OUR LONDON LETTER.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 5296, 16 March 1878, Page 3

OUR LONDON LETTER.

London, 31st January.Tip to the moment when Parliament met, town was full of rumors of Ministerial divisions, and, as it has since proved, not without reason. But the demand for supplies in the Queen’s speech, and the emphatic declaration of Lord Beaconsfield, still more of Lord Salisbury, for a moment seemed to dispel the sinister rumors current of a Government as divided in itself as the country outside it. Then the breach came, and in a way not wholly expected. It was generally believed, up to the moment of Lord Carnarvon’s secession, that he and Lord Salisbury were acting in complete unison, and it was averred, on os good authority as there can bo for anything that issues beyond the closed doors of the Cabinet, that it was only when the Premier found Mr. Cross and Sir Stafford Northcote also pitted against a war policy that he in some degree yielded- It is curious that throughout this period no one seemed to think of Lord Derby. His conscience was supposed to be altogether in the First Lord’s keeping. The general conclusion was that it would prove to be the case at the last moment that there was really no reason for calling Parliament together. But the alarming rapidity of the Russian advance, and a comnmnication from Vienna, it is believed, decided the—for the time—united Ministry to a*k for supplies. Still the Russian invasion swept on unchecked. The Balkans were surmounted. Gourka and Skobeleff swept on in full tide from Sophia to Phillipolis, to Adrianople. The Cossacks were clattering along the high road to Gallipoli, to Constantinople. Then Lord Beaconsfield insisted that the fleet should be sent up the Dardanelles. Whether im consequence of this bold step in advance, or by accident simultaneously, the Russian Ambassador here, Count Schouvaloff, was authorised to disclose the Russian terms of peace, and the fleet was ordered to return to Besika Bay. But in the brief interval of time a fatal division in the Cabinet had transpired. Lord. Carnarvon had resigned, and his resignation had been accepted some half hour or so before Count Schouvaloff’s message reached the Premier. Lord Derby had resigned, but his resignation had not yet been accepted by her Majesty. So while the Colonial Minister made the statement in the Lords which definitely separated .him from his colleagues, the return of the fleet from Besika Bay enabled the Foreign Minister’s unaccepted resignation to be recalled.

Opinion is, and will probably long be, divided here as to the prudence and temper of Lord Carnarvon’s conduct. But I believe there will be a universal feeling of regret throughout the colonies at the severance of his connexion with them. No living statesman, except Lord Carlingford, has been so long officially connected with the Colonial Office, and none has so entirely identified himself with the interests, the sympathies, and aspirations of her Majesty’s colonial subjects. It is hardly too much to say that his accession to office in succession to Mr. Cardwell in 1866 marked the commencement of a new era in colonial administration, and although but a short time in power then, still the success of the truly liberal and imperial policy he initiated was such that it was found impossible to reverse it, when some tentatives in that direction were made by his successors in Canada, the Cape of Good Hope, and New Zealand. It is greatly to be regretted that he retires at a moment when the success of his South African policy is undergoing the severe test of a native war. But no doubt his successor, whoever he may be, will have on this question at least the advantage of his experienced counsel and his matured plans. It Is useless to inform you of the various rumors current as to his probable successor. The Duke of Buckingham, Lord John Manners, Sir M. H. Beach, and Lord Loudon, are among those named, and some still hope that it may even yet be possible that, like Lord Derby, he may again rejoin his colleagues. But on this subject the cable will have spoken long before these lines meet your eyes. The gloom of winter seems to pervade not merely the material but the moral atmosphere. The advance of Russia on Constantinople, with the acceptance of the terms of peace proposed to the Sultan, means, as Mr. Layard puts it in a despatch published to-day, the destruction of the Turkish empire in Europe. Nothing can now stay the Russian army except the combined vigorous intervention of Austria and England. But though there are rumors of an identical note addressed to Prince Gortschakoff the day before yesterday, by Count Ardrossy and Lord Derby, it is difficult to believe in the despatch of such a document when we hear Sir Stafford Northcote coldly saying that in two or three weeks or months it will be made known whether Russia, Germany, and Austria, are really acting in combination or not. Gloom mav therefore well color all speculation and combination—for no one can tell what a day may bring forth, what accident may launch us, without an ally, into a terrible war, what heavy price we may have to pay hereafter for a temporary and precarious peace, how many hours our already crippled Government may hold together, and who their possible successors may be, should they fall into a state of disruption. It is a period for a Pitt, but we no longer produce youths capable of carrying the empire on their back, and waging war all over the world at 2i years of age. Of all the gloomy objects that meet the eye, the most so is our present Premier. His natural pallor is deepened by a ghastly shade of anxiety and discontent. He is attired as if to act as chief mourner at some august funereal pageant. The conduct of Lord Derby, it is said, afflicted him keenly ; and strange to say it appears to be upon Lord Salisbury that he now relies most of all his colleagues. He must, though, now and then regret that they are not both back in the House of Commons, with a little of the weight of years rolled off. For against the formidable array of eloquence and earnestness in the Opposition, the Treasury bench is lamentably weak; and as to its leading speakers. Sir Stafford Northcote and Mr. Cross are animated apparently by no determinate ideas of policy ; and so England waits oa what may turn up, and the Grand Duke cannot make up his mind to sign the armistice, and the Cossack canters along singing new variations on the popular old song of many syllables about Constantinople. I am told that Midhat Pasha, who is again here, declares that nothing is left for Turkey now except to make the beat terms they can with Russia, throw overboard all her former allies, and make a new offensive and defensive alliance with her ancient enemy. Though political London is full enough, it can hardly be said that the fashionable season has begun. The Queen is still at Osborne, where, by the way, a slight earthquake was felt yesterday ; and the Court is in mourning. But it is announced that her Majesty will come to London in about a fortnight, and hold four drawing-rooms during the season. The Prince of Wales will hold the first levee of the year on the 9th of February. The present winter exhibition at the Royal Academy is perhaps the most generally interesting of the long series of exhibitions which have largely contributed to the marked advance of the people of London in knowledge of and taste for art matters. The old masters are splendidly represented, though not in great numbers, the paintings of the Dutch school being especially fine. There is a magnificent collection of engravings, including Lord Lansdowne’s famous Sir Joshua Reynolds, and the chief distinction and crowning glory of the brave show are held to bo the collection called “ The Norwich School,” in which we have for the first time an opportunity of studying the thoroughly English characteristics of the works of Crowe, Coleman, Constable, Stark, and others, and of contemplating Gainsborough as a landscape painter. Owing to the liberality with which the fortunate possessors of great paintings have exhibited them of late years, almost all Gainsborough’s portraits are now well known to the public, but his landscapes are still novelties, and the few examples which adorn the Burlington Galleries are objects of great interest. Among the Italian paintings those of Lanaletto’s are particularly interesting, as illustrating the topography of London in the olden time. One gets rather tired of Lanaletto’s everlasting Venetian pictures, however accurate, artistic, and '< beautiful they may ba, and t is quite a fresh sensation of pleasure to oh*

serve those qualities transferred to the delineation of the old palace of Whitehall, and to a view "on the Thames, which gives us old London, with the Temple Gardens, the Bridge, and St. Paul’s. These two paintings, the former the property of the Duke of Buccleugh, the latter that of the Queen, are of great value as memorials of the historic past of London, The view of Whitehall is taken looking in the direction of Charing Cross (once the rural village of Charing); the site of the quaint houses on the left of the road is now occupied by our vast Government offices, and the other side is the famous banqueting hall of Whitehall Palace. The picture indicates Montague Souse and Richmond House, with the river beyond and St, Paul’s in the distance. Perhaps this is the most admired picture in the Exhibition. There is a wonderful Titian, the property of Lord Poverscourt, aui which is cotalogued simply as a “ Portrait of a Young Man,” but which is full of power and individuality, and dwells in one’s memory like the artist’s immortal portrait of Ccesar Borgia and Giovanni dolle Baade Neri.

The theatres are doing very brisk business, although the only very decided success of the early-begun season is that of the new comedy at the Prince of Wales Theatre, called “ Diplomacy.” The bijou house, with its carefully selected, admirably drilled, and perfectly harmonious company, keeps its place far in advance of all rivalry as a resort of fashion; and it really docs offer the closest imitation of the finish and coherence of the French stage which London has produced in our time. Two very good adaptations from the French are being acted at the Gaiety and the Queen’s Theatres respectively. The first is “The Grasshopper,” from “La Cigale,” in which Mdlle, Chaumont made a great success last year at the Varieties, Miss Farren, the best comedienne in London, plays the charming little Bohemian, who is bo changed by a real love, and acts the part well, her popularity carrying her safely through many difficulties. At the Queen’s the adaptation is from Victoi'ien Sardon's great drama “ Patiie,” which all playgoers remember as the best dramatic event in Paris which preceded the war and the fall of the Second Empire. Under the title of “Fatherland,” the grim and cynical drama is presented to an English audience, who do not much appreciate it. The part of the terrible Duke of Alva is splendidly acted by Mr. Hermann Vezin, the one artist of the present day who revives the old traditions of the English stage in the direction of close study and appreciation of a part “ all round.” We have lost a litterateur of some eminence by the de.th of Dr. Doran, which took place a few days ago. He was an industrious collector of facts in the by-ways of history, and had a happy knack of making gossippy memoirs interesting. His latest work, “ London in the Jacobite Times,” has only just been published, and has been very favorably received. His best book is “Queens of the House of Hanover.” It’ affords a curious insight into the domestic history of the Georges, and especially makes that very clever and odd woman Caroline of Anspach strangly vivid to the reader’s mind. Dr. Doran was a popular man and a pleasant talker.