TARLE TALK.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 468, 3 May 1890, Page 3

TARLE TALK.

(from our special correspondent.) London, February 28. Mr Walter’s Breach of Privilege. Had the motion of the Opposition proved successful on Tuesday, and Mr Jno. Wal. ter, of the “Times,” been brought to the bar of the House of Commons and reprimanded, no great sympathy would have been felt for him, either in society or by hi 6 own shareholders. About the period of the publication of “Parnellism and Crime,” Mr Walter (a 3 I remember writing you at the time) was the biggest bore in London. He could talk of nothing else, and his constantly repeated predictions concerning the downfall of Mr Parnell and collapse of the Home Rule movement were so confidant and cocksure, that even the Liberals felt uneasy. Mr Buckle from the outset discountenanced his chief’s policy, especially with regard to what turned out to be the Pigott forgeries. Indeed, the first spasm of doubt in Conservative circles anent the “Times’ ” revelations was caused by the editor’s too significant silence at a dinner-party, at which the proprietor was holding forth on the subject in his usual reckless fashion. Mr Buckle has taken a strong line with regard to the “Times” articles on the Irish question since the Pigott fiasco. He insists on moderation, and has a strong backer in the new manager young Walter who privately professes himself horrified at the havoc his relative has wrought in the “Times” property during the past few years. It has somehow leaked out that after the settlement of the Parnell action last week, Mr Buckle and Mr Arthur Walter were in favour of publishing a handsome apology for the paper’s blunder with regard to the forgeries. Mr Walter, senr., was, they fondly believed, down at Bearwood and would not see the article till it was irrevocable. Alas! that evening the autocrat of Printing House Square appeared in person anxious to know what Mr Buckle meant to say. When he read the apology, Mr Smith’s “old friend” was furious, and neither editor nor manager could do anything with him. On the following Tuesday night, however, as the old man listened to Mr Gladstone’s cutting comments on the mock apology offered by the “Times” before the Commission, and expressed euiprise that any gentleman (much less the Attorney-General) should have allowed himself to be made the vehicle of such a communication, Mr Walter must have wished he had listened to reason and done the gentlemanly thing. Earl Russell’s Marriage. On the morning of her marriage to Earl Russell, Miss Scott was so ill that it was feared the wedding would have to be put off. The mere thought of the contretemps had, however, such a bracing effect on the young lady that she proved able to dress, and powdering her nose and laying in an unromantic stock of handkerchiefs, in due course reached St. Peter’s, Eaton Square. During the ceremony, however, the bride became speechlessly ill, and on her return to her mother’s had to retire, “ Leaves From a Life.” Montagus Williams’ excellent “Leave 8 From a Life ” is fully dealt with in a separate article. I cannot, however, forbear relating from memory an amusing story he tells of Sir James Ingham, the well-known magistrate at Bow-street, which tickled me vastly. An elderly gentleman, coming up to town by rail from Brighton, dozed off to sleep. When he awoke his gold watch and chain were gone. There was only one other man in the carriage with him, and nobody had entered or left it during the journey. The victim consequently reasoned this person must be the thief, and at Victoria with much presence of mind gave him into custody. The prosecutor and accused then drove to Bow - street Police Court, where the suspect was examined, but nothing found on him. “ Did he speak to or brush against anyone en route ?” asked the magistrate. “Why, yes, now I think of it, a rough fellow tried to get in at Croydon, and was pushed back by the defendant, who said it was a first-class carriage.” “ Ah !” said His Worship, sagely, “ a very old dodge for getting rid of stolen property. An accomplice, of course. Remanded for a week.” Next morning, however, the prosecutor appeared looking the picture of misery and sheepishness. His watch had not been stolen at all. He had left it at home. Here was a pretty state of things ; an innocent man grossly insulted, arrested, disbelieved and locked up like a common pickpocket. The ill-used man was naturally furious, and talked angrily of a civil action and exemplary damages. Sir James Ingham (kindest of men and magistrates) tried to throw oil on the troubled waters. “To show,” he said, “how liable even the most careful of us are to make these mistake?, I may mention that I myself have fallen into the same blunder this morning and left my watch (a very valuable one) at home.”

Well, Sir James ultimately succeeded in making peace between the parties, and prosecutor and accused parted amicably. Later in the day Sir James went home

“Well, papa,” said his daughter, “I suppose you’ve got your watch all right ?'* “No, love, I left it at home,” said Sir James. “Oh ! yes I know, but we gave it to the messenger you sent from Bow-street!” exclaimed Miss Ingham. An old thief at the back of Police Court had heard the magistrate’s speech in the morning, slipped off, and affecting to be a detective sent by Sir James, obtained possession of the watch, which, needless to say, the old gentleman never saw again. “Flash Fred.” Mr Williams detended scores of thieves at the Old Bailey. One of the most remarkable was “ Flash Fred,” a racecourse “ sharp ” and pickpocket, whose faultless dress and manners deceived thousands. It was this worthy who, when the Marquiß of Hastings had a large winning account on the Derby, hit upon the expedient of “ nicking ” his lordship’s betting book. Of course there could be no settlement without it and ultimately the Marquis was glad to pay £SOO and “no questions asked,” to get the little volume back. On another occasion when Mr Geo. Payne was jammed in the centre of a queue at Victoria station looking for Chichester (the nearest station for Goodwood), “ Flash Fred,” leaning languidly over said, “ Terrible crowd, George, get me a ticket, will you ?” Mr Payne, thinking the speaker must be some friend did so, and being unable to turn round (as Fred very well knew) held it over his Bhoulder. In an instant the ticket was gone, and a vanishing voice cried : “ Thanks. Ta-ta, George, see you at Goodwood.” The Crewe Murder. It would not be right to take away a dead man’s character on the word of two such unspeakable young ruffians as the Crewe parricides, bub the testimony of the neighbours seems to bear out the statement that the murdered man was cruel and vindictive. Some reason for the murder there must have been. If, as a thoughtful commentator on the tragedy points out, these lads had homicidal propensities, whence did they derive them ? Their mother’s good fame lies untouched and an innate instinct must have an origin. If this be indeed an example of hereditary transmission, a proof that cruelty begets cruelty, then surely the conclusions of science are as impressive as the decrees of fate. The destiny of the Greek dramatists, the awful necessity which pursued (Edipus and Orestes is not more humbling to mortality, or more provocative of dread, than the tyrant who creates his own avenger —the father who propagates the passions by which he falls. The parricide in Crabbe pours out his agony in the tremendous couplet—- “ He called for mercy, which I kindly gave; But he has no compassion in his grave.” The second line expresses with concentrated intensity the relentless, irresistible power of remorse, which the same poet has elsewhere depicted, where he asks : “ For what hath death in any form to give. Compared with that man’s terrors if he live ?’

The whole of this piteous and moving story will remind all Crabbe’s admirers of the way in which his great and gloomy genius seized upon the tragic side of rural life, and made its darkness visible. The members of the Davies family are involuntarily ranged against each other. Two are in the dock, most of the remainderbrothers, sister and mother—have saccessively occupied the witness box. The secret history which resulted in so ghastly a catastrophe will perhaps never be fully known. Nothing but insanity can be any legal defence for the two culprits, and the worse their father treated them, the less incredible is the offence. “ May the Lord forgive us,” Richard wrote in his cell ; “ we never thought what a crime we were committing, nor the consequences of it, and I hope the law will deal mercifully with me and George. Wo don’t deserve it, I know, but let it be for the sake of mother and my little brothers. Spare one of us to them.” There is an artless and unstudied pathos in these words, which Crabbe himself could hardly surpass. Atrocious as are the cruelty and wickedness which they acknowledge, it is difficult nob to feel some sympathy with these young prisoners and their blighted lives. The Late Lord Lamington. Considering the number of good stories there are about concerning the late Lord Lamington and poor Joey Biggar, very few seem to have got into print. I heard one of the first-named yesterday. It seems when Mr Cochrane-Baillie (as people then knew him) was about to be elevated to the Lords, some one asked Dizzy if he knew what title the new peer meant to assume. “Well,” said Lord Beaeonsfield, slowly, “ Lord Newgate would be appropriate.” “ Good Heavens ! why ?” exclaimed his astonished querist. “Because he’s Old Baillie,” was the neat reply. Benzon’s Eccentricities. The witnesses for the defence at the Benzon trial were bent at all hazards on proving him to be half-silly in money matters, and to this end some novel incidents of his career, which are not men tioned in “ How I Lost £250,000,” transpired. Captain Day, forexample, mentioned that during the summer of 1887 Benzon purchased the well-known portrait picture of “ A Coaching Meet in Hyde Park ” for eight thousand pounds one afternoon and sold it for £25 (otherwise “ a pony ”) the next. One would much like to know who was the lucky buyer, and how the transaction came about. Mr Luscombe Searelle. Mr Luscombe Searelle (you remember the little man of course) has perpetrated a new volume of “ ponies." His last great work does not appear to have been received by the reviewers with the enthusiastic appreciation the author considered it deserved. He therefore heartily contemns the praise of mere ordinary folk, and rudely styles the goddess popularity “a squinting knockkneed harlot” (see page 96). Everything considered, I fancy little Luscombe will find no difficulty in avoiding the wretch. Erotic hysterics like his are the stiffesb reading I know. Mrs Langtry. Mrs Langtry having recovered from her recent illness, the belated revival of “As You Like It” was produced at the St. James’s Theatre on Monday evening, with moderate success. The critics are unanimously of opinion that the Jersey Lily (now slim almost to scragginess) has gained in her art what she has lost in looks. This, to speak the truth, is a good deal. Mrs Langtry is now a clever and experienced actress, but her matchless complexion and beautiful figure have disappeared. The sweet smile, however, re mains, and she makes a ravishing Rosa* lind.