SHAM HEROES AND THEIR WORSHIPPERS.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 382, 4 June 1866, Page 1

SHAM HEROES AND THEIR WORSHIPPERS.

(From the Daily Telegraph.) It has not yet been proposed to erect a statue to the clever gentleman who recently spent a night in a workhouse, and who did a most disagreeable piece of journalistic work with credit to himself and his employers. Headers of that article will of course remember “ Daddy.” One of the chief facts in relation to “ Daddy ” was, that after the journalist had “ taken ” the bath—much as a man might “ take ” an awk ward fence or a a dose of physic—“ Daddy ” told him that he need not have done so—advice which was judicious, but out of date. One almost trembles at the very thought of that famous plunge ; old Borne in ail her annals recounts no braver deed. Curtins jumped into an ugly gap ; but the bath ! Iso ; Curtins and the noble animal in his possession would both have shied at the Lambeth man-trough. “ Daddy,” however, was good enough to give the Amateur Casual some valuable hints as to his conduct. It is not explicitly stated whether the Amateur. Casual gave “ Daddy ” anything in return; lut every cynical believer in human nature will think it probable

that he did so. On the whole, “ Daddy ” seemed rather a decent kind of old pauper, with some human instincts that had not been quite choked out of him by his workhouse life. Plad he been left to himself he might still have been of some little use and meaning in the world—at any rate in Lambeth workhouse. It was not so decreed. “ Daddv ” had no sooner became a public character than he was “ got at.” The poor old creature was informed that people were anxious for his photograph; and swift and sure was the fall of “ Daddy.” Last Monday he discharged himself from the workhouse, aud tramped into the City. There—it is impossible to help pitying the poor old “hero”— he was “ engaged in business”—we believe that is the correct expression—with an enterprising photographer. When he had done—when he had ceased to blink bis unfortunate old eyes at the word of command —ceased ins dreadful endeavors to appear natural—it is said that be was paid five shillings. We hesitate to believe the statement. As the photograph was immediately advertised all over London, it is scarcely credible that respectable tradesmen—we leave philanthrophy out of the question for obvious reasons —should not have given the distinguished original more. Whatever he may have received, however, lasted him right through Tuesday and Wednesday. Meanwhile, he had become doubly famous. Pretty eyes glanced at the photograph—pretty voices murmured “ poor kind old dear !” aud a large quantify of benevolent feeling was, as usual, utterly and dismally wasted. Half the sympathy evoked for “Daddy” might have rescued a dozen families in Beth-nal-green ; but Bethnal-green is not, for the moment, “ sensational.” At length “ Daddy” had spent all his share of the results of the hero worship. On Thursday, accordingly, he went back to the workhouse and applied for re-admission —a decidedly broken down and uninteresting pauper, this time. He was, at length, allowed to enter the house, and on Friday morning he again “ discharged himself.” Let not the tender public be too anxious about the “kind old.man.” He has a splendid opportunity before him ; even if nature has not endowed him with—-even if time has bereft him of —vocal or Terpsichoreau powers, he has but to show himself on the stage of an East-end theatre cr a minor music-hall to earn a living. It may seem that we exaggerate. Unfortunately “ Daddy’s ” case is by no means the worst instance of sham hero worship that calls for notice. If anything on earth is sacred, it should be such a tragedy as that of the London. The story is already part of the sea-history of our people ; it will take its place in those chronicles of ocean adventure from which our boys snatch inspiration for gallant deeds. The grand, quiet skipper, who gravely said, “ My duty is to remain herethe brave actor who worked at the pumps whilst work was still of any use, and then stociuily waited for the end of the play —the fall of the curtain ; above all, young Angel, a “Devonshire worthy” of the old type, who, “ when last seen, was working at the donkey-engine just as the vessel foundered these men have been worthily mourned by sensible English folks, who avoid hysterics. And those who escaped ? Well, those who escaped, one would think, would do well to thank God and to shun publicity for awhile. The morbid appetite of a portion of the public, however, demanded a “ hero,” and King, who steered the boat, was “ supplied ” in answer to the demand. A piteous appeal was put forth in the columns of a contemporary, which stated that King’s whole earthly possessions were two shillings. Now, King belonged to the London, and the London belonged to one of the most liberal of cur great ship-owning firms. King had behaved, according to all accounts, with much courage; he had, in plain English, done the best a brave man could do to save his own life and the lives of his neighbors. Are we to suppose that the shipowners would therefore have discharged him from their service ? Are we to suppose that had he applied to them they would have left him penniless ? At the risk of being considered too enthusiastic, we venture to affirm that they would have relieved his necessities and supplied him with other employment. * * *

Meanwhile, we notice that half-a-dozen of King’s companions in the boat are advertised to appear on tire stage every evening at an East-end theatre! This also may be pleasing to hero-worshippers; but any man who knows London would not find it hard to predict the fate of sailors who are thus employed. We object to the thing because it is an offensive burlesque upon sacred feelings of regret and grief. It is only a secondary consideration—though perhaps worth pointing out — that when the novelty of the exibition has died away the heroes of the Loudon, destitute and forlorn, may involuntarily meet with the hero of the Lambeth Workhouse, ami that “ Daddy” may unconsciously parody Dean Swift’s ghastly phrase, “ Ah, what a genius I had when that book was written about me!”