The Letters of Annabel Lee

Radio Record, Volume I, Issue 41, 27 April 1928, Page 6

The Letters of Annabel Lee

My Dear Elisabeth,--Wellington has greatly appreci‘ated the presence of so many distin‘guished visitors who are attending the General Synod, this time assembled in the Capital City, three years ago at Dunedin, which sweet city of hospitality is spoken of by many in glowing terms. Great dignitaries foregather daily and hold commune on matters of import to the religious life. A strange and moving thing it was to hear the out-of-door service at Quinton’s Corner on a recent evening; the Church of England is but rarely brought to our doors, so to speak, or preached to the man in the street. An experience that will live long in the memori¢s of those privileged to sce and to hear,

No more appropriate gift could be imagined than the bronze of great beauty which is to be presented by Lady Fergusson to the Otago Women’s Club. From Italy comes that winged figure of rare loveliness, akin as it is in subtlety of appeal to the Victory of Samothrace -but complete, as the Samothrace is not-and instinct with rare, strange quality of gracious motion. An inspiration, this statue, typifying perfection of feminine grace and activity; and, seen from whatever angle, charms the eye and the taste of those who love beauty. Intriguing, indeed, are the texture and glow of that ring velvet which, it is to be foreseen, will be a vogue in the coming season. Of this caressing silken stuff, greatly to be admired was a gown recently worn by a dainty dame in porcelain, whose clear and pale colouring was enhanced by the pearly greyfess of that enviable garment, which obviously had been swished and draped by an expert. Framing a pair of blue eyes that rivalled. those of Thomas Hardy’s heroine was a swathed turban of the same kindly hue; while reptilian shoes and shoulder-knot of satin rose-

huds of sober hue added the right touch to an ensemble graceful and appealing. A novel idea to be seen at present is the painted jumper, easily to be carried out by anyone clever at designing, the colour, of course, to be splashed on in a fantasy of the cubes and triangles of the moment. Attractive, and of a comfort not to be despised in these chill days of autumn, is the morning coat of velvet, matching, as it does, the simple silken frock with which it will be worn. Evening gowns of tulle are fascinatingly frilly and flouncy, and cunningly contrived to float enticingly above a sheath-like slip, fashioned as closely as may be to slenderness revealed. The recent mannequin parade in London, where jewels to the value of many thousands of pounds were worn by slick and sliding mannequins for the delectation of society, recalls a novel by Robert Hichens, that delver into the occult, and also, incidentally, the hearts of women. ‘Twas a strange tale he told of an enormous emerald, all carven with a strange device, like the banner in that tiresome poem, "Excelsior," which we all studied in our young, young schooldays. The baleful green glitter of the jewel, its mystic script, and capacity for arousing lust of possession, envy, hatred, malice, and crime, wrough havoc and devastation, particularly to the woman in the case, an unpleasant female indeed, All narrated, of course, with that suggestion of mysterious forces at work at which the author is an adept. Great is the lure of precious stones to women. To me the aloof sparkle of the diamond commends itself; to another some rope of pearls in which seem imprisoned " all the shade and the shine of the sea." Others succumb to the abiding blue of the aquamarine or the dull allure of the tourmaline; while Elsie possesses a necklace of jade that must have been dug from Golconda. The sapphire, the chrsoprase, the topaz; lovely things and lovely names, with a =nananan an anon ante on ah an ion ap oben open Oban one anete ae eee ee CREE KECESEEBECE EERE EES

sound as of sunshine breaking on waves of gold. Accompanied by Rosalind, herself re--sembling a poppy-one of the slender, blowing red ones of the field-as she had donned that day, apparently without design, her new red sports suit, a successful garment, with collar, pockets, and cardigan of tan, I reached town last Friday long before 9 o’clock, to tind the place already flecked with those scraps of colour that descend like red manna on man, woman, and child on Poppy Day, and prove that At the going down of the sun. and in the morning, Ie still remember them, I searched my purse, and found but a solitary coin. "My last shilling,’ I confided to the gentle flower-seller. "Tt is well invested," she said with truth. In the shop of Konrad, philosophic mender of shabby shoes, who is by way of being a literary gent, like someone in a Dickens novel-was it Silas Wegg? -I encountered Geraldine, very radiant that morning, with more than her share of the beauty of youth. In the crook of an extremely slender arm there wriggled a small terrier, bright of eye and obstreperous of manner. "Let me introduce you to Jane Austen," said she, indicating the puplet, which gazed around the oddments in the shop, human and otherwise, with a passionate interest approximating to that of its illustrious namesake of lang-syne. The Swedish friend of the down-at-heel looked up from his last. "Who wrote Jane Austen?" he inquired with a simplicity sublime. "Wasn’t it one the Brontes?" "About that period," agreed Geraldine, with the perfect aplomb of the modern maid, Your

ANNABEL

LEE