LONDON GOSSIP.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1250, 13 February 1896, Page 11

LONDON GOSSIP.

From Our Special Correspondent. Londox, December 20,

Why is it the public remain indifferent to the Armenian atrocities ? Mr Gladstone lashed Great Britain into fury from Orkney to Penzance over the Bulgarian horrors. But neither politicians, preachers, nor even poets seem to be able to do more than arouse a negative sort of sympathy for the Sultan’s present-day victims. Great efforts are being made this week to stimulate the popular and more particularly the Nonconformist conscience. There was a huge meeting at the City Temple on Wednesday evening, at which Dr Parker, Dr Guineas Rogers, Mr Albert Spicer and others surpassed themselves in invective. Mr William Watson, too, has written a bitterly reproachful sonnet.

THE PURPLE EAST. Never, O craven England, nevermore Prate thou of generous efforts, righteous aim! Betrayer of a People, know thy shame ! Summer hath passed and Autumn’s threshing floor Been winnowed ; Winter at Armenia’s door Snarls like a wolf ; and still the sword and flame Sleep not; thou only sleepest; and the same Cry unto Heaven ascends as heretofore ; And the rod stream thou might’st have staunched yet runs And o’er the earth there sounds no trumpet’s tone To shake the ignoble torpor of thy sons :

But with indifferent eyes they watch and see Hell’s regent sitting yonder propped by the® Abdiel the Damned, on his infernal throne.

ANOTHER PRINCELING

Whilst the Queen and the Royal Family were assembled at Windsor Castle commemorating in the usual fashion the melancholy anniversary of the Prince Consort’s death, the Duchess of York was adding to the already respectable number of Royal Princes at Sandringham. The direct succession to the Throne in the male line is now, of course, safer than ever, and centuries will probably pass ere another Royal lady is called on to assume the mantle of Elizabeth and Victoria. Therefore let ns, says an old courtier, cry with greater entluisiam than ever, “Long live our gracious Queen 1”

THE BURIAL OF SALA, The accident to the Prince of Wales during a great slaughter of pheasants at Sir Edward Lawson’s took place, curiously enough, on the day of George Augustus Sala’s funeral. It was a slight affair, painful for the time being, but not dangerous. Still, it completely spoilt the day’s pleasure and the eclat of the Royal visit. People were naturally not wanting who hinted that the contretemps was a judgment on the proprietor of the Daily Telegraph for shirking the funeral of the man who had largely contributed towards making him a millionaire. Sir Edwin Arnold went down to Brighton for the occasion, and Mr Le Sage represented the Lawsons. The gathering at the graveside was respectable, considering that most of the deceased’s friends live in London, and there were numberless wreaths from all sorts and conditions of journalists, litterateurs, actors and Bohemians.

THE 0 L AN-N A -GAEL AGAIN. The Clan-na-Gael is drilling' again, from which fact the ignorant may understand that subscriptions are slack. Just now, indeed, it is Punchinello’s secret that the money-boxes of the organisation refuse to rattle be they shaken ever so thoroughly. So the leaders of the Clan, having no money wherewith to enjoy themselves, have revived the notion of reconquering Ireland —and are busy drilling tire rag-tag and bob-tail of the American-Irish. A delightful interview with Mr John Bedford, ‘‘'one of the o!Reel's of the projected Irish army,” is reported from New York. To the receptive interviewer Mr Bedford disclosed the whole plan of campaign, which, be it said, is somewhat shadowy in outline at present. The force will consist of 120,000 men, all drilled and some armed and only half of them uniformed. “ You are counting on a war between England and the United States before moving your army?” queried the reporter. “ We are not counting on that,” responded the gallant Bedford. “We may take independent action.” “In that case, how can you possibly transport a force from this country to Ireland ? What men-of-wnr will you use as convoys ?” interjected the pressman, pertinently. “ Tnat matter,” quoth the warlike one, calmly, “has not yet been arranged.” So small a matter, of course, does not tangle tiie brain of a leader of the Clan-na-Gael. Has it not dynamite in abundance —and what more does a self-re3pecting member of the organisation want ? It is to be hoped, however, that the Clan won’t come, uniformed or otherwise, for Portland would have to be considerably enlarged to hold even a tithe of such a force as that now goose-stepping under the direction of Bedford. And, what with the School Board rate and other things, the British taxpayer is in no sort of condition to face an increase in the Prisons Estimates.

But we are wildly apprehensive, for it would appear that the first instalment of the Clan-na-Gael regiment has already arrived at our shores. An Irish-American and his hotter half were arrested at Queenstown on Monday on a charge of having a Winchester repeating-rifle and 500 rounds of ammunition concealed in one of their trunks, while a sixchambered revolver was discovered secreted in one of the lady’s stockings. The suspects hail from the State of Georgia, and perhaps it is fashionable in that country for ladies to wear revolvers on the calf of their leg, and maybe the rifle and ammunition are only a necessary part of the Georgian’s equipment when travelling at home. But whatever the fashion

in Georgia, this sort of |thing won’t do in an Irish proclaimed district. The absence of dynamite in the happy couple’s baggage may be taken by some people as evidence of their peaceful intentions, for no member of the Clau-na-Gael coming to England on business would think of starting without a supply. If space were short, he would rather leave his cake of soap behind. OSCAR WILDE. An old friend of Oscar Wilde’s who saw him for a few minutes recently on visiting day, tells me that mentally and physically the unfortunate man is broken to pieces, and that he thinks it most unlikely he Avill live through the sentence. He says Oscar cried all the time like a child, bewailing his folly in listening to the man who was once his bosom friend. Against this individual his bitterness is intense. He says it was he who led him into all the mischief, and when exposure threatened urged him to brazen things out. “ I didn’t,” he said, “ wish to prosecute Lord Queensberry. I wanted to ‘ cut ’ the lot and go abroad. But I was flattered and over-persuaded to my ruin.” “ But good heavens! man, why didn’t you bolt whilst there was yet time, during the early days of the criminal trial ?” “ I was drunk the whole time,” said Wilde.

The visitor could perceive no hint of regret, no desire to atone in Oscar’s attitude. He was simply an utter wreck. The colossal vanity which, iu lieu of better things might, have redeemed him if he could have • retained a few shreds, had collapsed. It seemed to have brought all his other characteristics to grief too. “ Even his philosophy ?” I enquired.

“My dear fellow,” said my informant, “he never had any. Philosophy must be founded on character.”

Later the same young barrister happened to be at New Scotland Yard. He spoke of Wilde’s condition.

“Very sad, very shocking,” said Inspector X., “ but don’t blame the police. Wilde brought it all on himself. He forced our hand. We couldn’t help oui'selves. Scotland Yard knew all that Lord Queensberry could tell long before, but we never move in such cases uuless obliged.” “ Why ?”

“ Well, experience has taught us prosecutions of a certain character do far more harm than good. They are in effect suggestive instead of deterrent. Besides, if wo attacked one person we should have to attack hundreds. That ledger contains pages of names of vicious individuals known to the police. Knowledge, you must also recollect, does not necessarily signify legal proof. The only way to deal with crime of that sort would be to arrest suspects privately and try them in camera. If acquitted, no one (not even members of their own family) would be the wiser.” “ I fear,” said the barrister, “ England would rather let a few . ruffians be vicious in peace than institute a secret Star Chamber which might lead to endless trouble.”

“Just so,” replied the detective. “Nevertheless, towards trying vicious cases in camera we are slowly but surely drifting.” ANOTHER CONYICT. There is a sturdy virility about the rascality of Jabez Balfour which, despite all his sins, makes him a pleasanter object to contemplate than the crumpled-up sensualist, Oscar Wilde. I last week met several of the junior bar who sat through the Liberator trials, and they spoke quite affectionately of the old man and the tremendous fight he made against overwhelming odds. “Long John’’O’Connor, his counsel, got the credit, but he was closeted for hours each night with Balfour at Holloway, and the latter prompted him constantly. At the close of the case an unreported incident occurred which displays “the stony-hearted robber” in a novel light. When the Judge passed a sentence of four months’ imprisonment on Theobald, that unfortunate gentleman broke down and began in broken whispers —inaudible save to his fellow defendants to bemoan his shocking fate. Whereupon Jabez Balfour turned to his old friend and almost cheerily bade him pluck up heart. “ The doctor,” lie said, “ will take care you come to no harm. You won’t really find it very bad. And it will soon be over. So pull yourself together, old fellow.” There was true kindness in each whispered syllable. “ I think,” added the advocate who told me this, “ that a man who within a few seconds of being sentenced to fourteen years' 'penal servitude could give* a kind thought and helpful aid to a fellow culprit let off with four months cannot be wholly bad.”

After all who in this world of strange mixtures is—wholly bad ?

MEANS OF GACE

There is still a glorious rumpus going on between the High Church Party and the Progressives over the “ religious education in Board schools” question. Apparently having been beaten all along the line in fair fight, the Athelstan Riley party are now trying what can be don*

sub rosa. Amongst the most objectionable of their weapons is a very “ High ” formulary known as “ Gace’s Catechism,” which even the Low Church and Broad Church parties have protested against being used in their own (i.e., the Church) schools. How offensive it must be to Nonconformists may therefore be guessed. Recently, | the Progressives allege, Board school teachers have been secretly encouraged by the Riley party to inculcate this highly objectionable catechism “ whenever opportunity arises.” To test tho matter thoroughly, a Shoreditch teacher wrote to “ Father ” Gace, author of the catechism, asking the best way of instilling “ Catholic teaching ” without getting found out. The holy man replied—i “The best way of teaching the catechism

when the book cannot be conveniently employed is to write down as many questions and answers as may be required for the day on a piece of paper, which can afterwards be destroyed.” Interesting 1 , isn't it ? “A Christian life,” Mr Gace went on to explain, “is not a mere moral existence.” Apparently not, indeed! The Reverend Mr Gace, when discovered and invited to explain his singular advice, failed altogether to recognise the least suspicion of underhandedness in it.

“ Circumventing the Devil ” is, I understand, the usual name given to these tactics. When you are fighting the Father of Lies and Deceit you must apparently utilise his weapons and lie and deceive too. Morals and religion have no connection, and charity doesn't begin at school. The Anglican schools, by way of inculcating a practical lesson of love, are teaching their infant scholars a song the chorus of which runs — I hate the horrid Board school.

CUPID’S COURT IN COURT. The hearing of the charges of fraud in connection with the World’s Great Marriage Association was resumed on Monday lit Bow street, when a fresh string of witnesses were persuaded to retail their adventures in search of domestic happiness. Germans seemed to have formed the backbone of the association's clientele, and the first witness called by Mr Matthews on Monday was of that nationality. Albert Grunfeld only wanted a “goot leedle vife,” and was not particular about money. The association, per Abrams, informed him that they had thousands of the sort he wanted on their books, and generously promised Albert the run of the lot for a mere five guineas. Finally, however, half that sum was paid, and for this amount Grunfeld was recommended to open negotiations with three ladies. The first was a “Miss Ellison,” a fair creature, aged six-and-twenty, possessed of a good figure and musical inclinations. The second, “ Miss Letitia Boyne,” was described as a “ nicelooking brunette, refined and musical ”; and the third, “Miss Markhouse,” besides being “28, medium height, with good complexion and nice in appearance,” possessed the crowning virtue of domesticity. Grunfeld wrote to all three via the association. The “negotiator” on behalf cf Miss Ellison then requested his photo. Albert sent it, and received a note later intimating that Miss Ellison declined to receive any further attentions. The association then wrote him, pointing out that for =612 10s he could become a “free associate,” which would give him the inestimable advantage of the W.G.M.A.’s aid in his search for a wife forever and a day if necessary. Along with this magnificent offer came more names of potential brides, some with good looks, some with property, and one with “ good temper” as her speciality. But their possessions apparently did not include pens and ink( for after writing to all of them the little German obtained not a j single reply. He complained to the association of his lack of success and was told that “ our Mr

Mortimer ” was so disappointed about this failure that he intended recommending the board to put Albert on the li*b of the more select department at a fee of seven guineas instead of the twenty-one guineas usuallydemanded. It was intimated that Albert would be spending his money wisely in assenting to this proposition, inasmuch as there were a. number of ladies looking for “ a widower, aged about thirty, dark, and connected with some trade or business ” —a description fitting Grunfeld to a nicety. But Albert didn’t catch on to this bait, and finally the “ Fashionable and High Class Marriage Department” of the association sent him a photograph purporting to be that of Miss Nellie Miller, who, it was stated by the association, had seen Albert’s photo and was so much struck with it that she had instructed them to open negotiations, but only through this more select and higher priced department. Still the little German kept his pockets buttoned, and then Miss Miller wrote to Grunfeld encouraging him to rise and win her. According to the prosecution, Miss Miller’s handwriting in this letter was identical with that of Miss Alice May, who at this time was corresponding in a most affectionate heart and dart manner with another client of the W.G.M.A. But, of course, Albert did not know this, and wrote the association consenting to pay the seven guineas. He forgot to enclose the amount, however, and the association wrote and protested against Albert playing with his own destinies in this strange fashion, and stating that they had nearly had to introduce loving Miss Miller to another gentleman. So the seven guineas were sent by Grunfeld, together with a note asking for a personal interview with Miss Nellie. But the lady was shy, and answered coyly, “ When we know more of each other an interview may be arranged.” Albert, needless to say perhaps, never set eyes on Nellie, who developed palpitation of the heart and was sent off by her medical man to St. Malo. This was the end, and all Albert got for ,£lO 4s Gd paid to the association was a batch of letters.

Mr David Driver’s experiences were similar, but for .£ls in all he merely got the names of one or two desirable spinsters with desirable fortunes. To these he wrote under care of the association, but never received so much as a letter in reply. Driver is a fine big man, and good looking to boot, but has the misfortune to be an Irish landowner. This may have marred his chances.

CHICAGO OB HEAVEN. There is an American story which I cannot help repeating, though one has to drag it in absolutely irrelevantly. The narrator was Mr Chauncey Depew, who had been discoursing on the pride of Chicago folk. There was once, he said, a prominent man in Chicago who, like all others out there, had a very exalted opinion of the city. Well, this beggar

died. Reaching his eternal home he looked about him with surprise, and yet as though he’d seen much the same thing before. “ Really,” he exclaimed to the person who had opened the gates for him, “ this is just like Chicago. I knew ours was a darned fine city but I confess I did «xpect Heaven would be different smarter; you know. The attendant eyed the self-satisfied Western man a second and then observed severely, “Excuse me, this is not Heaven.”

NEWSPAPERS AS ALMONERS. London, December 28

Make the most of Christmas while you are young, for towards the forties its glamour begins to fade. The season of peace and goodwill ceases to be an unmixed delight when its recurrence commences to remind us of growing gaps in the family circle and an increasing inability to digest mince-pies. This year, few folks past middle age appear radiantly cheerful. Some are scared concerning President Cleveland’s “Bugaboo!” war-cry, others have Armenia on their conscience, and others, again, are unhappy because they can’t feel agonised regarding those distressed Occidentals. Here in London it is some consolation to feel and know that more and more gets done for the poor at Christmas time every anniversary. Poor children are particularly well off compared to what they used to be. The example—the admirable example—of Truth, which really started newspaper Christmas charities, has been slowly followed till now all the leading journals have become public almoners at this season. The Telegraph has its “ Crippled Children’s Christinas Dinner,” the Sun a fund for supplying poor children with now boots, the Evening News a giant Christmas tree and feast for 10,000 children, the Westminster a “Treat for Ten Thousand,” and the Pall Mall Gazette an East End fete. Besides these, there are church, chapel and philanthropic treats in thousands this week. Many little ones, no doubt, gorge for a few days now and starve for the balance of the twelvemonths.

YANKEE DOODLE. The Jingo craze in America has been healthily checked by a panic on the Stock Exchange, whereby several firms were ruined and the country is said to be two hundred million dollars the poorer. American securities have simply been pouring back there, and Lord Rothschild’s little draft for four millions of gold on account of a trifle owing his firm helped to still further emphasise the situation. Altogether Yankee Doodle is beginning to wonder whether the President’s game of “Bluff” is worth the candle, and how in the world the authorities at Washington are to climb down with dignity. The worst feature of the fiasco to the small - minded, blustering middle - class

Western folk who really do honestly detest England with a hatred begotten of envy and ignorance, is the inability to rile us. In vain has the glorious American Eagle screeched its loudest in the British Lion’s face. That intolerable beast declines even to get up and shake himself, much less to roar. He has not so far done more than wink a wary eye at the noisy fowl. And what can be more contemptuous and disconcerting than that? Evidently the Lion knows perfectly well the Eagle means nothing but screeching. The Irish leaders have, with one exception, resisted the temptation to take a hand in this delectable round of “ brag.” It does them great credit, as the situation is one eminently suited to bring into play the most striking characteristics of O’Brien, Hanly and Co. Mr Johnny Redmond is the Irish hero of the episode. The World (the New York World, of course, I mean) having telegraphed to him as “ a leader of one of the great parties ” for a pacific message, what more natural than that he should retort with a splenetic and pugnacious one ? Home Rule having been denied to the distressful country, every pinchbeck patriot would be found fighting on the side of America —without of course the faintest regard to the grounds or the justice of the struggle. Well, that’s Irish, quite Irish, you know ! When the Tories shrieked “ Traitor,” the Liberals growled “ fool,” and the Yankee Democrats cried “ huzza,” Mr Redmond began to feel that he was really enjoying himself and having a Merry Christmas.

STEPNI A.K KILLED. The Christmas tragedy is as certain an accompaniment of the season as the Christmas pudding. This year, as last, it took the form of a railway accident, but fortunately there was only a single victim. He happened, however, to be a European celebrity, Sergius Stepniak, the Russian exile and reformer. Stepniak was one of the first men of culture and noble birth to enter upon a secret propaganda cf democratic teaching among the Russian peasantry. He figures as Prince Alexis in Merriman’s recent novel, “ The Sowers,” but his work was more dangerous and less reputable than that of the hero of fiction. He was arrested in 1874, but succeed in escaping, afterwards associating himself with the so-called Terrorist party. His experiences and adventures in St. burg during the activity of the Nihilists prior to the assassination of the Czar Alexander were thrilling and exciting, and some of them he has related in his remarkable book, “Underground Russia.” The Russian Ministry of the Interior alleged that he assassinated General Mezentzeff by stabbing him with a surgeon’s knife in the streets of St. Petersburg, but as he had crossed to England, ho was never arrested ou this charge, which is generally believed to have been unfounded.

Since 1892 Stepniak has been assisted in his propagandist work by Mr Felix Volkhovsky, an able writer and lecturer, who, on account of his Liberal views, was arrested and kept in solitary confinement for some years in the Peter-Paul Fortress

of St. Petersburg, afterwards being sent without trial to Siberia. There, as an exile, he met with many adventures, but I succeeded, after some years, in escaping, and alone tramped nearly half-way across Siberia to Vladivostock, whence he escaped on board an English ship. On arrival in London he became Stepniak’s chief col- ’ league, and took up his residence in Shep--1 herd’s Bush. In collaboration Stepniak [ and Yolkhovsky wrote “Nihilism as It Is,” I which clearly explained the propaganda of I the “ Narodnoe Pravo” Party. Stepniak j was the author of a large number of books , and pamphlets, his last being a study of modern Russia, entitled, “King Stork and King Log,” issued in two volumes only a few days ago. THE DUKE OF LEEDS. Members of the Osborne family have, considering their numbers, wealth and influence, emerged but seldom from decent obscurity. The late Duke of Leeds was absolutely unknown outside a narrow social circle. Grenville Murray once referred to him in the notorious Queen’s Messenger as a “ ducal myth,” and announced that when he had time he meant to write a monograph with the title, “ Speculations as to the Existence of a Duke of Leeds.” His Grace’s relative, Lord Sydney Godolpliin Osborne, was far more familiar to the public, indeed, his cultured essays on every conceivable topic over the initials S.G.O. formed a frequent feature in the Times under Delane. The Duke never took any part in imperial, municipal or even county politics. One cannot, so far as I know, say a word about him—good, bad or indifferent.

The first Osborne was an industrious apprentice who lived with his master, then Lord Mayor, in a house on London Bridge. One day the latter’s daughter, leaning too far out of the window, fell into the river. Osborne, who appear.? to have been conveniently adjacent, plunged into the swirling stream and rescued her. After this the pair naturally fell in love and were wedded. Osborne inherited not merely the ex-Lord Mayor’s money, but added considerably thereto. He was knighted, and himself ruled at Guildhall. In IG7I the Sir Thos. Osborne of the period became Lord High Treasurer and Earl of Dauby. Twenty years later ho was created fust Duke of Leeds. Most of the subsequent Dukes dabbled with sport, and one of them introduced the famous Godolphin Arabian.

A REAL LIVE COUNTESS. The Countess De Bremont, whose unsuccessful libel action against Mr TV. S. Gilbert gave the Courts an amusing afternoon last Thursday, is well known in Bohemian literary and theatrical circles, having a facile pen, a sharp tongue and a fairly good voice. She was originally on the stage in America, and there met Dr De Bremont, described by Mr Gilbert as “a fat little Frenchman with a theatrical practice.” The pair were married, and lived for some time in Now York. The doctor was a Count of a sort, but never called himself so. When, however, he died, Madame blossomed forth as Countess. She has written two, if not three, indifferent novels and a volume of exceedingly erotic verse. The reading of what Sir Edward Clarke called “ warm ” extracts from the latter formed an amusing, but not specially instructive, feature of the trial. The learned counsel tried to persuade the lady that certain couplets were capable of a distinctly quaint interpretation. “No,” said she, “they are poetry.”

Later, her own counsel found a “ Hymn to the Southern Seas,” which he evidently thought could not be branded “warm.” Hardly, however, had he begun to roll out its sonorous periods than the Lord Chief Justice, who had been skimming through a copy of his own, stopped him with—- “ You evidently haven’t turned to the next page, Mr Rowlands. If you look, you’Jl see it’s not necessary to go on.” Mr Rowlands proceeded to further defend his client by cross-examining Mr Gilbert as to his views regarding certain cerulean fictions, such as “ Tess ” and “Jude the Obscure.” What his argument was supposed to be didn’t come out. It certainly scarcely seems to follow that because certain masterpieces contain questionable passages we are bound to put up with nasty thoughts in trivial verse. Mr Gilbert confessed to reiding “Tess,” but, like many others, he had not waded through the ponderous adventures of “Jude the Obscure.” Mr Rowlands devoted a large portion of his speech to reminding the jury that whether “realism” was justifiable or not was a vexed question in literary circles at present. The Lord Chief Justice, however, summed up the whole question in a sentence as, taking hold of the volume, he said to the jury: “These things give me no pleasure. I may be old-fashioned, but I don’t like them.” Nor, if we may judge from their verdict, did the jury.

PITHECANTHROPUS ERECTUS. The missing link has been discovered. Ho turned up in Java quite promiscuously, and his name is Pithecanthropus Erectus. Dr Dubois, of Leyden, found the old fellow out. lie rests his identity on some fossil bones which he discovered when grubbing about in the bowels of the earth, and he recently exhibited his “ erect man-ape” to the Berlin Anthropological Society, bringing with him by way of comparison several skeletons and skins of the human subject. The Society were entertained but not convinced. That dreadful old man, Professor Virchow, unfortunately proved openly sceptical. On the contrary ho rudely alleged the supposed discovery to be no discovery at all. The skull in question exactly resembled that of a large baboon. He held that no reason had been shown that the skull belonged to any other creature than an ape, while lie was also in doubt whether the fossil bones shown had all originally belonged to one bodjb The Professor added that looking at the way in

which the whole world is now ransacked for fossils it does not seem likely that very clear evidence of the existence of the missing link will soon be found.