The Daily Times.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1860-08-04 00:00:00

LONDON GOSSIP.

London is getting thin : the season just over: the
operas closing. My only theatrical amusement was a
French play at St. James's. Charles Mathews excepted,
neither man nor woman on our stage can come near the
French in drawing-room comedy. Mademoiselle Del-
phine Fix played in " Les Demoiselles de St. Cyr ;"
she is pretty, for a Frenchwoman—and is the most
brilliant sparkling vivacious lady-like of actresses. The
other piece given was " Chez tine Petite Dame." Of
course the theatre was not crowded.

The yellow covers of the Cornhill are seen everywhere
—yet whether it will last seems doubtful, the expenses
are so large. Some despicable personal gossip, given
the other day in a New York paper, was recently com-
mented on by the Saturday Review. Thackeray has an
article this month, blaming both the snob who wrote
and the critic who called attention to it. The former
is said to be Yates, of the Post-office, who has an old
quarrel with Thackeray. Surely Thackeray ought
scarcely to complain : I will defy you to find in the
writings of any one man so much absolute snobbism as
in his.

Literary gossip is plentiful. Peter Cunningham
writes no more table talk for the Illustrated News ; he
is succeeded by the übiquitous George Sala. Either
Peter has joined the London Review—or the editor of
the I.N. has at last grown weary of his frivolous egoism.
James Hannay goes to Edinburgh, to edit a Tory
paper : likes Antieus, he will gain new vigour from his
native Scottish earth. A dozen years of London wear a
man out : it is like drinking eternal champagne. It
woald be well if London had not so magnetic an
influence on literary men : wherever a good number of
such are found, society is elevated and refined; and the
large provincial towns suffer great loss by being unable
or unwilling to induce first class cultivators of literature
to reside in them.
Two of the newest books deserve notice.. One
is ilfiriam hfay, a one volume novel, only just
published—yet in its fourth edition. The earnestness
of the writer—his energetic style often rising to elo-
quence—his cordial sympathies and equally cordial
antipathies--render the book, which was evidently
written in haste, a most absorbing one. The Hon. and
Rev. Calvin Slie, who is made a bishop when Lord
Fripon is Premier, is a capital satirical sketch. The
other work is the first volume of Dr. Wolff's autobio-
graphy. Wolff of Bokhara will be remembered for
ever. This account of his adventures is admiiably
done : the style is quaint and characteristic—the events
are marvellous. Wolff is a standing proof of Disraeli's
adage that "adventures are to the adventurous." Who
but Wolff has been to Orpha, Abraham's town ?
and has found that Abraham was Orpheus, which,
when Hookham Frere told to Coleridge, S. T. C.
replied, "Wolff is perfectly right ! " Who but Wolff.
qasasplcions as is generous, woqld have given ten
pounds for a lot of castor-oil to a rascal Wll4 declared
that it was the best thing wherewith to conciliate the
Bedouins ? Imagine a Bedouin chief drinking castor-
oil. Who but Wolff knows all about the apostate angel
Ashmedsv, who kicked King Solomon many thou-
sand miles away from his own country ? There is
in Wolff's narrative an Homeric simplicity--such as
nobody of these days possesses save the author of
Lavengro," also a traveller after the fashion of Plyssel.
lr saw Holman If unt's great pictnre—:a wonderful
triumph of genius and labour. Khe scene is perfect, the
4abbis are perfect, the beggar oqtside is perfect but
Mr, Hunt his to my mind utterly failed in painting both
Christ and the Virgin Mary. But the marvellous colour
and detail of the Preraffaelite master makes the picture
most interesting.

Mauve is quite out of fashion in London : green has
dethroned it. For this piece of early information the
ladies should subscribe to present me with a peen felt
hat, or something similarly verdnrou.i. O,f imelties
such as ladies like the only mentionable one which I
noticed was some scented shells from the Maldive Ifilnilds
at Piesse and Lubin's. They are delightful things to
strew in dressing boxes and workbaskets. Mr. Piesse
could not tell me whether the shellfish they contained
were scented.

Coming home late one evening along Piccadilly, I
saw two little girls fast asleep on the stone curb of the
park railings. They were about twelve and ten years
old, *eking the eider with some difficulty, I asked
her why she did not go home : she told me that they
had no parents—that they got their living by begging
—and that they did not go back to their lodgings
because they had not got the threepence each necessary
to pay for them. Their lodgings were in Drury-lane.
T gave them all the silver I had—it was unfortunately
only tenpence--,:anct the poor little s.reatures walked
sleepily away towards their sordid abode. Well, this is
a commonplace story; children alseep on the cold stones
are plentiful enough in pitiless London ; but as they
went away I could not help thinking of the countless
children of the rich, sleeping only a few yards away in
the noble houses of Park-lane and Piccadilly, resting on
fragrant linen in chambers " deaf to noise and blind to
light." Why this terrible contrast ? Who shall ques-
tion the Inscrntable ? And then the appalling ftiture
of those poor girls to whom I could only do one night's
charity.

The Aspasias of the day ape becoming more refined
and attractive, and marriage is looked upon by most
young Londoners of good position as a folly which they
could net stoop to commit, The lamentable results of
this cannot well be indicated here. lam glad to see,
however, that a reaction is commencing. Early mar-
riages are the only cure for the evil ; and early marriages
are impossible while the requirements of society are
extravagant : but fashion may at least do something.
" Fast girls"—or as Londoners say, " loud girls "—are
becoming unfashionable. A public writer has recently
degcribed a fast girl as " 4 worq4n who has lost her
respect for men, and for whom men have lost their
respect. There may be nothing bad in her—it is not a
question of virtue and vice—but the edge of her modesty
is off, and men approach her with a certain feeling of
easy insolence." Every one must know a good many
young ladies to whom this description applies ;—in
whom there is no positive harm, but a certain looseness
and facility of manner which approximates them to the
lady who charmed Pericles.
I had the opportunity of seeing a Grand Duchess,
sister of the Emperor Alexander. She was travelling
by the same train as myself, and stood for some time on
the platform in conversation with Baron - Brunnow, a
stout solid-looking old gentleman, who is much astuter
than he seems. The imperial ladies of Russia are noted
for their beauty—the grand Duchess 01ga being consi-
dered the handsomest woman in Europe—and her sister
Marie de Lenchtenberg, whom I saw, the next in order
of comeliness. She has a delicious complexion, a finely-
moulded hgure, brilliant eyes, and a sparkling good-
humoured french manner. f sheuld have gnessed her
twenty-five, but the 41llaanach de Gotha, inexorable as
to the age of princesses, declares her to have been born
in 1819. Surely old Time has become a courtier, and
spares imperial beauty,

PUBLIC ALLOWANCES FOR HOSPITALITIES.—IR con-
trast with the shabby treatment of the captains of our
men-of-war, of which Sir John Pakington revealed to
the House such disgraceful instances on Tuesday, it is
curious to observe how the public deals with the. great
guns of the Church. The scandalous augmentation, by
the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, of the income of the
Dean of York to £l,OOO a year was expressly justified
by Mr. Westhead on the ground of the hospitalities
incumbent on that dignitary. Indeed, Mr. Westhead
contended that the income of the deanery ought to be
doubled to enable its .convivialities to expand in the
same proportion ; but, the present dean " having a private
fortune," the member for York refrains from urging
this second and handsomer augmentation until the
next avoidance of the office The " good private for-
tune," however, did not prevent the commissioners from
adding £2OO a-year to the Hon. and Very Rev. Augus-
tus Duncombe's salary, which was overpaid with the
£BOO at which he accepted it. See how much better it
is to be a dean than a captain in the navy, where the
disbursements for hospitalities must come out of the
captain's private pocket as long as there is a guinea in
it to sustain the credit of the service and the honour of
the nation. If there is one public officer entitled more
than another to the most liberal treatment by a coun-
try like ours, it is surely the man to whose skill and
valour we intrust the glory of our flag, and with it the
safety of our commerce i butt ort the contrary, it is pre-
-cisely to this very office that the public behaves with the
meanest parsimony ; while, to a functionary like a dean,
whose very use is a question which we defy the
whole Social Science Association to explain, there is
no limit to the public munificence. The dean or the
bishop has only to ask and he receives. There exists
a commission specially charged with supplying all
their wants, nay, often anticipating them; if the prelate
desires a statelier palace, it is built for him; if the dean
would like a few additional hundreds a-year for his table,
there is not a moment's hesitation about granting it.
No doubt the deanery of York job was done in a corner,
but we keep corners for clerical jobs, while there is no
corner, not even at the Admiralty, where even common
justice is done to the officers of our fleet, the services of
any one of whom would far outweigh those of all the
deaneries in the country. In the House of Commons,
we are glad to observe, that the York job has had few
advocates. Mr. Deedes said it ought never to have been
done without application to Parliament. Mr. Spooner
thought it, as all good men do, a most unjustifiable
proceeding, while there are incnmbents of parishes
starving on £BO a-year. Sir James Graham disapproved
of the augmentation strongly ; and Mr. Henley declared
" it had done more to shake the confidence of the public
in the Ecclesiastical Commission, than anything which
had occurred for years.'
Our readers have only to send their address to D. T. Barry,
perfect
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HORRIBLE AND DISGUSTING CRUELTY
TO A CHILD BY A SCHOOLMISTRESS.

At Southwark.Police-court on Thursday, Mary Allen,
a schoolmistress, residing at No. 8, Parvey's-place, Red-
cross-street, St. Saviour's, Southwark, was brought up
for final examination, charged with cruelly assaulting
and disgustingly ill-treating Caroline Lefevre, aged 8
years, who was intrusted to her care and protection.
The court, and every entrance leading thereto, was
densely crowded, chiefly by women, and it was with
some difficulty that the officers could *prevent their
taking summary vengeance on the accused. A sub-
scription was got up among the neighbours to prosecute
her, owing to the unwillingness of the child's father,
who is married to a second wife. Mr. William Edwin,
of Newington-causeway, however, undertook the prose-
cution gratuitously. As soon as the prisoner was placed
in the dock she was saluted with groans and yells,
which were immediately suppressed.
The evidence given on Monday before Mr. Maude,
who sat for Mr. Combe, proved that the prisoner had
for some years kept a children's school at No. 8, Parvey's-
place, Redcross-street, Borough, and that the father of
the child, who is a porter in the employ of Messrs.
Barclay and Co., sent her to the school about two years
ago. The child was merely a day scholar for twelve
months, but at the end of that time her father married
a second wife, and then arrangements were made for
the prisoner to keep her altogether, and almost imme-
diately afterwards the alleged cruelty commenced,
Mr. Edwin said he should be able to show that the
prisoner was not content with cutting the poor child
about with a stick and a cane, and with a poker and
shovel, but she actually made her eat human excrement.
On the last examination evidence of that was not forth-
coming, but now he should establish that fact, as well
the horrible cruelty which the poor child had suttered
from her. He called the father—,

gdward Lefevre, who said,—l am' a porter in the
employ of Messrs. Barclay and Perkins, the brewers.
Two years ago my child first went to the prisoner's
school, and at the end of twelve months the prisoner
said to me, " I am so fond of your little girl ; let me
keep her altogether. I'll clothe her and educate her."
I accordingly let her live with the prisoner ; and since
then the child has never complained to nr, and never
knew she had been crnelly used until Monday last,
when I took her away from the school, and saw the
bruises on her person. When she went to live with the
prisoner she was well, stout, and hearty ; now she is
emaciated and sickly.
Elizabeth Mole—l live at No. 9, next door to the
prisoner. I have known the child about thirteen weeks,
and latterly I have frequently seen the child bleeding
from the head and arms.

Mr. Burcham.—Did yon eyer see the prisoner strike
her

Witness.--Yes, Sir; once, and that was with a stick.
She knocked her like a bullock, and when the blood
flowed she took her to the sink in the court and washed
the blood off.

Mr. Bureham.—Did you not interfere then ?

Witness.—No, Sir.

Mr. Burcham.—lt is most extraordinarx that a per-
son should • witness a OM so, er4e,liy ill :treated and not
interfere f 9,1. its Protection;
Witness.—l did int Were once, and a neighbour told
me it was a wicked child,

Mr. liuroliam.—Did the child cry out when beaten ?
Witness.—Yes, Sir. I called out, " Oh, pray don't ;
pray don't."
Harriet Hill—l live at 23, Redcross-street. The
back part of my house looks into the prisoner's, I have
seen her beat the child several tiniea Tfith a stick Rn,cl a
cane,

Mr. Bnrcham-7ln what manner did she beat her?
ituess=jn a horrible manner, until the Wood enure.
George 3ames Ifillmore, a 114 Raid--,--Gu Sunday
morning last I saw the prisoner beat the child with the
book part of a cane on the head and arms until blood
came, when the prisoner took her to the sink and washed
it off. The blood came from the stripes as fast as she
struck the poor child. (Sensation.)

Mr. Burcham—Did you not say anything to the pri-
soner when you saw the child so cruelly I?eAten
Witness—No, sir ; I v r s afraid,

*ay Ann ctochraue—..l live with my husband at No.
3, Union-court, and I have seen the child bleeding and
covered with bruises, but I never saw the prisoner beat
her.

Ann Rose—l live at No. 3, Worcester-street, and two
of my children used to go to her school. Last Monday
three weeks I took my little boys to school, and saw
the prisoner beat the girl on the head violently until
the blood came.

Mr. Buroham—Did you say anything to her then ?
Witness—Yes, sir. I expressed my horror at her con-
duct, and went home sick. My husband then made me
fetch my boys away.
Mr. Edwin—How many times have you seen her beat
the child ?

Witness-4i; or seven dies AO always its the
schoolroom. Some of the wolmas were as large as a

PriSOner—You never saw me ill-use the child,
Witness—l did. I flaw you knock her down, and
give 4e4' 4 1444 eye,
The injured child was then brought into court. She
appeared to have been much improved since last Mon-
day. On that occasion her eyes were so inflamed and
swollen that she could not distinguish anything. The
flesh, however, was still much discoloured, and the
marks and bruises were very prominent.
Mr. Burcham having eiargivd her as to the nature
of an oath, anid her. answers being satisfactory, she was
syforA.

She said—My name is Caroline Lefevre, and I am
eight years of age. I know the prisoner, and have
lived with her twelve months. She keeps a school for
little girls and boys, but she never taught me to read.
Mr. Burcham—What did you do, then ?
Child—l used to mind the other children.
Mr. Burcham—How has she treated ICA a Don't be
afraid of the prisoner, but *peak the truth.
Child—She has beaten me most unmercifully at times,
sir,
Mr. Burcham—What with ?

Child—A large stick. (Three pieces of stick, about
an inch in circumference, smeared with blood, were here
produced. They were found hid away ih the prisoner's
house by one of the oonsthbles.) That was what she
struclr rye wi%h. She broke it over my arms and back.
(Sensation.)
Mr. Burcham—When did she beat you last with this
stick ?

Child—Last Sunday morning, air.
Mr. litirchem—ltow many times do you suppose she
has beaten you with the stick ?
Child (tremulously)7A good many times, sir. Some-

times on the body and neck, but more particularly on
my arms and back of my head. I have sometimes hurt
myself in getting out of her way.
Mr. Burcham—Where did she beat you
Child—ln the, schoolroom sometimes when the
children were there.

Mr. Burcham—Did she ever beat you with anything
besides this stick ?
Child—Yes, sir, with a poker and shovel. The
childreo Wei* not io the schoolroom then,

Mr. Burcham—Where did she beat you then ?
Child—On the top of the head. She only-struck
me twice with the poker and shovel.
Mr. Buroham—What is the matter with your hand ?
Child—The prisoner burnt me with a red hot iron.
On Friday morning I was playing with the door mat,
and because I did not leave it go quick enough for her,
she took a hot iron from the fire and put it on my hand.
(Sensation.)
Mr. Burcham—Does she give you plenty to eat ?
Child—Oh, yes, sir ; but I don't have my meals with
her. I always h 4 a gaud supper.
Mr. Burcham—Now, child, answer me truly. Don't
fear the prisoner. Did she ever give you dirty things
to eat ?

Child—Yes, sir, she did. She made me eat some filth
—human dirt. (Groans- and sensation.)
Mr. Burcham—When was that ?
Child—Three weeks ago, sir.
Mr. Burcham—Was any one present then ?
Child—Yes, sir, one of the little girls who came to
the school.
Mr. Burcham—.What did she do to you before she
made you eat the filth ?
Child—She beat me, sir, and she made the other
little girl hold my hands behind me while she forced me
to swallow the filth. (Groans and sensation.)
Mr, Burcham—Was
. it your own dirt?
Child—No, sir ; she took it from a pan at the corner
of the room, and said if I did not eat it, she Would force
it down my throat with the end of the stick. I was
compelled to swallow it, but I was sick.
Mr. Burcham (to the prisoner)—Have you any ques-
tions to ask this child ? You have just heard what she
has said.

Prisoner—lt is not true. The child picked it up and

put it on the edge of my plate ; and when I told her of
it, she said it was only bread, and put it in her mouth.
Child—l did not. You forced me to eat it.
Mr. Burcham—Where's the child who was present
on that occasion ?

--..............._ ..
Marian Maria Wilson, a very intelligent child, about
nine years old, stepped forward, and, in answer to AIL
Burcham, said—l went to school at Mrs. Avows. I
have frequently seen her beat Caroline Lefevre. On
Tuesday fortnight I was in the schoolroom with her
and the prisoner. The latter beat Caroline and made
me hold her hands behind her while she forced in her
her, " If you don't
you see whence swallowmseonusat(Renewed
ence she tO4 this
filth ? _ _
iltiosnoinatanledhlmuPmfrme uiditrsdr.ot;w7w'initghththe stick'"
Mr. Burcham—Did

.Vt sir ;
--01;11 a, pan Lksed by the children
Mr. 13urcha4m--,Did you tell your mother of all this'? .
Witness-I', sir ; told her of some of it the same
day, but I was afraid to tell all.
MtQr hiel:oessoin— ~.Ye
Mr. Bureham—lias she ill-treated you, Om ?

Witness—Oh no, sir; but I was afraid she would
punish Caroline more.
Prisoner—You did not hold Caroline's hands behind
her, neither did you see me put any filth in her mouth.
Witness—l did.
Mr. Burcham—Did the child's father know of this
brutal treatment-to the poor thing ?
Lefevre—No, I did not, sir. I bad heard of her
being a naughty girl, and that she had been corrected ; _
but I never knew that she had been so grossly ill-used
until Monday last.
Mr. Burcham—Don't you go and look after her ?
She's your child, you know.
Father—l see her sometimes, but I never saw any of
those bruises, and she never complained to me.

Dr. Thomas Evans was sworn, and said—l am a sur-
geon, carrying On business at 159, High-street, South-
wark. On Sunday evening I was called to the Stones-
end police-station to look at the child Caroline Lefevre.
Her head was bandaged up, and she could hardly stand.
I examined her, and found her face one mass of bruises,
so that I could hardly distinguish her features. Her
eyes were both black and greatly swollen, and closed so that
she could not see: The left side of her face was livid
with bruises. There were three scalp wounds. The
shoulders and upper part of her back were very much
braised, as also were the arms and legs.
➢lr. Burcham—You say there were scalp wounds ;
what sort were they ?

Dr. Emus—The skin was much abraded.
Mr. Burchain.—l understand that the child's hands
were burnt ; is that so ?

Dr. Evans.—Yes, sir ; I saw wounds on the bands
occasioned by burns.

Mr. Burcham.—Do you think that the bruises anei
:he cuts might have been caused by the prisoner using
:his stick ?

Dr. Evans.--4 have no doubt of it. I have carefully
examined the stick, and I find marks of blood on it, and
it has been washed, with the endeavour to cleanse it of
blood.

Mr. I3urcham.--Did the scalp wounds appear to be
recent?

Dr. Evans.—l should think they were caused 12 or
4 days ago.

The child's head and upper part of her person were
here uncovered for his Worship's inspection, when
every person in court, except the prisoner, expressed
horror at the sight. The poor child is a very intelligent
girl, and gave her evidence with such clearness that it
excited the compassion of every one. When asked
whether the prisoner ever acted kindly towards her she
answered, "Oh, yes, sir ; sou etimea she was very kind."
Mr. Edwin (to Dr. Evens)—Might not those wounds
on the head }save been inflicted with a poker or shovel ?
Dr. Evans—l think not. No doubt they were caused
with the stick now produced. Had they been done with
such heavy instruments as the poker or shovel the
wounds would have been deep.
Mr. Burcham—What was the state at the child's
health when you examined her ?
Dr. Evans—She "%78,5 dreadfully emaciated, and I
think she had, bc,e4 for a long time deprived of nutritious
food. She was extremely dirty and had been very
much neglected.

Mr. Burnham—You could not say whether she was a
healthy child ?

Dr. Evans—No, sir. I never saw her before I was
called to the station house. The child now is evidently
suffering from injuries and neglect, b,kt with care she
may recover her usual health.
William Pinder, policerccnstable M, said,-1 was
at the police station when the child was brought in by
one of the witnesses. I afterwards went and appre-
hended the prisoner. When told of the charge she
denied- illusing the child, and said the bruises were
caused by its falling from a chair. The child said the
same at first because she was terrified at the prisoner.
Hinohcliffe, 8.5 M, said,—l found the pieces of stick
produced hid away,—one piece under the fireplace, and
the other two pieces in a cupboard.

Mr. Burcham—This is [all the evidence, prisoner.
Have you anything to say in answer to the charge ? If
you have, it will. to taken down, and may be used in
evidence against you at your trial.

Prisoner (calmly)—l have nothing to say now.
Mr. Burcham—Then you are committed for trial at
the Central Criminal Court sessions.

On being removed from the dock by Downe the
gaoler, she was greeted with yells and groans, and a
crowd of women foxcel their way towards her, and had
not the precaution been taken to have several constables
in the passage she would have been roughly handled by
the mothers of the children whom she had had charge
of. She trembled violently, but was soon placed in one
of the cells.