“I have just been dismissed from the _Spectator_ for sneezing in
an indelicate manner. I have a Revelation to make with regard
to the conduct of that paper. Please see me at once, or it may
be too late. I have with me a letter which the _Spectator_ will
publish next week. It throws a searching light upon the Editor’s
mind, and lays bare all the inner workings of the paper. Price
40_s._”
I told Dr. Caliban, that in my opinion, on the one hand, there
might be something in it; while on the other hand, that there might
not.
Dr. Caliban looked at me thoughtfully and said:
“You think that?”
He touched an electric bell. As this did not ring, he blew down
a tube, and receiving no answer, nor indeed hearing the whistle
at the other end, he sent a messenger, who, by some accident,
failed to return to the editorial office. Dr. Caliban himself went
down and brought up the stranger. He was a young man somewhat
cadaverous. He repeated what he had said in his note, refused to
bargain in any way, received two sovereigns from Dr. Caliban’s own
purse, sighed deeply, and then with a grave face said:
“It feels like treason.”
He pressed his lips hard together, conquered himself, and left us
with the utmost rapidity.
When Dr. Caliban and I were alone together, he opened the sealed
envelope and read these words, written on a little slip of foolscap:
“_The following letter is accepted by the Spectator, and will
be printed next week._” To this slip was pinned a rather dirty
half-sheet of notepaper, and on this was the following letter:
Balcarry Castle,
County Mayo.
Jan. 19th, 1903.
To the Editor of the _Spectator_.
Dear Sir,
Among your humorous Irish stories perhaps the following will be
worthy to find a place. A dear uncle of mine, my father’s half
brother, and the husband of the talented E. J. S., was bishop of
Killibardine, a prelate of great distinction and considerable
humour.
I well remember that somewhere in the summer of 1869, his valet
having occasion to call unexpectedly upon a relative (butler to
the Duke of Kerry), the latter observed “Indade, an’ shure now
an’ is that yourself, Pat, Pat asthor, at all, at all,” to which
the witty fellow answered, with the true Irish twinkle in his
eye, “Was your grandfather a monkey?”
I am very faithfully yours,
THE MACFFIN.
Dr. Caliban was heartily amused by the tale, and told me that he
had met the MacFfin some years ago at Lady Marroway’s.
“Nevertheless,” he added, I don’t think it would be fair to comment
on the little story ... I had imagined that something graver was
toward ...”
He never spoke again of the small outlay he had made, and I
afterwards found that it had been included in the general expenses
of the paper. I have never forgotten the lesson, nor since that
date have I ever accepted MSS. and paid for it without making
myself acquainted to some extent with the subject. A little such
foresight upon that occasion would have convinced us that a letter
of this kind would never have found a place in a review of the
calibre of the _Spectator_.
Contrast with Dr. Caliban’s wise and patriotic conduct upon this
occasion the wickedness and folly of the _Evening German_ in the
matter of the Cabinet Crisis.
For some time the saner papers, which see the Empire as it is, had
been issuing such placards as “He must go,” “Make room for Joseph”
and other terse and definite indications of a new policy.
The _Evening German_ had for several days headed its leading
article, “Why don’t he resign?”
A member of the unscrupulous gang who ever lie in wait for whatever
is innocent and enthusiastic called, just before press, upon the
editor of the _Evening German_, passing himself off as the valet
of the minister whose resignation was demanded. He produced a
small sheet of MSS., and affirmed it to be the exact account of an
interview between the minister and his doctor, which interview the
valet had overheard, “concealed,” as he put it “behind an arras.”
He said it would explain the situation thoroughly. He received no
less than 25 guineas, and departed.
Now let the student read what follows, and ask himself by
what madness a responsible editor came to print a thing so
self-evidently absurd.