OUR LONDON FLANEUR. SOCIAL, THEATRICAL, and LITERARY. [By the Special Correspondent to the Auckland "Star."] London, April 4.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 54, 14 June 1884, Page 5

OUR LONDON FLANEUR. SOCIAL, THEATRICAL, and LITERARY. [By the Special Correspondent to the Auckland "Star."] London, April 4.

[ The death of tho Duko of Albany has com3 plctoly changed the prospects of the coming ! London season. With Court mourning , ordorcd up to tho 12th of May, and the ■ Prince and Princess of Wales in retirement t for some months to come, it will be quito • impossible for society to entertain at all brilliantly. I hoar that somo of tho great families do not intend to open their doors at all this summer, whilst others will not como [ up to town till after Whitsuntide. Tho feelings of regret for tho young Prince's i death, and of sympathy for tho Queen and tho widowed Duchess, arc very gonuino and widespread. Passing Maryborough House on Saturday afternoon, 1 was ama/.od to see the long string of carriages containing ladies in deep mourning calling to leave cards of condolence on tho Princess of Wales. Outside a small crowd had collected, and when any celebrity was recognised all hate wero silently and respectfully lifted. Mrs Gladstone passed, looking vory careworn, and Lady Dudley, buried in crape, camo out conversing in subdued tones with the Duchess of St. Albans. Tho papers brim over with stories indicative of Prince Leopold's character. Tho most interesting como fiom Oxford, whero ho was extraordinarily popular. A fellow student describing this phase of his life, says ; "We loved him because he was himself always affable and unassuming and thoughtful for others, ready to show his photographs and pictures oi sing or piny tho round game ol cards which usually ended his dinner parlies. Chess and backgammon a\ ere favourite games, nor was ho a mean performer. Often he used to come into the Union smoking-room at live o'clock for coffee and i game, and he came and went here and c\ cry where else like other people." Another friend who had many opportunities of enjoj ing his society says : " Much has been written about the late Duke of Albany as regards his relation -with the State, his interest in schemes for the public benefit, and the assistance ho was always ready to afford them ; but the kindness of his disposition and tho geniality of his social lifo have been less dwelt upon than they deserve to be. The nature of tho malady from which he suffered pi evented him in a great measiuo from pursuing those amusements which form tho pleasure, or perhaps the mitigation, of tho lives of princes, but they had less attraction for his nature than is usual. Without any of thai pretence of ' culture' which nowadays often exposes culture itself to ridicule, he had an intelligent appreciation of the line arts. He admired pictures and sculpture, was no contemptible judge of them, and he took a hospitable pride in showing such examples of the art as he possessed to jus many friends and visitors. He loved music, and could sing fairly well. These tastes worejjhereditary, and shared more or less by all hie! family. Literature, however, had an attraction for him which it has possessed for few men in his position, lie was not, indeed, a student in the ordinary sen.se ; with science and philosophy he had but a bowing acquaintance, but with that literature which, though depreciatingly termed 'light,' forms after all the chief charm of existence among educated people, he was widely acquainted. French and German a\ ere as familiar to him as his native tongue ; but English authors were his favourites. Walter Scott was his chief literary hero, though not, perhaps, altogether for literary reasons. I remember, after a visit to Scotland, his showing me, with great pride, a memento of the great novelist which had been given to him by the then proprietress of Abbotsford. ' She asked me what I would like to have,' he said, ' and I thought of the bog-oak stick which Sir Walter brought w ith him from Ireland, and used for so many years, and here it is,' Tho fact of his being occasionally lame himself may have assisted the Duko in a choice the judiciousness of ■which, censidering the richness of its alternatives, will bo readily admitted ; but it was the personal association — the true test of a lover of letters— that had mainly attracted him. Of later prose -writers he most admired Thackeray, notwithstanding the fierce onslaught made by that satirist on the Koyal Georges. He hod a keen sense of humour, though not of the boisterous kind, which pei'haps requires good health as well as good spirits for its appreciation ; and, as usual, there was a reverse to the medal. He liked the literature, if it was good of its kind, which deals with glamour and mystery. I well remember his delight in the Avorks of Lefanu, to which I had the pleasure of introducing him, especially in tnat marvellous collection of short stories entitled, 'In a Glass Darkly.' Nor was he averse to discuss in a natural and human manner the theme of 'Fate, freely ill, foreknowledge absolute, with kindred spirits.' His views upon such matters wore reverent, but large and liberal, and, on the whole, optimist. He sometimes showed signs of irritation, duo to physical pain, which would cost him somo effort to conceal, but lie was very good-natured and, what is not quite the same thing, kind-hearted. His memory for names and persons enjoyed by most of his royal race was extraordinary. As regards the aristocracy, indeed, it is scarcely an exaggeration to say that he was acquainted with tho history of every family of importance, root and branch. He also remembered, when men of even greater powers of mental retention have been known to forget, the little peculiarities of his friends. Early hours are not generally kept in royal residences, and it is not usual to leave the host until he thinks fit to retiro; but when once tho Duke discovered that the practice was inconvenient to anyone, he never forgot it, however long might be tho interval between tho visits of his guests. 'You are not a night bird,' he would kindly say to him, ' pray leave us when you feel inclined.' Though ho could bo dignified enough on occasion, his air and speech were simple even to boyishness, and the samo may be said of hi 3 private correspondence. It is not unusual for royal personages to be gracious, but it is moro rare with them to be genuine. These honoured with the friendship of the Duke of Albany could disregard the Psalmist's advice respecting the confidence to be reposed in princes. As regards his widowed Duchess, the sympathy felt for her by the whole nation is twice earned ; in tho first place by the suddenness of her misfortune, and secondly by a nature, I do believe, the sweetest and simplest that ever dwelt in one so highly placed." The luck which somotimes attends a theatrical manager is one of the oddest features of the 'profession. A comparative novice to the business leases a London theatre, and engages a scratch company. Everybody prophesies disaster, but disaster never comes. Good piece after good piece falls into tho [fortunate manager's hands ; his pompany is discovered to contain histrionic "gems of purest ray serene," who have hitherto been buried some-

whoro in the provinces, and ho himself is set down —or rather set up— as the acutest and moat far-seeing of mankind. This goes on for year?, perhaps. Mr Manager grows rich and ambitious ; builds a grand now theatre, fitted with every modern comfort and convenience; engages a powerful company, and prepares to amass yet more money. But lo ! the luck turns; nothing he can do is right. Play after play is produced, and fails. The leading lady ongaged for months at a ruinous salary proves an absolute "frost." In a fow short weoks Mr Manager drops thousands, and seos bankruptcy staring him in the faco. ' ' What, " ho cries despairingly, "havo I dono that all this should happon to me?" Tho above description tallies pretty accurately with that of Edgar Bruce, the lossco of tho now Princes Theatre, who, since ho left the fortunate little house in Tottenham - strcot and engaged Miss Lingard, has been dropping tho splondid receipts which Burnand's "The Colonel" realised with startling rapidity. Last Saturday another now comedy was produced. It is called "Tho Private Secretary," and pretends to be a free translation by Mr C. H. Ilawkoo of a popular German play. Tho first scenes Avoro a success, for the opening is as outrageously farcical as the most laughter-loving audionce coulc desire. Douglas Cattermolo, a young man living in chambors, lias a rich uncle, w o thinks it absolutely necessary as a part of his nophew's education that ho shall "sow his wild oats." The only idea that comes into the ultra-respectable youth's head is to run up a fow bills, but a friend in pecuniary embarrassment persuades him to pcrsonato a new private secretary of his undo, a country squire. Thoy make tho journey accordingly to Squiro Marsdon's, leaving in Cattcrmolc's chambors tho real Simon Pure, a raw and spooney curate, who is visited by Cattcrmole's Indian uncle, and has a warm time, tho old fellow being immensely disgusted with his supposed nephew 's profession and manners. So far so good, but in tho second act, which takes placcat Squiro Marsdcn's country house, tho wild fun of the opening fades away into mere boisterous cow-play, and all indications of plot disappear for ever. The main object of everybody appears to be to hide the luckless curate when he turns up (as of course he docs) at a singularly inconvenient moment. Fir^fc he is shoved in a cupboard, then under a sofa, then into a large trunk in fact, the old practical jokes of several wellknown farces seem to have been resuscitated and mado use of. A friendly iirst-night audience received this comedy with tepid applause, save when stirred to enthusiasm by the splendid acting of Mr Bccrbolim Tree, -whose lean, lank, long-suffering curate was a triumph of realism. Muss Lingard does not appear in "The Private Secretary," the principal femalo role being taken by Miss Tilbury, a daughter of Lydia Thompson, and a very clover little girl. Mr Conyors Carrs dramatisation of " Called Back " has (owing to the doubtful success of "The Private Secretary") again boon placed in active rehearsal. Kyrlo Bellow will play tho hero Vaughan, Bcerbohm Tree tho Italian Macari, and Mr Maclean Dr. Conori. Tho dillicult role of Pauline may, in tho absenco of Mies Lingard, be attempted by Miss Arnold, a debutante of great promise. Her Majesty's Theatre, which is larger than Drury Lane and almost as big as Covent Garden, has been taken by Mr J. 11. Taylor, who means to open it on Easter Monday for a season of romantic drama at cheap prices. Tho stalls will be 5s instead of 10s, the dross circle 4s instead of ss, and above all there is to be a roomy and comfortable eighteenpenny. pit. Tho evergreen " Ticket of Lcavo Man," with Henry Neville in his original character of Bob Bricrly, Amy Kosellc as May Edwards, Arthur Stirling as llawkeshaw, E. Kighton as Mcllir Moss, and pretty little Clara Yccks as Sam Willonghby, forms the initial bill of fare. Splendid scenery has been painted for tho revival by llawcs Craven and Fclbin, and some surprising realistic effects are promised. A " Theatrical and Musical Directory " which I happened to pick up at the Green lioom Club one day last week contains some surprising statistics re English theatres and theatre-goers. It seems about £G,S2O per night, or £354,640 a year is spent by Londoners alone on theatre-go-ing. We have 28 iirst-class houses in absoluto working order just now. Of these the Avenue holds 1,000 persons, valued at £250 ; tho Comedy, 1,500, worth £200 ; the Court, which is a very small houso, holding only 728, nevertheless yields £150, because of tho many stalls, and tho Fame remark applies to Toole's theatre, which can accommodate 900. The Brittania, a great hor.se in the north of London, holds 2,972 ; the Criterion, G7o ; the Gaiety, 1,2-13 ; the Globe, 940 ; tho Haymarket, 910 ; the Lyceum, 1,415 ; the Olympic, 1,000 ; the Pavilion, 2.G00 ; the Grand, at Islington, 3,000 ; tho Princesses, 2,000 ; and Sadlors Wells, 2,500. In the provinces nearly every town of note now boasts two or three theatres, and some of them are as spacious and comfortable as our best metropolitan houses. The Grand at Leeds holds 3,200 (or as many as Drury Lane); the Grand at Glasgow, 4,000; the New Theatre, Birmingham, 5,000 (though its receipts only amount to £100) ; and the Alexandra at Liverpool, 3,000. I have not much to say about books this week. The April magazines contain very little interesting matter. Hugh Conway (author of "Called Back") sustains his reputation for mystic sensationalism by contributing a strange story, entitled "Paul Vargas," to tho "English Illustrated Magazine," and tho author of " John Herring " commences a somewhat repulsive romance, entitled "Margery of Qucthcr," in tho "Cornhill." In the former, brain-Avavcs, and in tho latter an elderly monstrosity play important parts. " Zero, " Mrs Campbell Pracd's weird ' ' Story of Monte Carlo," draws to a close in "Tomplo Bar," and will be published next week by Chapman and Hall. Mrs Oliphant's latest novel, "Tho Wizard's Son," is already out. I bolievo I mentioned this work favourably whilst it was running through "MacmillanV' The commencement was certainly singularly clover, but the ond is most unsatisfactory. Wo learn nothing of the mysterious wizard who worked such woe to the Erradeen family, and are left wondering whether tho author wishes him accepted as a common conjurer or as a restless spirit returned from the grave. Nevertheless the story is one to be read ; indeed, I shall not bo surprised if it becomes one of tho author's most popular works with people in general. Amongst cheap editions of note just out, I must not forget to recommond to you the new five shilling issue of "• Pretty Miss Neirlle," one of the best Anglo-Indian stories (save perhaps "The Dilemma " and " Chronicles of Dustyporo") that I ever read. I can also say a good word for Theo. Gift's "A Matter of Fact Girl " at 2s, and Julian Hawthorne's " Fortune's Fool " at 3s 6d. Miss Buxton's "Nell on and off the Stage " is really not worth reading, but all who take an interest in "Chinese Gordon" should purchase a succinct record of his doings by Archibald Forbes ; price, 3s 6d. Turning for a moment to the subject of music, I notice Tosti's new songs, "At Vespers" and "Ask Me No More," are

cordially oulogised by that somewhat captious critic, Louis Engel. Michael Watson's "Our Guards" must also be growing in popularity, for threo thousand copies have been sold sinco I last mentioned it to you. The danco music from "Tho Beggar Student" is already heard everywhere, a waltz, named "Laura," being specially fancied. The great comic songs of tho day appear to be Macdermott's "Not Much," and James Fawn's " Is It Likely," both of which effusions rely for popularity on a series of absurd questions, to which the audience respond. Thus — SiNOKTt: la it likely? AußiisNCK (yelling) : Oh dear, no! Sincjisr: Nollikoly,? Audiknce : Oh dear, no ! SiNGKit : Tf from my wife away T roam, D'yo think I'm kissed Avhen I go homo? Singer: Isithkoly? Audiknce: Oh dear, no! Sink kk : Not likely ? Auimknch : Oh dear, no ! fcJiNUBH : It isn't very likely, do you roally think iL is ?