_Another Poacher in the Chelsea Preserves_

[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 26, 1888.]

Atlas--Nothing matters but the unimportant; so, at the risk of advertising an Australian immigrant of Fulham--who, like the Kangaroo of his country, is born with a pocket and puts everything into it--and, in spite of much wise advice, we ought not to resist the joy of noticing how readily a hurried contemporary has fallen a prey to its superficial knowledge of its various departments, and, culminating in a "Special Edition" last week to embody a lengthy interview headed "The Home of Taste," has discovered again the nest of the mare that was foaled years ago!

How, by the way, so smart a paper should have printed its _naf_ emotions of ecstasy before the false colours which the "Kangaroo" has hoisted over his bush, defies all usual explanation, but clearly the jaunty reporter whose impudent familiarity, on a former memorable occasion, achieved my wondering admiration, must have been, in stress of business, replaced by a novice who had never breakfasted with you and me, Atlas, and the rest of the world, in the "lemon-yellow,"

of whose beautiful tone he now, for the first time, is so completely convinced.

The "hue" on the "face" of the Fulham "Palazzo" he moreover calls "Venetian," and is pleased with it--and so was I, Atlas--_for I mixed it myself_!

And yet, O Atlas, they say that I cannot keep a friend--my dear, I cannot afford it--and _you_ only keep for me their scalps!

"Many, when a thing was lent them, reckoned it to be found, and put them to trouble that helped them."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_A Suggestion_

[Sidenote: _Truth_, March 28, 1889.]

A certain painter has given himself away to an American journalist, unless that gentleman has romanced, in the _Philadelphia Daily News_.

According to him this person explained how he managed the press, and how he claimed to be the inventor of the system a.s.sociated with the name of Mr. Whistler. The Art clubs and the studios have been flooded with the _Philadelphia Daily News_. Mr. Whistler sent on his own copy to the pretender, with the following note:--

"You will blow your brains out, of course. Pigott has shown you what to do under the circ.u.mstances, and you know your way to Spain. Good-bye!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_The Habit of Second Natures_

[Sidenote: _Truth_, Jan. 2, 1890.]

Most Valiant _Truth_--Among your ruthless exposures of the shams of to-day, nothing, I confess, have I enjoyed with keener relish than your late tilt at that arch-impostor and pest of the period--the all-pervading plagiarist!

I learn, by the way, that in America he may, under the "Law of '84,"

as it is called, be criminally prosecuted, incarcerated, and made to pick oak.u.m, as he has. .h.i.therto picked brains--and pockets!

How was it that, in your list of culprits, you omitted that fattest of offenders--our own Oscar?

His methods are brought again freshly to my mind, by the indefatigable and tardy Romeike, who sends me newspaper cuttings of "Mr. Herbert Vivian's Reminiscences," in which, among other entertaining anecdotes, is told at length, the story of Oscar simulating the becoming pride of author, upon a certain evening, in the club of the Academy students, and arrogating to himself the responsibility of the lecture, with which, at his earnest prayer, I had, in good fellowship, crammed him, that he might not add deplorable failure to foolish appearance, in his anomalous position, as art expounder, before his clear-headed audience.

He went forth, on that occasion, as my St. John--but, forgetting that humility should be his chief characteristic, and unable to withstand the unaccustomed respect with which his utterances were received, he not only trifled with my shoe, but bolted with the latchet!

Mr. Vivian, in his book, tells us, further on, that lately, in an article in the _Nineteenth Century_ on the "Decay of Lying," Mr. Wilde has deliberately and incautiously incorporated, "without a word of comment," a portion of the well-remembered letter in which, after admitting his rare appreciation and amazing memory, I acknowledge that "Oscar has the courage of the opinions ... of others!"

My recognition of this, his latest proof of open admiration, I send him in the following little note, which I fancy you may think _a propos_ to publish, as an example to your readers, in similar circ.u.mstances, of n.o.ble generosity in sweet reproof, tempered, as it should be, to the lamb in his condition:--

"Oscar, you have been down the area again, I see!

"I had forgotten you, and so allowed your hair to grow over the sore place. And now, while I looked the other way, you have stolen _your own scalp_! and potted it in more of your pudding.

"Labby has pointed out that, for the detected plagiarist, there is still one way to self-respect (besides hanging himself, of course), and that is for him boldly to declare, 'Je prends mon bien la ou je le trouve.'

"You, Oscar, can go further, and with fresh effrontery, that will bring you the envy of all criminal _confreres_, unblushingly boast, 'Moi, je prends _son_ bien la ou je le trouve!'"

Chelsea.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_In the Market Place_

[Sidenote: _Truth_, Jan. 9, 1890.]

Sir--I can hardly imagine that the public are in the very smallest degree interested in the shrill shrieks of "Plagiarism" that proceed from time to time out of the lips of silly vanity or incompetent mediocrity.

However, as Mr. James Whistler has had the impertinence to attack me with both venom and vulgarity in your columns, I hope you will allow me to state that the a.s.sertions contained in his letters are as deliberately untrue as they are deliberately offensive.

The definition of a disciple as one who has the courage of the opinions of his master is really too old even for Mr. Whistler to be allowed to claim it, and as for borrowing Mr. Whistler's ideas about art, the only thoroughly original ideas I have ever heard him express have had reference to his own superiority as a painter over painters greater than himself.

It is a trouble for any gentleman to have to notice the lucubrations of so ill-bred and ignorant a person as Mr. Whistler, but your publication of his insolent letter left me no option in the matter.--I remain, Sir, faithfully yours,

OSCAR WILDE.

_Panic_

[Sidenote: _Truth_, Jan. 16, 1890.]

O truth!--Cowed and humiliated, I acknowledge that our Oscar is at last original. At bay, and sublime in his agony, he certainly has, for once, borrowed from no living author, and comes out in his own true colours--as his own "gentleman."

How shall I stand against his just anger, and his d.a.m.ning allegations!