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Mr Labouchere, editor of the London Truth, who has known Oscar Wilde for years, says he has always regarded him as somewhat wrong in the head. "So strange and wondrous in his mind," remarks the observant editor, "when in an abnormal condition, that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in a court of justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of prison may not be pleasant to him, but I believe that the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else. I remember in the early days of the cult of aestheticism, hearing St. George ask him how a man of his undoubted capability could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation: He had written, he said, a book of poems in vain. He went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out. Not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality, so he hit upon aestheticism and succeeded. People talked about him and invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who, still without reading them, gladly accepted the MS."

Mr. Labouchere in "Truth" says that he has always regarded Oscar Wilde as somewhat "wrong in the head." "So strange and wondrous is his mind," remarks the observant editor of "Truth," "when in an abnormal condition, that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in a court of justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of a prison may not be pleasant to him, but I believe the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else. I remember in the early days of the cult of asceticism hearing Mr. St. George ask him how a man of his undoubted capability could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation: He had written, he said, a book of poems; in vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out, for not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality; so he hit upon asceticism, which caused people to talk about him and to invite him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who, still without reading them, gladly accepted the M.S."