Supplemental Notes.

THE CASE OF LADY BULWER LYTTON.

From the Somerset County Gazette and West of England Advertiser, July 13th, 1858.

For some three years past a lady, rather above middle age, of somewhat portly figure and handsome countenance, has occupied apartments in the quiet, comfortable, and pleasant establishment at Taunton, known as Clarke’s Hotel. Her appearance, manners, and habits, so far as the latter were known, did not cause her to be particularly noticed as she walked in public; for she was much like ordinary ladies—plainly and becomingly dressed—conducted herself with propriety, remarked objects that were likely to attract attention, and passed without notice those that were not so. She sometimes did a little “shopping,” as ladies generally are fond of doing, and when she asked for any particular article, she did so in ordinary terms, and answered questions in a rational manner, though at times with haughtiness. In her country walks she was occasionally accompanied by a female friend, though generally in these her only companion was a little dog, for which she always showed great fondness. Sometimes also she has been seen at public entertainments, though but seldom, and there her attire has been similarly becoming to that in her walks in town or country. In a place like Taunton, a person of any note does not long reside before he or she becomes known to many of the inhabitants; and soon after the arrival of the lady we have been describing she was generally known to be Lady Bulwer Lytton, wife of the eminent novelist, who now holds the distinguished position of Colonial Secretary in her Majesty’s Government.

Persons who are in a state of madness give indications of their misfortunes at home and abroad. They

But Lady Lytton during the three years she was at Taunton never did aught that we are aware of (and we have taken pains to ascertain the truth) to cause in any one with whom she had communication the slightest suspicion that in her case reason had been dethroned, or that her brain was in any degree affected with lunacy. Yet this lady has been taken from the quiet retreat she had chosen in this fair town of Somerset—perhaps we might say to which she was driven—and carried to one of those miserable abodes of the most hapless of human beings—a “Madhouse.”

The circumstances under which Taunton has lost one of its inhabitants, are so extraordinary and so shocking, that, as may be supposed, they have greatly excited the minds of the people generally. Upon those persons who were on terms of intimacy with Lady Lytton (they were only few, for she evinced little inclination to mix in society, and it was pretty well known that her pecuniary means were too limited to allow of her doing so), upon her personal friends the first mention of the fact fell like a clap of thunder, when the skies give no sign of an approaching storm. They could not credit such strange information with truth; but when convinced of its veracity their exclamation has been, “Good Heavens! Lady Lytton in a Madhouse. For what? Who can have sent her there? She is no more mad than I am, or any one else.” And those who have merely seen her as she passed them in the streets or other public highways, have been hardly less startled by the intelligence. There is on all hands a firm belief that this unfortunate lady—we say unfortunate in allusion only to her present lamentable position, and without reference to circumstances which have given both to herself and her husband an unenviable notoriety—there is, we say, a firm belief that Lady Lytton is the subject of a horrible and appalling injustice and wrong; that while perfectly sane she has been shut up in a lunatic asylum, merely in order that a woman who has, no doubt, been a constant source of annoyance to her husband, may be prevented for ever, from again giving him similar trouble, or again molesting him in any way. In ascribing to her the character we have given, we desire to avoid the indication of any opinion as to her conduct towards Sir Edward, or as to his general treatment of her. We only state a fact, that people among whom she has resided during a period of three years—to many of whom she is well and intimately known, and most of whom have had frequent opportunities of seeing her—believe that though sent to an asylum for lunatics, her intellect is perfectly sound, and therefore that she has been made, for some reason or other, the victim of an atrocity which a hundred years ago might have excited no great attention beyond the circle of the doomed one’s own relatives, but which cannot be overlooked in the present age without danger to “that liberty of the subject” which has been since achieved, and which is the highest boast and most glorious privilege of the people of this country.

In giving to Lady Lytton the character we have ascribed, and in stating what is the general opinion of her in this town, we by no means wish to have it supposed that we regard her as one of the most pleasant or amiable of women. Her later literary works (for none of which can be claimed any considerable praise) seem to have been undertaken in a great measure for the purpose of publishing to the world her own sufferings, and of exposing what she conceived to be the foul treatment she received from one who vowed at the altar to “love and cherish her”; and in more than one instance her writings evince unkind and uncharitable feelings towards very estimable and excellent persons. We particularly allude to one of her latest productions, entitled, “Very Successful,” in which a lady of this town, who is only known to be respected and esteemed, is held up to most undeserved ridicule for no other reason than that she did not desire to cultivate her ladyship’s acquaintance, having, probably from the nature of her daily engagements, little time to give to the maintenance of friendships beyond the circle of associates she had already gathered around her. And we happen to know that in several cases her ladyship has manifested much haughtiness to persons who have had occasion to come in contact with her. But such things as these, however much to be deprecated in all persons, certainly cannot be regarded as evidence of a deranged brain, for if unkind and offensive personalities in print were so considered, few writers would be safe from incarceration in a Lunatic Asylum; and if haughtiness were held to be a proof of lunacy, who is there that should give the necessary “certificates,” and who become “warders”? Displays of ill-temper and malignity, of pride and arrogance, are never very reasonable; they are in truth very ridiculous; still there is much yet to be learnt if they are to be held as indications of madness. We make these remarks to show that, while under an impression—we will say a conviction—that in Lady Lytton’s transfer to a Lunatic Asylum she has been made the victim of a shocking outrage and crime, we are not unacquainted with, or insensible to, her weaknesses and defects. And we may here state that our object in alluding to her case at all is to enforce by its publicity that strict investigation into its circumstances to which she is in common justice entitled, and which society demands for its own satisfaction and as its own safeguard.

Lady Lytton when married, in 1827, to Sir Edward, possessed a small property worth about £400 per annum, and it is stated that, her husband being then in far less affluent circumstances than at present, she transferred this to him, in order to give him a qualification for a seat in Parliament. Her experience of the married state was an unhappy one, and in 1838 a separation took place by mutual consent, Sir Edward consenting to pay her £400 a year during his life, which has been her allowance from that to the present time, notwithstanding he is, or is reputed to be, a wealthy man, his annual income being estimated at from £8,000 to £10,000.

Four hundred a-year being unequal to the requirements of a lady who had moved in the higher classes of society—leaving luxuries out of the question—Lady Lytton became involved in debt, which of late has claimed about one half of her income, and of course every year saw her sink deeper and deeper into the mire. One of her chief complaints against her husband was, the smallness of the means he allowed her for her support, and certainly if, as is stated, his own income is £10,000, it is a very reasonable one—for the allowance of £8 a year to his wife by a man whose income is £200 would be just in the same proportion; and there are few who would not decry and condemn the injustice which such a payment by a person having £200 a-year would exhibit. By the deed of separation Lady Lytton was to possess in her own right any property she might acquire thereafter, which has been chiefly from her publications—in some cases remunerative, but in others miserable failures. She has been severely censured for the bitterness displayed in some of her writings, but perhaps not altogether with justice. Let those who would condemn the use of harsh language just learn under what circumstances it has been used; and if they find the author’s life has been one of excessive trial and suffering—that she has either been compelled to quit, or has felt it imperatively necessary to flee from, the house of her husband—that from a position of pecuniary ease she has been cast down to a condition of humiliating poverty—that instead of her society being courted by numerous “friends” whose acts of kindness caused her days to pass lightly and happily, she is shunned by most of them as no longer worthy of their regard—that while her husband still moves among the gayest and noblest of society, she remains the occupant of two small rooms in a country hotel—if they make in her case the allowance which such an accumulation of woes and miseries ought to ensure, they will not fail to be very sparing of censure—they will hardly express surprise, perhaps, at the display of ill-feeling, however bitter or general it may be. When a person is treated as an Ishmael, it is not to be wondered at if he regards himself as such; and the best of tempers will at last be soured and ruined by constant irritation and suffering. A not very high authority has said, “Revenge is sweet, especially to women.” Perhaps he did not flatter the sex when he so wrote; but assuredly if there are ever circumstances in which the worm will turn, and may be pardoned for turning, they are such as are here represented. It is human so to turn, as it is to “err” generally. When persons are under a higher influence than any which belongs to mere humanity, they may adopt a higher line of conduct, and submit patiently to whatever befalls them, under a conviction that it is good for them to suffer; but Lady Lytton has never made any pretensions or professions that would justify the higher standard to her case, and therefore should not be too hardly judged. Divesting one’s thoughts of the unfavourable effect produced by her display of bitter feeling towards others—though they are those to whom she ascribes treatment almost too dreadful for human endurance—her life appears unsullied and blameless. This is a tribute undeniably her due.

Lady Lytton has for some years past endeavoured to obtain an increase to her allowance, which in consequence of the liabilities which she had incurred and was obliged to meet as best she could, had fallen to about £180 per annum; but her appeals, if not wholly disregarded, were quite unsuccessful. Continually smarting under the denial of her claims, and rendered desperate probably by increasing difficulties, she determined to adopt a step which might prove more effective in this behalf than the means she had previously employed. Sir Edward having recently accepted office as a Cabinet Minister, the seat he held in Parliament as one of the members for Hertfordshire became vacant, and according to custom it was necessary for him to meet his constituents in order to his re-election. Lady Lytton resolved to be present upon that occasion, and to take a conspicuous part in the proceedings. Before she left Taunton she caused handbills to be circulated in Hertfordshire in which it was announced that she would address the assembled electors on the day of the nomination; and accompanied by a female friend, she proceeded by railway to Oxford, and thence posted to Hertford. Precaution seems to have been taken to prevent the scandal which had been thus threatened, and on her arriving at the hotel, and asking at what hour the proceedings at the hustings would commence, she was answered that it was twelve o’clock—the fact being that eleven was the time appointed. Shortly before twelve, still in the company of her friend, she drove to the hustings in a hired carriage, and arrived there just in time to hear her husband close his address with an eloquent tribute to the galaxy of beauty by which he was surrounded. The scene that followed is thus graphically described in a London contemporary:—

“Towards the close of the proceedings of the Hertfordshire election, just after Sir Edward had concluded his address with a fervent tribute of admiration to the womanly beauty exhibited in the long line of open carriages, chaises and vans, drawn up in front of the hustings, there was an unwonted stir in the crowd, which parted to admit of the passage of a hired brougham from one of the town inns. Two ladies alighted—one an exceedingly handsome woman of about 45 years of age, with fresh complexion and eyes of dazzling beauty. Evidently labouring under excitement, she advanced through the crowd towards the hustings, and announced herself as the wife of Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. She had come according to promise to confront her husband and expose the wrongs described in her works and in a pamphlet. The appearance of the lady was not unexpected, as her coming had been announced in placards and bills; but some person had detained her while the election was proceeding in the vicinity. Recognised, as soon as observed, her voice was nearly drowned by the shouts of Sir Edward’s supporters: but Sir Edward’s eye caught hers, and his face paled. He looked like a man suddenly attacked by paralysis. Those near him say he trembled exceedingly. For a few moments he retained his position in front of the hustings, and turned his back on the unwelcome visitor. Then he suddenly disappeared below the hustings platform, while his wife cried ‘Coward,’ and he having hastily signed the usual declaration, escaped into the residence of the gentleman on whose grounds the election took place. Lady Lytton continued to address the audience assembled for more than a quarter of an hour. Her ladyship subsequently made an application to the Mayor for the use of the Town Hall, for the purpose of making a public statement; but this being refused her, she left the town early in the afternoon. Lady Lytton arrived in Hertford at three o’clock on the morning of the election, having posted from Taunton, where she resides. It is needless to say that the event has caused the greatest possible excitement in Hertfordshire.”

For several months past, her ladyship was under an impression that she was closely watched, and she seemed to be suspicious that the object of this espionage was the miserable fate which has at last fallen upon her.

Circumstances occurred about a month ago that were of a character to confirm her apprehensions. At that time a gentleman came to Taunton, and took up his residence at the Castle Hotel, which was in close contiguity to the house in which she resided. He had had a great deal to do with the subject of her separation from Sir Edward, being, in fact, the honourable baronet’s solicitor, and she held him in extreme aversion. He remained here some short time, it is said, and then left, but not before his sojourn had become known to her ladyship. On the 12th of June, another gentleman arrived in Taunton, and calling at Clarke’s Hotel, sent his card to Lady Lytton, with a request for an interview. This was a “Dr. Thompson,” and he was accompanied by a nurse from a neighbouring lunatic asylum. After some reflection, her ladyship consented to his admission, but took the precaution to request the landlady’s presence during his stay. Mrs. Clarke was present accordingly, and we are informed that the conversation which ensued between Lady Lytton and Dr. Thompson, originated and sustained by him, referred wholly to subjects that were calculated to excite intense anger and indignation on her part. This interview lasted five hours, and at last she asked if he had not come from Mr. Loader, Sir Edward’s solicitor, to which interrogatory he answered, “I am.” Her ladyship, who had preserved unwonted calmness, then asked, “Is the farce played out?—and if not, how much longer is it to last?” Dr. Thompson replied, “The farce is ended, and your ladyship will not, from this hour, hear any more upon these painful matters.” It may be stated that during the interview, two police officers, a solicitor, and a medical gentleman, were in the adjoining room, the object of whose presence it is not difficult to imagine. But Lady Lytton’s calmness rendered their presence unnecessary. Previous to his departure, Dr. Thompson requested her to put upon paper what demand she wished to make upon her husband; and she complied, writing in substance as follows:—“Sir Edward to pay my debts, the interest of which swallows up the greater part of my income, and increase my income to £500 a year. Upon his doing this, I solemnly promise never again to molest him in any way, nor even to mention his name.” Dr. Thompson promised to lay these requirements before Sir Edward immediately upon his return to London, and then withdrew, Lady Lytton giving vent on his departure to her overwrought feelings in a flood of tears, which could not be restrained for a considerable time, notwithstanding the consolation offered by the landlady, whose kindness to her throughout these painful and sad proceedings had been very great; and even of the nurse, whose opinion as to the state of her ladyship’s mind had undergone a considerable change since the time she was in her presence.

Several days elapsed, and still no communication arriving from Dr. Thompson, Lady Lytton naturally became impatient, and she wrote him, reminding him of his promise, and requesting information as to his success with Sir Edward. No answer was received to her letter, and she addressed him again and again with the same result. Unable to remain longer in suspense, upon a matter of such moment, she at last wrote to him to the effect that she would go to London in the course of the following week, and hoped to be able to see him with a view to a final arrangement. Unfortunately for her, she carried out her intention.

Accompanied by a Miss Ryves, and a lady of Taunton, who has always taken an interest in her affairs, and will hereafter be found, it is presumed, capable of rendering her very important service in the proceedings which are contemplated, with a view to prove her sanity, Lady Lytton took an evening train, and arrived in London shortly after 5 o’clock in the morning, a dreary time to enter the great lumbering city, even when one’s business is of no such dreary character as theirs. The chief reason of their travelling by night instead of by day, was the inability of the female friend referred to, to remain away from her home more than one day. But another may have been a sudden desire of Lady Lytton’s to know, without further delay, what determination, if any, her husband had come to with respect to her written request, taken charge of by Dr. Thompson—an insatiable craving for the answer which should place her in comparatively pecuniary ease, or doom her still to the “shameful needs of poverty.” Entering an hotel, they partook of refreshments, and whiled away, as well as they could, the lagging hours until what was deemed an appropriate time to call upon Dr. Thompson came round. They then set out, and on reaching his house were courteously received. It was remarked by the doctor, however, that as they had come rather early, “Would they do him the favour to postpone discussion of the subject which had brought them until five o’clock in the afternoon?” Assent was, of course, given, and at the hour specified they were again at the door of his residence. On announcing their names, they were shown into the drawing-room, and Dr. Thompson waited upon them. He had hastily closed the door, however, when it was again opened, and another gentleman entered—“A friend of mine, who has casually dropped in.” It was remarked that, notwithstanding the subject to be discussed, and which had been broached, was quite of a private nature, the friend kept his seat, and that though he took no part in the conversation, he listened attentively to what was said. There being signs that the interview was near its close, he withdrew. Lady Lytton seemed to have, on entering the house, a presentiment that there was no favourable information for her, and after putting a few questions to Dr. Thompson, which he answered hesitatingly, she said, “You have not consulted Sir Edward, Dr. Thompson; tell me, is not that the case?” He owned that he could not give her any satisfactory answer, and her ladyship arose with her friends to depart, Dr. Thompson expressing a desire that she would not hurry away. Nevertheless she proceeded, and, on getting outside the room, was astonished to see before her two policemen, two women who had the appearance of nurses, and a gentleman who, it has since been found, is a keeper of a Lunatic Asylum in the neighbourhood of London. Dissemblance or concealment being no longer necessary or possible, the purpose of this assembly was in a few words explained.

There are not many persons in existence, mad or not mad, who on a discovery of so horrifying a nature would not have become wild with excitement, and fallen into a state closely bordering upon insanity; but Lady Lytton sustained throughout these most trying and frightful circumstances a calm and dignified demeanour. She was indeed the calmest of the two—herself and her Taunton friend—for the affrighted Miss Ryves had rushed into the street. She was ushered into another room, on entering which she observed a figure, like that of Sir Edward’s, hastily retreating by a door at the other end. At first she refused to yield up her liberty, but the policemen were called, and she then said, “Resistance being vain, I submit, but under compulsion.” Her friend insisted upon accompanying her, and she saw on the table in the room a paper which she presumed to be a certificate of Lady Lytton’s insanity. Upon this were the names of two medical gentlemen, and it is believed of Sir Edward. Her ladyship being requested to proceed to the door, where she was told a carriage was ready to receive her, again refused compliance except under compulsion; and on this the policemen, each taking an arm, led her forward—her friend—the only one she could in these tremendous moments of agony appeal to—endeavouring to console her and seeming to comfort her by the confident exclamations, “Never mind, Lady Lytton; they may take you, but they cannot take me. You may be inside the Asylum, but I shall be out.” One might suppose that under such circumstances some gentleman to whom her ladyship was known, some male friend, would have been requested to attend and witness proceedings which were so terribly to affect her, which were to convey her to a living tomb, to worse than death; but, besides the lady to whom we have so often referred, there was no one present on Lady Lytton’s part. The policemen “did their duty,” and her ladyship was constrained to enter the carriage, her friend forcing herself in immediately after, and refusing to leave her. One or two gentlemen also seating themselves within it, the party was rapidly driven to an Asylum at Brentford, kept by a person of the name of Hill.

Arrived at the gates of the gloomy abode, the ladies were told they must part, and after a short scene, which we will not attempt to depict, they separated, the gates closing on “The Insane,” and her friend being driven back to her lodgings. Previous to this lady’s leaving London, she received a note from Sir Edward’s solicitor, in which it was stated that the hon. baronet would be glad to see her at his residence, No. 1, Park-lane. She indignantly declined the interview. Shortly afterwards the solicitor called and represented that it might be advantageous to her to see Sir Edward; but she gave him a denial in similar terms, and immediately returned to Taunton.

On the following day the Solicitor came to Taunton, and calling upon Mrs. Clarke, demanded all the documents and other papers and such other property as Lady Lytton had left; but Mrs. Clarke refused to deliver and dared him to remove any of them, alleging as one reason that she had a lien upon them in the shape of a bill of £300 against her Ladyship; but in truth she was fortified in her refusal by a letter from Mr. Hyde, Lady Lytton’s solicitor, who had previously informed her, if any attempt should be made to take the property, or any part of it, she would be justified in calling in the police and giving the party into custody. Mr. Loader offered to pay the bill, but the answer to this was, “I would rather forfeit every shilling of it than deliver the goods to you. They are in my possession, and I will not allow of their removal.” Finding persuasion vain, Mr. Loader retired.

We have said Lady Lytton’s capture, and the circumstances connected with it, have caused a great degree of excitement among the inhabitants of this town, and if any proof of this were called for, or any evidence of the opinion generally entertained required, we could hardly give more indubitable testimony than is contained in the following resolutions, which were adopted at a meeting of inhabitants called by a gentleman who, though a perfect stranger to Lady Lytton, felt that a monstrous injustice had been inflicted upon her, and determined to use the very considerable influence he possessed to obtain her freedom if really not insane, or at least to force on such an inquiry into her mental condition as to satisfy the public that she is not in a fit state to be at liberty. The gentleman in question arrived in this town only a day or two before the case came to his knowledge, and immediately upon becoming acquainted with it he proceeded into the street, called together such of the more influential inhabitants as he met, and within an hour the meeting took place. After a discussion of the subject, the resolutions were thrown into the following form:—

“At a meeting of certain inhabitants of Taunton and the neighbourhood, held at Clarke’s Hotel on the 6th of July, 1858. Mr. Hitchcock in the chair, it was resolved:—

“On the motion of Capt. Jones, seconded by R. Easton, Esq.

“1. That the removal of Lady Bulwer Lytton to a Lunatic Asylum, or other place of confinement, and the circumstances under which she was incarcerated therein, call for a public expression of alarm for the rights and liberties of the subject, and particularly of distrust of the treatment to which her ladyship is said to have been subjected.

“2. That a Committee be now appointed to watch the result of the extraordinary measures reported to have been adopted in Lady Lytton’s case, to the end that the public mind may be satisfied, through their report, that in her ladyship’s case justice may be done.—W. R. Hitchcock.

“The meeting was then adjourned for a week.”

Here we will leave this miserable tale, but we are anxious, before closing our remarks, to avow that in taking it upon ourselves to set it before the public, we are actuated only by a sense of duty and justice. For the truth of the narrative, we can refer to the lady who accompanied Lady Lytton to London; the details are given as they were furnished to us—without exaggeration or distortion. If her ladyship’s mind is in such a state that she is a fit subject for a lunatic asylum, and an asylum is the only suitable place for her, no harm can come from the publicity we give to her case; if not, then much good must inevitably arise from its publicity, to her chiefly and in an immeasurable degree, but also to society in no unimportant measure. The whole question is, of course—Is Lady Lytton actually insane? We have said, from what we have seen and heard of her, she is not; and this view is entertained by all we have heard express any opinion on the subject. It is a question of deep importance whether it is not utterly wrong, and most dangerous to the liberties of individuals, that upon the word of two medical men persons may be taken to a madhouse, when if not already insane, they are undoubtedly placed in circumstances in every way calculated, by their horrible and frightful character, to destroy reason and produce insanity. We say nothing of their continued confinement, but of their being consigned to such a place even for a moment. On every account a power of such awful magnitude should be destroyed, and confinement in a lunatic asylum be possible only after a public enquiry, similar to that which must precede the committal of a person accused of felony to the common gaol. Society in general demands this; helpless women require it; and if there are any individuals for the sake of whose character and reputation before the world the change should be made, they are those who occupy such a position as Sir Edward Lytton now holds in her Majesty’s Government. As a Secretary of State, he, as is well known, exercises great authority in such cases; and men so highly stationed can always find ready tools for any work, however nefarious. It is right then that suspicion against them should be rendered impossible, that no reasonable person should have ground for the supposition that they have committed or connived at an atrocity at which the body shudders and the mind is appalled. It is true that investigation into cases like that of Lady Lytton is compelled when demanded by the friends of the incarcerated person; but the system is altogether contrary to the general equity of British laws and customs. To send to a madhouse a person suspected of lunacy, and afterwards institute an enquiry whether he is mad or not, is a mode of procedure very unworthy of a civilised nation, and which the people of this country ought no longer to endure. Lady Lytton’s case will no doubt have the effect of drawing general attention to this great anomaly, and probably it will tend in a great measure to the accomplishment of the desired change. Heaven grant it may be so!

The Case of Lady Lytton.

To the Editor of the Daily Telegraph.

Sir,—Can you inform me whether Mr. B. W. Procter, an intimate friend of Sir Bulwer Lytton, is a Commissioner of Lunacy? Can you also state whether Mr. John Forster, also an intimate friend of Sir Edward, is Secretary to the Lunacy Commission?—Your obedient servant, Doubtful. [Our correspondent is correct in assuming that Mr. Procter is a Lunacy Commissioner, and that the Secretary to the Commission is Mr. John Forster.]

Note by the Editor.—This John Forster was afterwards rewarded for his guilty complicity in this most horrible transaction by being made a Commissioner of Lunacy himself with a salary of £2,000 a year. He died very rich, no one knowing how his wealth was got. He was on the most social terms with three very wicked men—Dickens, Lytton, and Cockburn.

Daily Telegraph, July 15th, 1858.

Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton has succeeded in hushing up the scandal of his wife’s arrest and conveyance to a madhouse at Brentford. The matters in dispute, so say the persons interested, will be arranged to the satisfaction of all concerned. For the sake of the lady herself the public will rejoice that such a compromise has been extorted from the Secretary of State; if the victim be content no one has a right to complain, but it must be remembered that Sir Bulwer Lytton alone has gained by the suppression of enquiry. We are now told that he will seal a treaty of perpetual truce with the woman who was, apparently under his instruction, dragged by policemen into a carriage, hurried to a lunatic asylum, and there compelled to sign a compact of forbearance towards the individual by whom, according to her statement, she had been grossly and flagitiously wronged. It is with pleasure we record that this ignominious family war has been terminated, and the accusation of insanity has been abandoned; that Lady Lytton is confessedly qualified to treat with her husband upon terms of equality. Justice may boast of a triumph, for though it would have been more satisfactory to have forced the entire transaction before an authentic tribunal, it may suffice to know that popular opinion has driven Lord Derby’s choice and brilliant colleague into a virtual surrender. It matters little whether Sir Bulwer Lytton, under Cabinet influence, has found it necessary to save the reputation of the government as well as his own, but it is not to be forgotten that he employed attorneys, nurses and policemen to capture his wife; that she was forcibly consigned to a lunatic asylum—that medical certificates were obtained to prove her insanity, and that now, an explosion of national feeling having taken place, she is to be released and allowed to live in personal independence.

All that now remains for investigation is who and what the professional gentlemen were who handed over this lady to the keepers of a madhouse; whether she was sane at the time of her capture, and whether she was not kidnapped by the myrmidons of her flattered and successful husband. Individually she may benefit by the compromise, though it may be that a salutary exposure has been stifled. On one point the public are agreed; the power at present exercised under the lunacy law of England is dangerous to social liberty. Anyone, by obtaining the certificate of two medical men, may imprison wife, child, or other relative, for years, perhaps for life, in a madhouse. The Lunacy Commissioners, we are reminded, may interfere with its machinery of visitors’ inspections and reports, but what is the result? Men might be named who open establishments of this character, accumulate fortunes, and live in affluence, and are pointed at by their neighbours as the creatures of conspiracy. Their residences are nobly furnished, their grounds rival those of the nobility, and when official visitors, after sumptuous luncheons, pass their patients in review, and an exasperated captive pours forth his vehement denunciations, “they write him down mad,” and the wretch is left for another year, to be goaded by a sense of wrong, wrought upon by the contagious presence of insanity, and at length made all that his officious friends desire him to be. Without casting a general slur upon a body of men, many of whom are highly respectable, we may state it as the conviction of those who stand above all prejudice in their profession, that the lunatic asylums of this country are frequently applied to the same uses as the Bastille, where the Man in the Iron Mask was immured for life and buried in secrecy because his pretensions were considered dangerous by claimants to estates and titles, or perpetrators of unsearched crimes.

But a social question of far more universal importance is connected with the deplorable disclosure in the case of Sir Bulwer Lytton. The baronet’s wife may be released from the terrible captivity to which, by the practical confession of her persecutors, she never ought to have been for a moment consigned, and from which we have made no unsuccessful effort to deliver her; but what of humbler persons? What of the domestic victims in whose name no publicity is invoked? We hear of jealous and bitter-tongued women, of outcast wives, who go down to bury their humiliation in the shade of equivocal watering-places, of ladies whose “fashionable” manners shock the propriety of German spas; but when these scandals are the popular table-talk, in the name of justice let the woman be considered. The lord and the lady, the baronet and his wife, the parents of children, do they stand in the eyes of the world upon a level? We hear of a man who has been compelled to part with the mother of his children, and we know that while she goes into retirement with her happiness blasted in her declining years, his car of triumph rolls on, he is still the ornament and delight of society. But when the forsaken woman glides into the shadow of suspicion, who cares to remind us that a cluster of children call her mother; that twenty years of married life should have made her sacred; that even her failings should have been holy to her husband; that bitterness itself is pardonable when it rises from the fountains of love, that what by the triumphing “Lord of the Creation” is termed “incompatibility” may be nothing more than the satiety of a selfish affection? If manliness, if chivalry, if the noble principles of honour dominate more supremely than they do in the circles of our English life, would these published separations so continually feed the mass of scandal to the detriment of names once invoked in confidence and affection at the altar? Let cynicism utter what it will, let irony do its worst, let men affect to despise the heart-born passions, the chief happiness of every human being is at home; neither Church nor State, nor military glory, nor political conflict, can destroy the supremacy of that instinct which makes joy itself a virtue—the pride of an honest man in his family. How implacable then must the antipathy be that breaks these consecrated bonds; how utterly exhausted and callous must be the affection that permits this last repudiation of a moral tie, linking children with children, and teaching those children to reverence their parents.

As may be imagined the most desperate efforts were at this time made by Forster, Dickens, and others of the “Press-gang,” to stifle enquiry, or discussion on this Case. The Times remained silent as to all; but its impression for July 14th, 1858, contains the following:—“Lady Bulwer Lytton.—We are requested to state, upon the best authority, that all matters in reference to this Lady, about whom certain statements have appeared in some of the public journals, are in process of being amicably settled by family arrangements, to the satisfaction of all parties concerned.”

SKETCH OF LORD LYTTON.

A friend of ours, who met Lord Lytton at dinner, favours us with an extract from his Diary, June 25, 1864, in which there is a lifelike sketch. We think it well to preserve it here. “Dined to-night with the Chief Justice, Lord Houghton, and Sir Bulwer Lytton, and other senators and ladies. B. L. is the most perfect of snobs. He was shabbily dressed and sidled into the room with a slimy, slouching air and gait, and held his hat in his hand, as if he were about to drop it on the floor, and looked as if he did not know what to do with his legs, and gaped with lack-lustre eye, and said nothing, but seemed bewildered like an idiot in fine company, so that it is almost impossible to believe that he ever wrote the works which pass under his name, or, that if he did, his brain is now softening, and that he is only the wretched shadow of a man. He has a great nose like Fitzball or Bardolph, only that it is not so red as the latter’s; his skin is coarse and dirty; he has cut off his great beard and the hairs now look scanty and scrubby down his long, lank, lantern, Don Quixote jaws; his hair is wild and like tow; his voice is harsh and slimy, and slobbering; he presents an appearance foul and horrid, like that of James I. when hanging on that odious ‘Steenie,’ and kissing his painted cheeks with swollen licking tongue. I do not know that I ever saw so odious a wretch, and I would not sit near or talk to him for a thousand pounds, poor as I am. I cannot describe his putrid corpse-like loathsomeness; I expected a fine gentleman, perhaps a fop, like his own Devereux, or like Bolingbroke, and I saw a dirty, stupid, fish-eyed crapulous catamite—if ever human creature bore the impress of that fearful monomania. He took a lady (Mrs. R.) down to dinner, but he never spoke a word to her during the whole entertainment; he remained silent or jabbering to himself like an old orangoutang for more than an hour; and then when he had drank more champagne than he should, he spoke the most utter rot about Denmark that ever oozed out of Avernus itself. I think Cockburn was ashamed of him, and although he asked me specially to meet him, he did not venture to solicit my opinion of this dirty creature; but I told him mine, and related the anecdote of Sam Warren, whom, Pearson having one day beaten in a long legal argument before the Chief Baron, he in the exuberance of his joy bawled out to Serjeant Murphy, ‘There’s a b—— man of genius for you.’ I told this to the C.J., and made him laugh—but he was ashamed of his dirty guest, as he could hardly fail to be. And this is the nasty animal that Lady Blessington and her set used to call ‘Shakespere.’—God help us—I don’t wonder his wife loathed him. I am so sensitive that I believe if he touched me with his cold gorilla paw, I should feel a pang through my heart almost like that of Death itself. He got at last so maudlin that he felt he could not go upstairs, and he took his leave of the C.J. at the foot of them.”

Daily Telegraph, July 15th, 1858.

In the daily business of life it is difficult and painful to sever long-contracted bonds; even partners in commerce bear and forbear beyond the ordinary rules of patience, rather than break from old connections, but how immeasurably more binding is the compact between man and wife, how bitter is the gracelessness of the one who rends that sacred tie, and issuing from the cloud to the enjoyment of all the world has to give, dismisses the other to sneers, misrepresentations, and ignominy. Not but that in the instances present to public memory the blame of this bitter rancour may have been divided. It is but too true that domestic errors are wantonly magnified into crimes, that feminine sympathies appeal sometimes to an unnatural code, but what is the position of a woman in a civilised country compared with that of a man? What is the wife when appealing against the husband? It may be that at an earlier period, as in Lady Lytton’s case, she has been his benefactor, his patron, and that through long years she has been more to him than he to her; but all this is forgotten when the opportunity for legal separation arrives, when children are to be parted by an attorney’s document from their mother; when malicious friends are to condole with the injured husband, or when obtrusive advisers, who have been unfortunate themselves, rejoice to drag down to their own level the individual who has previously galled them by the superiority of his personal reputation. In almost every instance the woman is the sacrifice; to her the public insinuations point; upon her contemptuous pity is lavished; her name is set up as a mark for jibes and insults; she bears the miserable burden, and her husband continues to shine as the accomplished writer, the favoured magistrate, or the statesman expecting a peerage.

It may be beating the air to dwell on this anomaly of our social code. While selfishness is supreme, while masculine strength prevails over helpless right, while, in fact, the sins of men are popularly condoned, and the mortal distempers of women ranked as mortal sins, the scandal of a separation will always attach to a wife as a perpetual and malignant curse, re-echoed by every class of society; but it may seem an object of justice to suggest that while scandals of twenty years’ duration have been revived, while honour is recalling a thousand anecdotes of domestic differences and compromises, it has not been by men that the most unpardonable injuries have been suffered. This we say without any direct reference to the case of Lady Lytton. Against her, as far as we know, a calumny has never been hinted, in spite of her ill-conceived diatribes against her husband; but the tendency of public opinion, we are sorry to acknowledge, runs in the direction of malevolence when the characters of separated wives are in question. It will argue a marked development of the national morality when, while these transactions are under notice, some consideration is bestowed upon the possibility that when a woman has been expelled from her husband, cut off from her family interests, buried in a social tomb, and stigmatised by her husband’s repudiation, the real wrong may have been endured by herself, and the cruelty practised by another.

After this came the letter of Mr. Robert Lytton, our present Viceroy in India, which we publish; and which speaks for itself, even if his mother did not. How Mr. Edwin James came into the transaction we are not told; but the value of Mr. Forbes Winslow’s certificate is well known in the profession. No one explains how it was that this lady, who was locked up as being insane, early in July, all of a sudden, recovered the perfect use of her senses. Dr. Connolly has got a splendid and lucrative place since he wrote his strange certificate, and we congratulate him upon it.

To the Editor of the “Daily Telegraph.”

Sir,—As the son of Lady Bulwer Lytton, with the best right to speak on her behalf, and so obviously with the best means of information as to warrant the hope that my simple assertion will be at once believed in the matter to which I am compelled to refer, I beg to say that the statements which have appeared in some of the public journals are exaggerated and distorted, and that they are calculated to convey to the public mind impressions the most erroneous and unjust. As was natural, I put myself into constant communication with my mother, and with the gentleman in whose family, in his private house, she was placed (for I beg distinctly to state she was never for a moment taken to a lunatic asylum), and I carried out the injunctions of my father, who confided to me implicitly every arrangement which my affection could suggest, and enjoined me to avail myself of the advice of Lord Shaftesbury in whatever was judged best and kindest for Lady Lytton.

My mother is now with me, free from all restraint, and about, at her own wish, to travel for a short time, in company with myself and a female friend and relation, of her own selection.

From the moment my father felt compelled to authorise those steps which have been made the subject of so much misrepresentation, the anxiety was to obtain the most experienced and able physician, in order that my mother should not be subject to restraint for one moment longer than was strictly justifiable. Such was his charge to me.

The certificates given by Dr. Forbes Winslow and Dr. Connolly are subjoined, and I ought to add that Dr. Connolly was the physician whom my father had requested to see Lady Lytton; that Dr. Forbes Winslow was consulted by my mother’s legal advisers, and I felt anxious to obtain the additional authority of the opinion of the latter gentleman, and requested my friend, Mr. Edwin James, to place himself in communication with him. I trust that such journals as have given publicity to partial and inaccurate statements will do me the justice to publish this communication, to which I need add no more than to say that this painful matter has been arranged, as it ought to be, by the members of the family whom it exclusively regards.—I have the honour to be, sir, your most obedient servant,

Robert B. Lytton.

1, Park Lane, July 17th, 1858.

[Copy No. 1.]

To Edwin James, Esq., Q.C.

Having at your request examined Lady B. Lytton this day as to her state of mind, I beg to report to you that in my opinion it is such as to justify her liberation from restraint.

I think it but an act of justice to Sir Edward B. Lytton to state that upon the facts which I have ascertained were submitted to him, and upon the certificates of the medical men[3] whom he was advised to consult, the course which he has pursued throughout these painful proceedings cannot be considered harsh or unjustifiable.—I remain, sir, your obedient servant,

Forbes Winslow, M.D., D.C.L.

23, Cavendish square, July 16th, 1858.

[Copy No. 2.]

London, July 17th, 1858.

Sir,—Notwithstanding the decided opinion which I felt it my duty to express with reference to Lady Lytton, after my visit to her at the private residence of Mr. and Mrs. Hill, and which I need not repeat, justified the course you adopted; I have much satisfaction in hearing of the arrangements which have been made for her ladyship leaving their family in the society of her son and her female friend.—I have the honour to be, sir, very faithfully, your obedient servant,

G. Connolly, M.D.

To the Right Hon. Sir Edw. Bulwer Lytton, Bart., M.P., &c., &c., &c.

The whole of this is, no doubt, full of satisfaction to all persons concerned; and to the outside world. We own that it does not satisfy us: but then perhaps we belong to the discontented. Our readers have only to bear in mind that at this time Sir E. B. L. was a Cabinet Minister, with all the immense resources of that post; that he was backed up by the Queen, by Lord Derby, and Mr. Disraeli; and that under such circumstances any attempt to “make the worse appear the better cause” could have little doubt of perfect success. Such appears to have been the opinion of the writer of what follows:—

To the Editor of the “Daily Telegraph.”

Sir,—Thanks to you for your noble and eloquent defence of Lady Lytton, and the outrage on public justice perpetrated by her husband. Your watchfulness may have been rendered unnecessary by the family “arrangement” which has been announced, but heaven help Lady Lytton travelling abroad under the guardianship of such “affection,” with the stigma of insanity upon her, available for any purpose.

The letter of Mr. Robert Lytton explains nothing, answers nothing. It does not even show where his mother is. He writes—“My mother is now with me, free from all restraint.” This letter is dated 1, Park-lane, the town residence of Sir Bulwer Lytton, who is now in London. Does Mr. Lytton mean to say that his mother is or was on Saturday last under the roof of her husband? There is more than meets the eye in this. Is Lady Lytton free from all restraint? Whatever the “arrangement” is, it was made when she was in durance, and not a free agent, and if that arrangement has taken her from the custody of Mr. Hill, of Brentford, to that of her own son and husband, it is only that her prison-house has been changed. “From the moment my father felt compelled to authorise those steps which have been made the subject of so much misrepresentation, &c., in order that my mother should not be subject to restraint for one moment longer than was strictly justifiable, such was his charge to me.” If Sir Edward was so solicitous to procure the opinions of the most able physicians, we may ask how it happened that instead of consulting Dr. Forbes Winslow and Dr. Connolly in the first instance, that he employed a Mr. Thompson to kidnap the lady at his own residence. Mr. Lytton says the statements are “exaggerated” and “distorted,” but he does not explain how. He says he has the best right to speak on behalf of his mother, and has “the best means of information,” and that his assertion will be at once believed. It is hard to refuse this to a son, and in ordinary cases one would not feel inclined to do so; but he seems to have acted entirely under the influence of the father, and to have been from first to last so directly opposed to his mother, that before we give him the credence he asks there are several questions he ought to answer. Is it true he has neither sought after nor corresponded with his mother, nor even seen her, for nearly seventeen years, until he met her at the Hustings, at Hertford, during the recent election there? Is it true that on that occasion he made the preliminary attempt which culminated at the house of Mr. Thompson, in Clarges-street, to put his mother in a madhouse by sending a physician to the house of the Mayor of Hertford where she was on a visit? Is it true that when his mother was kidnapped in Clarges-street, and Miss Ryves ran out into the street, and seeing Mr. Lytton waiting outside, entreated him to interfere and procure assistance to prevent his mother being carried off to Brentford, he refused to have anything to do with the matter? Other questions suggest themselves, not directly affecting Mr. Lytton, but important to an understanding of this painful case. He says, “I put myself in constant communication with my mother.... I carried out the injunctions of my father, who confided in me implicitly, ... enjoined me to avail myself of the advice of Lord Shaftesbury in whatever was judged best and kindest for Lady Lytton.” Is this a solemn farce, a piece of well-acted hypocrisy, or a truth in letter and spirit? Is it conceivable that Sir Edward Lytton, not having set eyes on his wife for seventeen years, and leaving her to live and suffer and complain during all that time on £400 a year, suddenly became tenderly solicitous on her behalf, as to require “all that was best and kindest” should be done for her? Why is Lord Shaftesbury introduced? Is it to give the shelter of his sanctity to a cruel outrage? Mephistopheles might envy the genius which suggested the mention of Lord Shaftesbury as the adviser and referee of Sir Bulwer Lytton.

The certificates appended to Mr. Lytton’s letter are not properly “certificates;” they are intended as apologies for the conduct of Sir Bulwer Lytton. But though put forward with this view, they substantiate that the state of Lady Lytton’s mind “is such as to justify her liberation from restraint,” and prove nothing to his honour. It is easy to see that the “certificate” of Dr. Forbes Winslow is but an answer to certain questions put by Mr. Edwin James, who was strangely employed by Mr. Lytton, and whose object was to extract from the doctor everything that he could on behalf of Sir Edward. On this part of the question we are all competent to form an opinion, and if it should appear that the facts submitted to Sir Edward were facts suggested by himself, and the medical men, on whose certificates he acted, were employed by him, which is the fact, Dr. Forbes Winslow’s opinion upon this part of the question goes for nothing.

The more enquiries we make into the matter the more convinced we are that a great wrong was attempted, and has now been glossed over. That wrong was not done to Lady Lytton alone, but to all society. Her wrath may have been appeased, her personal wounds may have received a plaister, and her friends may have been flattered and cajoled into silence, but is the public satisfied, or the wrong to society been atoned for, while the case of Lady Lytton remains uninvestigated, and the conduct of her husband escapes official and public censure? Is any one of us safe so long as the law permits the “next of kin” to do what has been done to her?

AN ENGLISHMAN.

Daily Telegraph, July 21, 1858.

We return unwillingly, and, we trust, for the last time, to the melancholy scandal in which Sir Bulwer Lytton has involved himself. It had been our intention not to carry further this painful controversy, yet additional explanations are extorted from us by the peculiar tactics not only of particular individuals, but of some among our contemporaries. There have been allusions to “misrepresentations” contained in “paragraphs,” and “exaggerated and distorted statements,” circulated with reference to the Lady, who a few days since was spirited away by stratagem to Brentford. Now in respect of the persons principally concerned, nothing more need be said; if the Right Hon. Secretary for the Colonies has effected a settlement agreeable to his conscience and his wife, none has a right to interfere; if the Electors of Hertford are satisfied, the general public has perhaps little reason to complain, and if legality and justice are not to be permanently outraged we rejoice that family negociations have been successful. Yet there are points connected with our own position, which should be clearly set forth. The vague and solemn rebukes that have been set forth were addressed almost exclusively to ourselves, not of paragraphs, but of articles based upon a well-prepared narrative published in a provincial journal, no one assertion, of which to the present moment has been invalidated. But if there has been “exaggeration,” if there has been “falsity,” who was the person and what was the time to correct them? The proper individual was the son of Sir Bulwer Lytton himself, and the proper time was upon one of the occasions, when since the exposure in our columns, he called at the Daily Telegraph office, sometimes not alone. Did we hear then anything about “distortion” or “misrepresentation”? Most certainly not a word. Mr. Robert Lytton acted then as the champion of his mother, and not he only, but her personal friends also appeared delighted that upon public grounds an appeal had been made, bearing so directly upon their private interests. Then, we think, was the moment for substituting accurate for erroneous impressions; but since this retort is forced upon us, what if we suggest if the original case was not one to be explained away? Lady Lytton was by no means the person interested in a concealment of the facts or in hushing up the affair before it was dragged before a Commission of Lunacy. We are now told, indeed, that the Baronet was satisfied in the course he adopted, which we have never pretended to deny, for we have insisted only on enquiry. We asked whether the allegations against him were true, and we pointed out the impossibility of allowing a public man to remain under an imputation so scathing, and we expressed our hope that the sinister rumours afloat would be set at rest by an ample vindication of the Privy Councillor’s conduct. Is it our fault then that no such vindication has been attempted—that Sir Bulwer Lytton has preferred a private arrangement—that he has defied the written opinion of two professional men, and allowed his so-called insane Wife to be once more at large upon terms to which he had previously refused his consent? Nothing would have been more satisfactory to ourselves and the public than that Lord Derby’s Colonial Secretary, after a strict judicial investigation, should have demonstrated himself a Man of Honour, incapable of kidnapping an obnoxious Wife.

But upon whose authority was Lady Lytton captured and sent to Brentford? Not originally, as has been stated, upon that of Dr. Connolly. The certificates were signed by a Mr. Hale Thompson, once known at Westminster Hospital, and by a Mr. Ross, an apothecary of Farringdon-street, whose medical reputation seems to have travelled providentially from east of Temple-bar to an official residence in Downing-street. The sanction of these “eminent” gentlemen enabled the policemen and nurses to place Lady Lytton by force in a carriage, but through a humane after-thought, Dr. Connolly was ultimately called in and dispatched to the residence of Mr. Robert Gardiner Hill, at Brentford. There he certified that Lady Lytton was a demented patient; there, however, Dr. Forbes Winslow, within a day or two, certified in singularly cautious and ambiguous terms, that she was not a demented patient; she was in fact fit and unfit to live without restraint, and the result is that with her son and a female relation, she is to enjoy a continental tour. At all events, it is gratifying to know that whatever has been the effect on the Lady’s nerves, she has been benefitted by the public discussion of her case. Instead of the Brentford process, she will sojourn at the Spas, and Florentine gaiety may compensate her for a week of Middlesex gloom under the Lunacy Law.

Concerning the Brentford question, Mr. Robert Gardiner Hill is pleased to think himself aggrieved. We may remark that Mr. Hill claims to have penetrated the secrets of physiological science. That he is not the proprietor of a “notorious Madhouse” we will admit, if he will allow that he is the principal of a “celebrated Lunatic Asylum.”

What consolation would it be to any of our readers, if falsely accused of insanity, that a “lunatic asylum,” and not a “madhouse,” shuts its doors upon them. Would a paltry verbal quibble reconcile them to captivity among maniacs and the mentally afflicted? He is among the proprietors, he confesses, of Wyke House, which, if he will not permit us to describe it as “notorious,” is at least well-known as a Madhouse, or, if the term be offensive, of a Lunatic Asylum.

Though not standing alone in this controversy, we have been solitary among the organs of the press in claiming a public enquiry on behalf of Lady Lytton. In our main object we have succeeded. The “patient” is no longer in legal or in medical clutches. Her position has totally changed since the protest of public indignation rose against the treatment to which she had been subject. The Taunton people are satisfied that a great wrong is not to be perpetrated, and Lady Lytton’s friends, who rejoiced in the original exposure, are now at liberty to be as ungrateful as they please. They will not induce us, at all events, to state whence our information was derived, or how far the Right Honourable Baronet is indebted to themselves for the publication of a monstrous scandal. But it was due to ourselves, to our readers, and to the innumerable correspondents whose letters we have felt it necessary to suppress, to remind Mr. Robert Lytton and his colleagues in the negociation just concluded, that they have to thank the press for the publicity which spared them the painful alternative of a judicial investigation. It fell to us, fortunately, to produce a movement of public opinion in favour of Lady Lytton; and it is not for her personal advocates to blame the persistency with which we have followed it to its final issue. Least of all, whatever gracelessness may be exhibited in Park-lane, do we regret a course of proceedings without which, in all probability, the wife of Sir Bulwer Lytton might have been still, and possibly for the rest of her life, subject to the galling tendernesses of our Asylums for Lunatics.

LORD LYTTON THE FIRST.

This man was once called by his admirers (who were probably well paid for it) “The modern Shakspere.” We now know in what estimation his writings are held. But his private character was so vile and detestable, that it will cause almost incredulity if it ever should be exposed in its true colours to the world. Mr. Labouchere, in Truth, has a paragraph upon him, which is truth itself. Here it is:—“A man may be endowed with genius and with numerous amiable qualities, and yet be a Snob. Few of those who have lived during the present century have been gifted with more genius than Lord Lytton, and yet few have been so arrant a Snob. In his works of fiction he has frequently sought to portray gentlemen, and these gentlemen, each of whom has a family likeness to his creator, are the beau-ideals of Snobs—clever, pushing, conceited, florid Snobs, with Brummagem manners, Brummagem morals, a Brummagem varnish of philosophy, and a Brummagem varnish of poetry.” In Friday’s Times we read this advertisement, anything meaner than which we never perused:—

Herts, Knebworth-park, with 1,500 acres of capital Shooting, three miles from Stevenage and Welwyn Stations (G.N.R.)—A handsome FURNISHED baronial MANSION, surrounded by a fine park and splendid gardens and grounds. Particulars of &c., &c.

Is the son as mean a fellow as the father? Lord Lytton left him about £300,000; and he is paid as Viceroy of India £100,000 a year, with “pickings;” and he offers to let his family mansion. Would he not do better to let his Mother, that noble, injured Lady, into Knebworth, than hire it out to some stranger?

MR. JOHN FORSTER.

This man, who was one of Lord Lytton’s tools, and who also played toady for the greater part of his life to a congenial evil spirit, Sir Alexander Cockburn, is thus described by Lady Lytton. Under the name of Janus Allpuff, she alludes to her accomplished husband:—“The chief Mecænas of this Fudgester (Forster) is a Sir Janus Allpuff, who not content with having hunted his unhappy Wife nearly to death, and reduced to the lowest ebb of pecuniary destitution, from defending herself against his infamous Conspiracies, also prevents her in every possible way from earning her bread: and who so useful in this way as Fudgester? I should tell you, in order to show you the astuteness and diabolical cunning of this Infamous Gang, and the tortuous sneaking measures they adopt to prevent their dirty work being brought home to them, by always employing others, as far a-field as possible, to do it; this Fudgester, from being a known tool and toady of that vile old profligate, Sir Janus Allpuff, and a declared enemy of his Victim, never reviews her books, or mentions her name in any way, in his own particular paper, The Excruciator (The Examiner), but merely sets on the ramifications of the Gang to attack and malign her in every possible way: and from the wording of some of these attacks, it is quite clear that Sir Janus gives the substance of what he wishes them to do, as the same internal evidence exists of such being the case, that does as to his furnishing the pith of the puffs about himself to those organs of his myrmidons. But after all there is nothing so silly as your over-cunning people; which the very bungling way in which Sir Janus gets his dirty work done, will ultimately prove: and indeed some of the anonymous letters which his infamous Literary Myrmidons are set to write to his Victim, strongly resemble, in their little mean cramped characters, his own, or his Jackal Fudgester’s writing.”

THE LATE DUKE OF ATHOL.

One of Victoria’s chief favourites, and one who knew a little more of her than we think it well to publish, was one of the Bulwer Lytton Gang, and is thus described:—

Another member of this worshipful clique of Stop-at-nothings, a few grades higher as to station, but quite on a par as to blackguardism, is the Duke of Twilglenon.

“Ah, I’ve seen that horrid fellow,” broke in Mr. Phippen; “what a horrid-looking Wretch it is—for all the world like a low, drunken Grazier in appearance, looking as if he had just beaten or worried one of the poor animals he had been driving, to death.”

“Well, sir, I believe he does kick and worry the only animal which every Englishman has a right to ill-treat to any amount, which is his wife; for beautiful and amiable as the poor Duchess is, it don’t prevent her being well brutalized by her ruffianly-looking husband. Ah, sir, I often think that had Princess Charlotte lived, she would have had some feeling for her own sex, and that such notoriously profligate men as this Duke of Twilglenon, and his worthy associate, that Sir Janus Allpuff, would not have disgraced the English Court. But perhaps a man in my sphere of life is no judge of such matters; only I cannot help thinking, according to the Laws of God, Vice is Vice, and Infamy is Infamy, all over the world, whether in Queens, or Dukes, or Dustmen, or in Baronets or Bricklayers.”

“To be sure it is,” said Mr. Phippen, “only ten times worse in the Patrician than in the Plebeian, as they have not even the excuses of misery, as provocation, to drive them into low vice.”

But Sir Janus Allpuff had other irons in the fire.

I am not aware, even from the insight I have had into the Sodom and Gomorrah of the literary world, that it is customary for Reviewers (?) previous to reviewing a work, to write anonymous letters to the author, stating that theirs was rather an influential Review, but that before they reviewed her last work, they must first assure her that the world did not care one straw whether she was well-used or ill-used, but they (the Reviewer, mind, and the Writer of the anonymous letters, for there were two) wished to know was it possible that she meant Mr. ——, one of the characters in the novel, for her own husband?—as though they should ask, “Is it possible you have dared to blaspheme your God!!” though indeed, among that class of notoriously infamous and profligate men, who have left no law of God unviolated, Husbands of course are generally given precedence to the Almighty in the awe and reverence such men endeavour to inculcate in the female slaves of Great Britain. Now, with regard to that, the authoress had only to say “that it was impossible to write a novel without having bad characters in it, and it would be equally impossible to mention any vice or any meanness which would not be perfectly applicable, and which therefore might not appear personal to Sir Janus Allpuff, who having taken high degrees in them all, was at perfect liberty to take his choice, and fit them on as he pleased; and as for the sacredness of the mere word husband, as to her it was only the synonyme of the most extreme personal violence and brutality, terminating in being turned out of her home to make way for her legal tyrant’s mistresses, and to having had one child destroyed physically and the other morally, being swindled out of every shilling, and hunted by a relentless Fiend through the world, it could not be very sacred, quoique sacré, to her.” “Oh, but respect to her position,” said Conventionality; he had not left her any save one of honest superiority, which, as it arose from herself, it was not in his nor in his myrmidon’s power to deprive her of. Then what was she to respect? Surely not the iniquitous laws that allowed a woman to be so treated, nor the vicious and immoral society which tolerates such conduct; and least of all the opinion of a certain obsequious clique of the press, which panders to, puffs, and protects such infamy. The silliest thing that ever tyrant did is to leave his slave nothing to lose, to hope, or to fear, for then comes the reaction: the pigmy springs into an armed giant, and the trampled worm is, for the sake of others, willing to become a martyr to a cause of which they have been so long a Victim; and of this overreaching folly the clever Sir Janus Allpuff had been guilty. “Oh! but his talents,” simpers some Miss, to whom they no doubt appear, as compared with her own, very great; but his Victim, being an exceedingly well-read Woman, could not even bow down to and worship them, looking upon him much in the light of the ass which carried the relics, from having read the most of his works in the authors from whom he transferred them; and, moreover, having more original ideas in her own head than he ever purloined from anybody else’s. So, finding there was nothing to be done with a Wretch of this kind, and that he could not even hunt her to death, it was necessary to make the Clique set up a hue-and-cry about the personality of her books; but who more personal, pray, without the excuse of gross outrage that she had had, than Sir Janus himself, even to formerly ridiculing the Assinæum and others of his now obedient vassals, to say nothing of his converting Her Majesty’s ministry into highwaymen? Who more personal, either, than his friend Mr. Jericho Jabber, in his Caucasian romances? And who so personal, without any regard to vraisemblance, much less to truth, as my Lady Gorgon,[4] in her trashy productions? But because she has made her house convenient to the English aristocracy for the last quarter of a century, she has a pension of three hundred a-year, while poor Haydon starved on an under-footman’s wages of twenty-five—Shame! Shame! But Sir Janus had not done with his victim yet. The New Quarterly, The Literary Gazette, in old Silenus Jerdan’s most unscrupulous strain, so that his reminiscences seemed to hiccup through every line; The Assinæum, and, in short, all Sir Janus’ special tools and literary bravoes—

were ordered to affect to treat her book as the production of a mad woman. Nay, more, Bob Clapper,[5] another star of this galaxy, and quite worthy of being one, considering that he lives with another man’s wife and is always drunk, was also set to bell all over London that Sir Janus’s victim was mad, which really was very unfair towards Fudgester, as they had just concocted a job appointment for him, and inducted him into it, under the very appropriate title of Purveyor of Lunatics to the Literary Fund. But if Sir Janus had only had the goodness, instead of saying and telling his gang to say all this, to have instituted a medical inquiry, or any other inquiry, that could have his Wife’s conduct and his own examined into, thoroughly sifted, and brought before the public, she would have been, and still would be, infinitely obliged to him. But no! the calumnies of this most loathsome and utterly contemptible Clique, like their charities (?), are upon the principle of publicity and self-security. With regard to the former, they stab in the back and in the dark; with regard to the latter—via the Times—they dip their hands into other people’s pockets; and no matter, as far as Sir Janus Allpuff is concerned, if his Victim wife has been hunted down to the lowest straits of pecuniary destitution, as long as his name figures in £100 subscriptions for restoring Churches, or any other sound-of-trumpet doings, he will still have the Reverend Incumbent of any living in his gift, swearing that he is a reformed character!! and Fudgester endeavouring to demonstrate to the British public, by dint of brass and ink, that what might have the appearance of a bare-faced plagiary in others, is the highest proof and evidence of profound originality in Sir Janus Allpuff, and that so any generous critic must admit; and certainly it is very easy for critics, à la Fudgester, to be generous with other people’s property, and there is no generosity in giving people what they don’t want; so Fudgester is quite right to give his friends as much honour, originality, and generosity as he possibly can. But it was not to be supposed that the clever Sir Janus, with such a corps d’esprit (?) at his command, would let his Victim rest; so he next sets a fellow calling himself a theatrical manager (?), of the name of “Leyton,” to write to her, demanding permission to dramatise one of her Novels. Now the motive of this was two-fold: first, it inculpated the rare jest of leading the poor, struggling, financially-crippled Wife to suppose that she was about to get a little money, which would be a great godsend to her, considering the terrible embarrassments his ceaseless conspiracies had entailed on her; and next, it established a correspondence under the pretext of arranging the scenes and condensing the plot of the play, which correspondence was drawled out over the space of several months, which of course kept Sir Janus perfectly in possession of his Victim’s whereabouts. But at length even such a very bungling plotter as this very “clever” man felt the hum of the play could not last for ever; consequently the plot began to thicken, and the soi-disant Mr. Leyton was sent with a woman, who had every appearance of being a street-walker, in person, and under the name of Barnes. This phase of the plot consisted in getting into the same house as Sir Janus’s victim, and giving her the trouble and expense of getting out of it; and at a later period of the plot, this low fellow Barnes wrote her a most infamous letter, the handwriting of which was precisely the same as the letters of the soi-disant Leyton. But as Sir Janus Allpuff invariably adopts the opposite verbal virtue to the particular vice he may be at the moment practising, about this time he was seized in the House of Commons with such a “generous” (a favourite word of his) horror of the under-hand and the anonymous, that he would like to have every article in a newspaper signed with the writer’s name! But surely he must have uttered this fanfarronade under the full conviction that such an absurd law never would or could be passed; for otherwise, what dreadful high wages some of his doers of dirty work would require for some of the paragraphs, pro and con., which they are ordered to indite! Shocking to think of! for it almost makes one see, in one’s mind’s eye, Sir Janus himself reduced to such a state of pecuniary destitution as not to have coin sufficient to pay for a raspberry puff, much less for a literary one! Thus hunted out of the miserable and remote village in which she had taken refuge, Sir Janus’s victim left it, not letting anyone know the place she was going to, which so exasperated her tyrant to think that she should for even a week, a day, or an hour, escape from his persecutions, that the next time the miserable pittance he doles out to her became due, and from which he even deducts the Income Tax! he positively refused to pay it to one of her solicitors till he had a clergyman’s certificate from the place where she then was, guaranteeing that she was alive, and this he no doubt thought a very clever way of finding out where she was. But honesty is always not only braver, but shrewder, than rascality, not only because it has nothing to fear, but because all resources are within its grasp, and as his Victim was determined not to yield to this disgusting, though too ridiculous, piece of petty tyranny—a very clever lawyer of hers, and one as honest as he is clever, soon brought that contemptible wretch Sir Janus and his rascally attorney to his senses by writing them word what he would do if this disgraceful swindle which he calls an allowance was not paid instantly. Of course he soon hunted out his Victim again, but his spy (everyone being now forewarned) was sent about her business in a manner that must have rather surprised her and her “gifted” employer, and as now there is a talk of a general election, with what he himself and Fudgester would call those “high and generous instincts” for his own safety which never quit him, I suppose he will keep quiet for some little time, and he had better!

“What a contemptible, dastardly set of Blackguards, to be sure!”

“You’d say so, sir, if you knew as much of them as I do.”

“Egad! I think you’ve told me quite enough. How old is this Sir Janus Allpuff, and what sort of a looking fellow is he?”

“Well, sir, in years, I don’t believe he is much more than fifty, but from the horrible life he has led he looks eighty; however, in the puffs, of course, all this is attributed to his literary labours. His person is not so easy to describe; it is the head of a goat on the body of a grasshopper. But it’s the expression of his face that is so horrible; the lines in it make it look like an intersected map of Vice, bounded on one side by the Black Sea of Hypocrisy, on the other by the Falsehood Mountains.”