A LADY'S LETTER FROM LONDON. Feminine Facts, Fancies, and Frivolities. [BY THE AUCKLAND " STAR'S" LONDON CORRESPONDENT.] London, April 29.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 55, 21 June 1884, Page 5

A LADY'S LETTER FROM LONDON. Feminine Facts, Fancies, and Frivolities. [BY THE AUCKLAND " STAR' S" LONDON CORRESPONDENT.] London, April 29.

Dear Mr Editor, — I hope I shall not shod you very much if I let your readers know . in confidence that some of us aro getting 3 just a wee bit tired of the fuss poople ptili c porsist in making over the doath of the poor, 3 dear Duke of Albany. Fancy having to gc into mourning at the very commencement l of summer for six weeks. It seems too [ dreadful. A friend of mine, a charming , woman, but sadly independant, declares . nothing shall induce her to mako herself uncomfortable for so long, and that she means to dress as usual next week. Of course, nothing can come of her resolve unless some ill-natured friend tells the Court officials, but it is certainly running a risk. Ladies in society who disregarded the Queen's injunctionsaboutwearingmourning for the Prince Consort were struck off the Lord Chamberlain's list and debarred from attending all Court balls, State concorts, and drawing-rooms for three seasons afterwards. This, I can assure you, is a very serious punishment. It means social annihilation for the time being, as people do not care to bo seen in your company lest they too should incur .Royal displeasure. The Queen does not insist upon crape, even her ladies-in-waiting are relieved from this infliction, but she requires that tho period of mourning shall be strictly observed. As John Brown used to say, " When Her Majesty mourns she mourns." "Truth" remarks, perhaps a little illnaturedly, that tho Queen seems to take a morbid pleasure in ceremonies of a mournful nature, and to almost revel in all the undertaker's details as to cofiins, services, graves and monuments. Certainly sho seldom seems as active and vigorous as when superintending something of the kind. The Princess of Wales, on the other hand, has a womanly horror of death-trappings and crape. The mourning dresses provided for the Princesses Louise Victoria and Maude are of plum black vicugna, absolutely untrimmed, save with pleatings of tho fcame material. The skirts have alternate wide pleats and rows of narrcw ones half- "way up. The bodices have short pleated tunics attached to them, which fall over the upper part of the skirts to meet these lower pleats on the skirts. Nothing could bo simpler or neater. They wore these at the Chaple Royal on the Sunday after their uncle's death, to the amazement of the congregation, who fully expected to see them deluged in crape. I notice that most of the spring drosses are being made with waistcoats, and in lieu of buttons many are fastened -with buckles. For evening a novel idea is a waistcoat made entirely of flowers, and for day wear another of Russian leather. Pinked-out flow ers ot tho material and rows of ribbon velvet are used for trimming on skirts, though plain panels and fronts of the figured material, united to the rest of the skirt by long looped bows, is a stylo which obtains, and needs but little other trimming. Skirts are draped at the back, but not bunched up, and the ungraceful pu flings to trying to the figure have almost gone out. A lady who posse&se? great taste, and occasionally writes a fashion article for "CnssoH's," thinks that tailor-made stuff' dresses, with broad box-plaits from waist to hem, -will be fashionable : tho tunic pointed in front and just arranged in a double drapery at the back, the pointed bodice having a narrow basque at the back, and Tudor collar, viz., a "wide straight band with corners turned down in front. Another well-arranged dress she desciibcs has a velvet plaited front breadth and waistcoat ; over it a red redingate cut as jacket, bodice loose and only fastened with a sti'ap four inches below the neck. Undor the short-pointed basque at the side is a side-piece, braided across in close-set rows of three, a button heading each row. This meets the back, which has double draperies over a knifeplaiting all in cloth. " Studio Sunday <5 (which means the day on which artists of note invite their friends to inspect the works they arc about to send in to the exhibitions at the Royal Academy and the Grosvenor) is over, and in a day or two the scramble for " private view " tickets will exercise all well-regulated minds. The pictures of the year seem likely to be Alma Tadema's wonderful representation of an old English pottexy at the time the Romans were ruling the country, and Luke Fiide's picture of a hot summer afternoon on the Grand Canal at Venice. Millai<s will, as usual, contribute two or three portraits, and Boughton has idealised Mary Anderson almost as successfully as Mrs Yopling did Ellen Terry. The most interesting picture I have seen so far is Herkomer's pathetic " Emigrants' Home at Castle Garden, New York," a startling revelation of the trials and hardships which tho countless polyglot emigrants endure, who are shot ashore daily into this dark and murky refuge. We see, of course, only a corner of the big building, but into it are crowded quite a gallery of story-telling figures. One little group especially went to my heart. On the floor, with her head supported by a dirty bundle, lies a young wile with a baby at her breast, and evidently sick unto death. Beside her kneels the husband, a comely German, who tries to persuade her to drink some untempting mixture which he has just made in a pannikin. Round about their young children are playing. There is a world of weariness in the wife's eyes, and but for the children sho would evidently welcome death as a release. Her husband, on the contrary, is scared, principally at the prospect of her illness continuing, and clearly has no notion how serious the case may become. Tom is busy refurnishing our wine-cel-lar, principally with vintages of ISSO, which are turning out unusually fine. Last night we had some Moet and Chandon "Brut Imperial of this year, and I liked it oxceedingly. Of course you must go to a reliable wine merchant, and be sure to secure the " premier cru " or fh'st crushing. By far the greater part of the champagnes sold under the famous labels of Pommery, Moet, Mumra, Giesler, Wachcer and Co., is thirdclass Vonoray or Moselle. Only the other day the proprietor of a famous Parisian restaurant wa3 prosecuted by Jules Mumm, who proved that the proprietor served a detestable compound containing petroleum as "Jules Mumm and Co.'s " champagne, the waiters being instructed to satisfy doubtful customers by "ringing-in" {i.e., rapidly substituting) one of Mumm's genuine corks directly the wine was opened. At Madame Devy's the other day I saw a piece of the dress made for the Queen to appear in at her grand-daughter's wedding at Darmstadt. It is of silver and black moire, most costly and rich, made very plainly, but of such material as to depend on itself alone for beauty. The train is lined with grey satin, and the whole costume decorated with the various orders and diamonds which Her Majesty usually wears on such occasions, would have been most effective. Of course, it will not be worn now, at any rate for a time. Whenever you want a large photo of the Queen, be sure to send for the one taken'of

her two years ago in full drawing-roorr ' robes, with tho orders of tho Garter, Vic toria, and Albort, &c, fully displayed, anc tho famous Koh-i-noor diamond in a brooch, ' Tho front of the dress is covered with lace old, exquisite, and absolutely priceless, and it has photographed so well that you can with ease see the whole design. This photo and a similar one of the Princess of Wales should be in every album. We have not been to many theatres since we came back to town after the Easter racos, but I hear thero is lots to be seen. Mr Laurence Barrett, the American actor who follows Miss Anderson, at the Lyceum met with a tremendous reception on the night of his first appearance. Ho does not please most of the critics, but then neither did the now idolised "Our Mary" at first. " Yorick's Love," which Barrett choso for his deb»t> seems to be an " ea"ly English " edition of " Othello." The scene is laid at the time of Elizabeth, and the hero is the low comedian of a troupe of travelling players. He has an idolised young wife and a grown-up son, and these two, who, it turns out, were passionately attached to each other in days gone by, make most flagrant love undor the husband and father's eyes. Everybody sees what is going on save the deluded man himself, and towards the end of tho second act, even ho grows suspicious. An Elizabethan lago finishes the business, and papa in a i fury deliberately stabs his son during a stage-fight ; afterwards he moralises over the corpse at great length, and finally brings down the curtain by taking poison. Laurence Barrett appears from all accounts to be better in the lighter than in the more serious portions of this peculiar play, He never roused the friendly first-night audience to enthusiasm, but neither did he bore them. Probably he will prove a succes d\'°tiine. The people who surround Miss Anderson arc doing their best to get her disliked. The taste of most of tho London managers prompted them to close their theatres on the evening of the Duke of Albany's funeral. "Our Mary" decided that (notwithstanding her success was largely duo to the cordial kindness and good nature of the Prince and Princess of Wales) she could not forego the bhower of bouquets and hurricanes of apolauso that would inevitably accompany her farewell night. She advertised saying the Lyceum would bo open, and as usual on such occasions, an immense audience assembled. Judge their anger m hen they were told coolly, " Miss Anderson is ill, and can't appear to-night. " Some had waited outside more than an hour. Others came long distances on purposo to be pre&ent. A scene of considerable excitement followed. Nor was the general irritation eventually allayed by the publication of a most ill-advised letter from the actress, in which sho said she had been perfectly woll, and had only closed tho theatre because on consideration she felt it would be more decent to do so. Do you remember a popular American play called "My Partner," which was played by a Yankee actor through New Zealand some years ago? It has just been produced at tho Olympic here, and will, I think, be a fair "draw." Tho papers warmly commend some of the situations, but complain of the prosiness of the author's (Bartley Campbell) dialogue, and of his lack of humour. The Carl Rosa Opera Company fill Drury Lane to overflowing nightly. Friends of ours went to sec "Maritana" last Saturday -without securing seats beforehand. They found every stall taken, and only a private box on tho pit-tier available. The muse en f>ceiic is fully equal to Covent Gaiden during tho Italian season, and the orchestra and chorus simply perfection. Mr Mackenzie's "Colombo" has been played once or twice m ith great success, and to-night "The Canterbury Pilgrims," a new and original opera by 'Mr Villiors Stanford, will bo produced for the first time. The works that draw mammoth audiences are, however, those old favourites " The Bohemian Girl" and "Maritana." Talking of music reminds me that on the 14th the twenty-fifth season of the world-renowned Monday popular concerts of classical music (or Monday pops as they are more generally called) came to a close. A concert over which Mr Louis Engel (the " World's musical critic) goes into hysterics of laudation, signalised the occasion, and an album containing the musical autographs and photos of' Hallo, Hellander, Janotha, Joachim, Marie Krebs, Norman - Neruda, Piatti, Ries, Richter, Madame Schumann Santley, and many other celebrities in the same line, presented to the inaugurator and manager, Mr Arthur Chappell. The album is further rendered invaluable by a sketch of Sappo by Alma Tadema, and an autograph poem dedicated to the '• Founder of the Yeast," by Robert Browning. Classical music is not much in my line, I'm ashamed to say, but I certainly mean to go and hear Alfred Cellier's cantata on "Gray's Elegy " next time they give it at tho Albert Hall. I shall also try"" and persuade some one to see me through the Richter concerts this season. The first one came off on Monday last, and every one has been talking since of the magnificent rendering of the " Vorspiel," from Wagner's " Parsiful" and Beethoven's symphony No. 3 (Eroica). Peoplo who , prefer more frivolous music still flock to see " Princess Ida," which, strange to say, has been a failure in New York. Miss Kate Santley has made a great hit at the Royalty Theatre with "La Cosaque," a vaudeville by Herne, which I hope to see before writing again. I was sorry to read the other day of the death of Mr H. J. Byron, the author of " Our Boys " and more than 100 other pieces. He was for many years a most prolific and successful author; in fact, very few dramatists have ever earned so much as he at one time did. His lucky star reached its zenith with the production of " Our Boys," which, thanks to a phenomenally strong cast, enjoyed what will very likely be (5/icchampion long run of the century. Byron's best work was, in the opinion of competent judges, clone before "Our Boys." For private theatricals few more amusing plays than his " Old Soldiers " have been written. It is a safe piece to select, well within the capaj bilities of amateurs, and sure to succeed. His best work of all, however, is that admirably constructed comedy, "Cyril's Success." Do you like a soul-thrilling story of crime and mystery ? If so, I can recommend you two. The first is called the " Leaven worth Case," by Anna Katherine Green, and ran serially through the Auckland Star some years ago. It has now been published for the first time in England, complete, and maybe obtained anywhere for 3s 6d. The other is by Faljeon, and bears the title of " The House With the White Shadows." In the course of three lengthy volumes you get almost every sensation conceivable to the mind of morbid mankind. Don't suppose for an instant I compare these stories with such melo-dramatic masterpieces as Wilkio Collins's "Moonstone" or Sheridan Lefann's "Uncle Silas." I simply recommend them to avid readers like myself who devour all they can lay their hands upon. So poor old Charles Reade is dead. He was not a favourite author of mine, noi have I ever had much sympathy with what Tom calls his " rampant Philistinism," Nc

doubt he meant to do good, and did (do good in a way, but there was always so much bitterness and unkindly feoling in his onslaughts that the sympathy of the reader strayed unconsciously from the attacker to the attacked. The newspapers have gushed excessively in their obituary articles. Admitting that Chas. Reado's "novels, with a purpose," were useful as well as entertaining, and models of " pure incisive English," I cannot admit that he was " the mastermind among living novelists." The best book Reade ever wrote, in my humble opinion, was " Put Yourself in His Place," which unquestionably struck a vital blow at tho brutalities of Trades Unionism. " Hard Cash," too, drew attention to the necessity for inspecting private lunatic asylums, and "Never Too Lato to Mend," both as a novel and a play, has always been a great > success. Of late years Chas. Reade's genius decayed, whilst his bitterness increased. At the time of his death he was writing two novols, both of which are unfinished. Wo women feel so sorry for poor Mr Edmund Yates, who of all men is most genial and bonhomie,. Fancy being imprisoned for four months on account of a wretched paragraph which appeared in your papor when you wero aAvay from home, ! and which you did your best to remedy directly you saw it. The men gloat over the discomfiture of the editor of the " World," and rather excuse Lady Strad- [ broke. It seems she is a relative of Lord Lonsdale's, who offended her in some way. The stupid woman wrote the paragraph to annoy him and Lady Westmoreland (whom, she knew, he rode with somewhat often at hunt meeting.!) thinking they alone would recognise whom it was meant for. Lord Lonsdalc never reads the "World" but Lord Westmoreland does, and he fitted the cap on to his wife at once and was furious. Lord Lonsdale, left to himself, would, for many reasons,have preferred to pass thematter over, but Lord "Westmoreland insisted on criminal proceedings being pushed relentlessly to the bitter end. Lady Strad broke, however, has been punished. In addition to the esclandre her name has been struck off the Lord Chamberlain's list for the present season ; indeed, the Queen would have banned her eternally but for her regard for Lord Stradbroke, who is a singularly blamei less person. I think I told you how Avhen people Avere discussing the paragraph at a dinner party Lord Stradbroke (who was the only person present ignorant that it was attributed to his wife), observed, "The woman, Avlioever she is, deserves to be coavhided." There Avas ama/ed silence, Avhich must have sadly puzzled his lordship at the time, though I daresay he thought it natural enough a feAv clays later.