IN TOWN AND OUT

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 56, 28 May 1927, Page 6

IN TOWN AND OUT

m®mi L I RjgftS

NOTES

Mrs. L. M. Pearson is a Wellington visitor to Auckland.

Mr. and Mrs. C. B. Sheridan have returned to Wellington after a visit to Auckland.

Mr. and Mrs. R. Wylie, of Wellington, are among the guests at the Royal Hotel.

Mr. and Mrs. J. Bernston are Nelson visitors to Auckland and are staying at the Royal Hotel.

Mr. and Mrs. F. McAlister, of Hastings, are paying a visit to Auckland and are staying at the Royal Hotel.

Mr. and Mrs. C. A. J. Levett, of Feilding, who have been visiting Auckland are now in Rotorua, where they intend to stay for a few weeks.

Mrs. Baldwin will accompany the Prime Minister when he visits Canada next August for the diamond jubilee celebrations in the Dominion, and is looking forward to the trip with eager interest. But their sojourn there must be a brief one, because, apart from her husband’s Ministerial responsibilities which necessitate close touch with London, Mrs. Baldwin’s health requires a regular course at Aix-les-Bains each year, and arrangements have already been made to repeat the cure this coming autumn. According to present plans the Prime Minister and Mrs. Baldwin will return home 10 days after landing, immediately the ceremonies are concluded. The Prince of Wales is travelling with them as far as the Canadian port of arrival, but proposes to proceed direct to his Alberta ranch. Reports of H.R.H. going over earlier to open the big exhibition are, his private secretary says, quite incorrect. The party will sail for Canada about the August bank holiday.

Alice Van Heddeghem, whose recent exhibition of flower pictures at the Abbey Galleries in Westminster revived an interest in an art somewhat fallen into abeyance, counts herself happy because such a gift is hers. Flowers of England, Italy, and France, in their season, make the round of her days; living as she does in the heart of London, these flowers bring sunshine to her when the skies are grey, and by her pictorial representation of lovely blossom she gives it out to .the world. “My little farm restores ,me to myself,” cries Horace. The poet loved his woodlands, the a.rtist carries her dreams into her home and with her flowers, and when life is hard, they restore her to herself. Covent Garden knows this artist well. By 7 o’clock in the morning she may be seen there, seeking her flower models, picking, and choosing. Roses may be said to be her favourite study; she finds inspiration in their perfume, colour, and endless variety of form, and long acquaintance has made her familiar with every species of flower, and its merits and demerits as subjects for her brush. The rose exotic is not highly esteemed by her, simply because it is a thing of too much perfection; lacking, it is true, the frequent blemish of the garden pi oduct, but also much of its grace. Lik». some cold human beauty, the hothouse rose, subject of such ardent cultivation, is of too aristocratic a nature, too reticent, and haughty to disclose its soul to the flower student, “too faultlessly regular” to be of use as a “sitter.” No one is. more vigorous in combating the idea that flower painting comes under the heading of “still-life” than this artist, differing from her predecessors of the 17th and following centuries, who placed flowers as picture subjects in the same catalogue with dead fish, Venetian glass vases, and polished tables, deeming them all “inanimate nature.”

MUNDANE MUSINGS

TOO PATIENT! Most women in these days have quite grasped the fact that they are almost always wrong! If they are girls they have grown accustomed to being called shallow, flighty, heartless, and vain, and having their clothes, morals, manners, and amusements denounced. And if older they are quite aware they are behind the times, dowdy, badly dressed, and unenterprising. But now the unkindest blow of all has been struck —a prominent British aristocrat has made a speech at Chelmsford, in England, in which she actually said: “Woman’s greatest weakness is that she is too patient!” “Too patient”—think of it! —patience, the one virtue we all strive to possess, and now to hear that instead of being a virtue it is nothing but an added vice! • When, for instance, under great provocation, we manage to refrain from throwing the teapot at our husband across the breakfast table, we are not repressing an evil impulse but making a great mistake. We should fling it with unerring aim, and follow it up with the milk jug and sugar basin. And when Tommy and Ethel are more maddening than usual and we long to smack them hard, it is -wrong to curb our impulse and try persuasive methods, we should bound at our brats and give them a hearty thump, and when we are kept waiting at the butchers and bakers, instead of controlling our rising irritation, we ought to give a few high and piercing screams to let off steam.

I broke this news to a charming girl I know whom I found kept waiting by her husband. He had promised to meet her at four o’clock just outside a big department store. It was fourthirty when I came.

“Now, when Jimmy appears,” said I, “just lose your temper and go for him tooth and nail! He always keeps you waiting? And you never say a thing? My dear, you are too weak for words, you must conquer this appalling patience of yours.”

She dimpled. “Oh, if I once got in a rage because he is unpunctual I should spend my life raging about. Jimmy can’t help it! He has no notion of time, and, after all, it is his one failing, and it might be worse. We all have our little defects, I suppose.” And perhaps, after all, she is right. Perhaps patience is generally the result of a highly developed sense of proportion.

For what is the use of letting little things fret and annoy one too much. If one’s husband is unpunctual and tiresome—but it is not a tragedy, he might, for instance, be a drunkard or unfaithful—then one would have something worth while shouting about! So many of us make mountains out of molehills, until at last a real mountain of grief arrives at our door, and then we look back and wonder what on earth we were yelling about before. And when one talks of patience—well, a good deal of any woman’s life boils down to waiting, does it not? She waits for the children to come home from school, for her husband to come home from work, for the kettle to boil, for times to get better, for Bill to get a rise—for the skies to fall.

No matter who she is or what she is doing she waits and waits, and waits, all through her life, and the best way to wait is to wait patiently.

Antoine Berrager, the French advencate, said, “There are no ugly women; only there are women who do not know how to look beautiful. Such as these should face the facts, show a strong will, learn to cultivate their beauty and their own powers of attraction” (writes the Hon. Mrs. Fitzroy Stewart in the “London Daily Mail.”) A plain face and figure may often be redeemed by some other charm of appearance. Good eyes, a fine brow, a clear skin, or a smart figure may do much to save the situation. Pretty soft hair, either fair or dark, will go far to atone for want of perfect features. Some faces, however, seem to be hopeless in their crude lines and uncouth plainness, yet their owners are a social success and seem to attract men right and left in a marvellous manner.

Now what is the secret of this omnipotence? Brains count for much; so does charm of manner, a winning smile, a soft voice, and —second to none—the art of dress and personal decoration. Also a plain woman is apt to have better manners than a beauty, she is less self-assertive, and often shows a more friendly spirit toward others. This counts for much, and helps out her lack of attraction.

If you have run out of onions and have nothing with which to flavour a stew break up a few sticks of spaghetti and put them in fifteen minutes before serving. This gives a different flavour which is not “heavy” or “meaty.”

FASHIONABLE WEDDING AT HOME

LONDON, May 12. Hundreds of guests, including.' Cabinet Ministers, Prince and Princess Arthur of Connaught, and Greek princes and princesses, crowded St. Margaret's, Westminster, for the wedding of Miss Mary Ashley, sister of Lady Mountbatten, to Captain Alex. Cunningham Reid, M.P. The bride was gowned in silver tissue, covered with silver fringe and crystal beads, which gave the effect of a sparkling waterfall. A silver tissue train was worn, and a tulle veil, falling from a silver and crystal head-dress, completed the toilette. The wedding ring was the latest style, of flat platinium bands, and was so frail that it was hardly discernible. The bridesmaids and pages were dressed in white and silver, which colours also predominated in the decorations of the church. Lady Mountbatten’s gift was a pearl necklace.

LADY PARR PRESENTED AT COURT

A wealth of delightful flowers in vivid colourings, with here and there the fragrant beauty of narcissi, violets and African marigolds, lent a dainty air to many tables at the Tudor Rooms this morning, when a number of cheer parties were in progress.

Among the hostesses we noticed Mrs. Marriner, Mrs. Sheridan (Wellington), Mrs. Pugh, Mrs. L. L. Berry, Mrs. Heighway, Mrs. Harry Brett, Mrs J. Hodgson, Mrs. Sinnell, Mrs. Burrett, Miss Rainger, Miss Donald, Mrs. Sheath, Mrs. Hardley, and a number of others.

Mrs. Reidy was the hostess at a delightful little party this morning in the Tudor rooms, when her guests included Mrs. Prendergast, Mrs. Peter Buck. Mrs. H. McCoy, Mrs. Hainc, Miss Maine and Mrs. Browne.

POLI NEGRI MARRIED

FETE AND FIREWORKS PARIS, May 15. With a cinema man filming the scene, Pola Negri, in a long-skirted pearl-trimmed gown with a white velvet close-fitting bodice similar to that worn when she was acting as a princess for the films, and with a headdress of silver leaves, was married to Prince Serge Mdivani at the Chateau Dereuil yesterday. The mayor of the little village of Seraincourt officiated, as the dispensations necessary owing to the bride’s divorce, had not arrived. No strangers were present V the ceremony.

An illuminated fete was held in the evening, concluding with fireworks.

EVENING WRAPS No material is too beautiful for the fashioning of evening cloaks. Silver and gold lame, shot with colour and then jewelled, are regarded with favour, and of course the lining must be equally beautiful. Imagine a silver lame coat shot with blue; it is then powdered with crystals and lined with blue velvet; the collar ar.d cuffs are of snow-white fox. In design they are a happy blend between a cape and coat, and as will be readily understood, are endowed with an atmosphere of luxury. The shawl will be seen, states a London writer, but draped in an entirely different manner; it will not be folded, merely the hem turned back, and will fall from the shoulders.

NEW HATS FOR OLD

Light hats, such as panama or Tuscan straw, that have become sunburnt and yellow, can quite easily be bleached. The crown of the hat should be stuffed with paper, or a basin of the same shape would be better still. For the bleaching oxalic acid is used, a teaspoonful being dissolved in half a pint of boiling water. The hat is brushed well with this, care beingtaken to go into all the crevices of the straw. The acid is then sponged off and the hat is hung in a windy place to dry. It is better not to make the straw too wet.

Hat dying is very successful, but why be content with one colour? A very pretty effect can be obtained by using dabs of two colours put on side by side irregularly all over the straw. Green and purple look well together, and so do orange and brown. If done in this way no one will ever know that the hat is dyed unless you are so proud of it that you tell them.