period of brief prosperity, and of its ruin, or (as Bottomley stoutly maintains), its wreckage. According to tho ex-promoter there was gross trqachery in certain quarters, and this, aud this alone brought about tho crash. Mr Battomley mentions no names, but points to the signifi cant fact that many of the gentlemen who sold their businesses for large sums to the Hansard Union are now again in possession of them, having repurchased them from the liquidators for trifling sums. But tho Hansard Union has no interest for Australasians. Let us sample somo of the good stories of the versatile Bottomley, who before he came to griof was renowned in City oirclea as a raconteur. One of his best yarns narrates the audacious coup of tho managing-olerk of the drunken attorney. He in early youth served as office boy. This individual lived, to the youthful Bottomley’s perplexity, in great lower middle-class splendour. Horatio oould only suppose the tippling attorney paid him a aumptuous salary, though, why he should do so, the boy couldn’t imagine. One fine morning, however, two stalwart constables entered the office and conveyed the luxurious liver to Millbank Prison. It then transpired this financial genius had for years levied and collected a bogus ‘ Couuty Rate ’ upon tho guiloloss and unsuspecting citizens of London. ‘lt appears,’ says Bottomley, ‘ that onco upon a time the City had to pay a County Rate, but that it was long ago abolished. My legal colleagues, however, came to the conclusion that City people were not quite so particular as suburban householders about their rates and taxes ; and, upon tho principle of doing the least harm to the greatest possible number, it occurred to him that he might secure in one fell swoop a princely fortune by relevying the rate upon his own responsibility, and quietly decamping with whatever he might succeed in collecting before the imposition was discovered. It is a strange satire upon the astuteness of the City, that the experiment proved so successful, that instead of making off with the first spoil, this daring individual actually took offices for the purposes of his scheme, where the Collector attended daily at certain stated hours, aud from which addross the |

usual Demand Notes, and First and Second Notices, and all the other documents familiar to the ratepayer, were regularly issued. Of course, there never was such a lenient collector sinoa rates and taxes were invented. Nobody was ever summoned, and needy citizens nevor applied in vain for an extons ion of time for payment. And so the game went merrily on from year to year, until at leng th some accident occurred, and the City learned how hugely it had been hoaxed. And during the whole period this financial genius was playing the role of a simple lawyer’s clerk. Some of Horatio’s electioneering experiences are extremely entertaining. He says, and very truly, that the amount of privato heckling and patronage a Radical candidate for a borough constituency has to undergo during his canvass, is exasperating to the last degroe. Butcher, baker, aud candlestick maker lecture the unfortunate man, and tell him what he may and what he may not do, until he cries, * Democracy be . One must draw the line somewhere. I draw it at being bullied by the greengrocer because my wife deals at the stores. As a matter of fact,’ Bottomley remarks, ‘ the most popular form of Democracy is that which gives us the right to fraternise upon terms of equality with our social superiors. ‘ I havo had some severe tests myself. I remember that one of my staunchest political supporters and principal lieutenants was a weird little man, whose goodwill I was warned it was most essential I should retain, for it was represented to me that ho had very special advantages for furthering my interests. He was most assiduous in his attentions, and was invariably at my side at all important functions ; and being a profound and enthusiastic politician would seize every opportunity for a quiet chat ovor tho general European situation. Foreign affairs were his pot theme, and there was not a telegram or a leading article of the day that he had not read. But although most loquacious upon all these matters, ho was always reticent on personal affairs. In my own mind, I put him down as one of the slaves of the press, for his acquaintance with newspaper literature was so extensive. And so whenever any difference arose between us upon any question of names or dates, or other historical detail, I immediately deferred ; and in time I came to regard him as an infallible political encyclopaedia. But who and what he was I never knew until one day I casually discovered that he was a gentleman, who, for the convenience and comfort ot passengers, had been placed in a position of trust at one of the large London railway stations, and was authorised to levy a toll of a penny per head for his services. Of course he was none the leas worthy for that —aud may the day nevor come when there shall beany dearth of successors in his office. But some of our meetings were a little awkward, all the same—sspecially when they occurred at tho railway station —for there are occasions upon which evon an Englishman has no inclination for polities.’ For the Women’s Rights Movement Mr Bottomley expresses but Blight sympathy. He recalls attending a meeting at the house oE a Female Federator or somo such curio. The hostess, from an untidy arm chair, implored tho young girls present not to believe the cant talked about women who take an ardent interest in public affairs not making good wives and mothers and housekeepers. ‘ On the contrary,’ she averred, stoutly, ‘ they make the best wives, the best mothers, and the best housekeepers.’ ‘ Hear I Hear 1’ cried the lady listeners. Mr Bottomley smiled, for the room they occuppied was flagrantly dirty, a huge cobweb hanging tremulously above the chair, and threatening every moment to fall and envelop the eloquent lady. On another occasion Bottomley was attending a meeting of Democrats in Hyde Park. ‘ I forget,’ lie says, ‘ what it was brought us together, but there we were in orthodox fashion proclaiming the inviolable right of the sovereign peoplo, and declaiming against the “ classes,” whose privilege and power we wero impeaching to the acclamation of the horny handed sons of toil around us. I remember that one very enthusiastic and quasi-soeiulistic Radical was addressing the throng. “ Why should they bo down-trodden ’ Why should they not be free ? Why should kings, and queens, and princes, and huge standing armies absorb tho product of their labour?’ Such wero tho questions he was asking, receiving “ throbbing bosoms for reply, ’’ when of a sudden a wild cheer rent the air; hats and handkerchiefs were waved, and a general stampedo was made towards the roadway. The orator paused iu amazomont. What did it all mean ? Had Bradlaugb, or Burns, or Labouchere arrived ? Had revolution broken out, and were the infuriated mob making for Buckingham Palace? Whatever the cause, there wa were, left all in a moment without an audience. Believo me or not whon I say : It was the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge passing on their way to Rotten Row ! * That incident taught me better than any book could do that for the present, at all events, au English Republic is beyond the sphere of practical politics.’ A CRUEL SWINDLE, Here is a theme for a strong nrticle on the Decadence of Human Fooling. All swindling is cruel, but there is in the following swindle a particular degree of cruelty which will be appreciated by most people. As you know, it is a custom with our largely circulated weeklies to devote a certain amount of space oach issue to the sorvicos of those desirous to diecover lost friends or missing relations freo of any charge. Some unprincipled scoundrel saw in this most excellent feature of our press the base of operations for a hoarLless fraud. His modus operand: was simplicity itself. Some one, let us say, was anxious to hear news of John Brown, who loft England in 1879 for Australia. To the person making the enquiry tho swindler would write as follows: — ‘ Dear Sir, —Me and my brother ’as just come from Brisbane, Austrailia, and can give you fall particulars of John Brown, who is doing well in the above city. My I bro her at Brighton ’as photo and addross, lut I will wire to him for them and send

them on to you if you care to forward me 20 stamps for postage and telegram.’ This note, with the sole alteration of names and places, would, of course, serve to send to every inquirer. For a brief space the fraud worked admirably, and its originator lived in luxury. But the swindle could not live long. One of the victims wrote to the papers, and then came the end. The porpetrator evaded capture, but his ingenious method of moneymaking was rendered abortive, each news paper heading il a ‘ Missing Friends ’ column with a caution to inquirers not to send stamps to anyone. STEAD A VISITOR : lIIS SPIRIT WRITING. I hear that Mr Yf. T. Stead is very warmly pressed to go on to San Francisco after visiting Chicago next summer, and to return home via New Zealand and Australia. Mr Fitchett strongly urges his chief to try and arrange this journey, and has promised him a specially warm (N.B. —I suppose this means cordial) welcome in Melbourne. If the sage of Norfolk House makes up his mind to the tour he will not improbably pay expenses by delivering a lecture or two on ‘Ghosts’ or ‘Spiritualism,’ in your chief cities. Mr Stead is now a firm believer in spiritualist phenomena. Ho and Dr Parker have been thrilling readers of the Morning with stories of lotters which they have written at the dictates of ‘ spirit hands.’ In tho Christmas number of the Review of Reviews (‘From the Old World to the New’)in the chapter entitled ‘From the Other Side,’Mr Stead gives, he tells us, au account of an ex. neriense which absolutely occurred to himself. The only difference is that in the story Rose, instead of the editor of the Review of Reviews, writes the spirit letter, and her dead husband, and not Mr Stead’s deceased friend, controls her hand. Dr Parker believes so firmly in the inspiration of disembodied spirits, that at the instigation of St Paul and other sacred writers ho is adding chapters to the Bible. Some of those privileged to hear this Holy Writ up to date have at once ‘recognised the soul and sentiments of 8t Paul,’ while others could see in it only ‘ Good Old Parker.’ A great trial to fervent spiritualists of Mr Stead’s sort must be tho frivolity and triviality of most disembodied spirits. The messages which mediums, &c., bring us from our deceased relatives are almost invariably of a paltry and absurd oharacter. Your erstwhile visitor, Stuart Cumberland, has sensibly resolved to burk as far as possible the renaissance of spiritualism. He offers to bet £IOOO that tho spiritualists cannot show him any phenomena which it will bo out of his mundane powers (1) to explain intelligibly to tho satisfaction of a dispassionate committee, and (2) to reproduce. Mr Stead's alleged miracle matter-of-fact people consider especially mischievous, because it cannot be tested. He asks us to believo than when he sits down with a pen in his hand and paper bofore him, and spirit voices it his ears, the pen moves over the paper without any volition of his own. It is controlled by a spirit hand.