LADIES’ GOSSIP.

Lyttelton Times, Volume XCIX, Issue 11580, 16 May 1898, Page 2

LADIES’ GOSSIP.

f“ Canterbury Times.”l I need not, I trust, apologise to my readers for giving them a brief sketch of Auckland as it appeared to me during Easter time. It was one of Indian summer beauty, and, with its hints of tropical fruits a.nd flowers, was full of enchantment. The air, soft as velvet, and fragrant witn .scents of heliotrope and lemon blossom, seemed to carry a soothing quality, and was a delightful substitute for the sharp cutting winds, laden with dust, that had been our portion in Christchurch just previous to my trip northwards. Of the harbour, of Eangitoto, of the suburbs, the Art Gallery—the best in New Zealand the Museum, of the water famine—which seems chronic—l shall say nothing. These have been described often enough. I shall only endeavour to give my own impressions of the delightful spot near Mount Smart, where I spent a fortnight quite recently. Here, only about five miles from town, one breakfasted on the verandah clad * in the lightest of summer muslins, and one had only to step across tne white shell-covered walks, to gather huge bunches of heliotrope from bushes quite a yard and a half high. Hid I prefer daphne, there was plenty to be had for the gathering. The scarlet azaleas were just bursting into flower, and near by j were olive trees with the small clar a - i coloured fruit showing among the slender I leaves. In the orchard the lemon trees i were golden with fruit in all stages, from j the ripe yellow ball just ready to be plucked to the small purplish berry no I bigger than a pea, while the deliciously- * scented, waxy blossom lurked everywhere on the same tree. Near by, the guavas were preparing to ripen in another month or two, as were also the pomegranates. The great white trumpet) tree, with its : curious tube-flowers nearly a foot long, the arbutus, the strawberry tree and the vivid scarlet hybiscus made me still more sensible that I had come to a more genial climate, and around, above and beneath, the air was full of the chirruping of the crickets; all night long they piped too, and tho sound was by no moans unmusical. But if the fruits and flowers, the soft winds and warm sunshine held charm, it J was the landscape that fascinated. It i would be hard indeed to exhaust the interest iu it. Just behind the house stood I Mount Smart, one of the many volcanic cones j which surround the fair northern city, and I which served, as lately as half a century ago as vantage points for tho Maoris, and for their fortified pahs. Even now one may trace the rifle pits with which they are literally covered. From the front door, looking westwards, the sight was one of which one could not tire in ten life times. Fifteen or twenty miles off were the Waitakerei ranges, wuoded to the top. In the foreground, rising from green fields intersected with the lava walls which serve as fences, rose One Tree Hill and Three Kings ; to the left, on-Manga.ro peninsula, and keeping eternal watch and ward over the pretty town of Onehunga stood Mangare, with many homes and farms nestling at its foot and among its slopes. And between Mangare and Onehunga, sweeping far out to the Heads, lay the beautiful blue Manukau. At first I thought this was all there was of it. .but a visit to the top of Mount Smart undeceived me. Beyond Mangare, and as far as the eye could reach, was more blue water, broken up by bushcovered peninsulas until the dark treecovered ranges seemed its furthermost limit. On Easter Monday, when many snowy sailed yachts were beating np the harbour beneath an unclouded sky, the scene was a never-to-bo forgotten one. In the opposite direction, beyond Remuera, lay the greatnortherncityitselfon the shore of another great blue harbour, from which

issued the Tamaki, to stretch out its arm through the emerald fields towards the Manubau waters, near Otalmhu— a feat it nearly accomplishes when the tide is full. And always, wherever you go —like Fuji San, the sacred mountain oi Japau-Hip-pears Rangitoloin the back-gronud, with its clearly defined crater —a reminder of days long buried in the shadowy past, when red ruin, in the shape of molten lava and calcined earth, overwhelmed the whole district that is now so fair with gardens and happy homes. But there is yet another charm in Auckland ; faint as it South Island, it deepens as one travels northwards till it takes possession of ths traveller. It is rhe romance of the Maori. It permeates the air. Every yard of the soil is sacred with memories, the Maori names are poems in themselves, and a spell of enchantment is laid on the visitor, who remains its thrall for life.

It may interest my readers, especially those of an artistic turn of mind, to learn of the existence in Auckland for some years past, of a society of ladies engaged in china minting. Mrs Burcher, the secretary of "the society, the daughter of an artist, and herself a clever artist, has erected a furnace at her home in Parnell, where she has succeeded, after many experiments, in “ firing ” painted china so perfectly as to retain all the beauty of colour we admire in the finest ware decorated in England. Her pretty draw-ing-room studio had the walls, when I saw it recetiily, covered with the work of her brush, and on a sacred shelf stood several choice pieces of a dessert set presented by Sir George Grey to Mrs Burcher with permission to copy them. It was through a casual comment on the great beauty of some coffee cups to my hostess on ono occasion that I learned about Mrs Burcher and her skill in firingplates, cups and vases of all kinds. As most people are aware, the colours used in china painting are quite different from those used in ordinary picture painting, their hues being quite changed in the process of firing them. Ungiazed -ware must, of course, ho used, and this Mrs Burcher imports specially from Meissen, one of the two largo pottery works belonging to the German Sraperor. I was particularly delighted with the rich gold burnishing with which the edges of the dainty coffee cups mentioned above were finished. I may mention, incidentally, that they were similar to a set that had been painted / specially for Lady Onslow by Mrs Burcher with tiny views of New Zealaud scenery. Those I saw had, however, been painted by my hostess, and were greatly treasured. Several exhibitions of the work done by the society have been most successful, prizes being offered for china painted with colonial scenery—a strong impetus being thereby given to a very beautiful form of art. As far as I can discover, Mrs Burcher is the only lady in New Zealand who has taken up this interesting and uncommon pursuit. There is balm in Gilead for the hard worker; we need no longer waste our sympathy on the so-called martyr to the wear and tear of these modern days. According to a medical authority of high repute, the excitement au<T strain so characteristic of the times is very much better for us, both physically and mentally, than the monotonous lives lived by our grandmothers in the days -when the bicycle was unknown, and the electric cooking range undreamedof. Certainly it is very comforting to know this,' and as we may not suspect our authority of insincerity, we may pursue our “giddy round,” secure in the knowledge that it is good for us—that in the rush and stress of modern life is provided an “ antiseptic of society.” And yet this doctor’s,dictum will not prevent the average woman from sighing for a small breathing space, a slight reprieve from the eternal round of bustling activity in which her part must be taken if she would remain “ in the swim.” Whether our doctor would consider such a longing as a feminine ’weakness —a relic of the long-past days when indolence was accounted among women’s virtues, is rather problematic. He.triumphantly points out, however,, that never before did Tiard workers, who live wisely, attain to such a great age as they do now, ns if that was an argument in favour of his theory. It is’ the living “wisely” that explains everything, though he does not seem to see it.’ And if we would live wisely we must learn to alternate our hard work —as hard, mark you, as mind and body together can accomplish —with its opposite, real relaxation. That art learned, and religiously followed, we need fear no such bugbears as shattered nerves or deranged minds. “ Parents, give your daughters a mission in life,” is not by any means the new command so many people seem to consider it. For .very long, women have rebelled either secretly or openly against the fate that prescribed marriage as their only escape from the need of earning their own bread. Marriage for love no woman has ever fought against, nor ever will; but it was marriage without love, marriage for the mere sake of a home, that the highminded woman would have none of. The wealthy woman, or the daughter of wealthy parents, may wait until a suitable husband presents himself, but with the penniless woman, untaught and unfitted for earning her own living, things are very different. She simply must marry, and she does. Generally, it is the first man who asks her, and inclination, to say nothing of the suitability of either, has very little to do with the question. And the view that women should be fitted by training to support themselves is no newfangled or revolutionary one. It is held by the noblest and gentlest women in the land. Among others may be cited one of the truest gentlewomen who ever lived, namely, the well-beloved Princess Alice of Hesse Darmstadt, whose loss is still mourned by all who knew her. "What an error it is,” she wrote on one occasion to her Queen mother, “to bring up one’s daughters with the only aim of getting them married. I should like to have them brought up without thinking about that, and in a way so as to make them understand that they may accomplish their mission in life in a different manner. Marriage for marriage sake is assuredly the greatest error a woman can commit.” And Princess Alice had her troubles, too, but she kept them to herself, as a gentlewoman should, and she was a wife of the truest kind. The woes of some women are hitter indeed—so bitter that I fear we can form no conception of them, and consequently must, remain utterly unable to sympathise with such sufferers as there must be among the great ladies of English society. When slumming has lost all charm, and pleasure seeking has become a weariness to the flesh, life must he dreary. Still, according to the “Daily News,” a gleam of sunshine has broken the monotonous grayness of such existences by the discovery of a new and fascinating pursuit. The Italian organgrinding boy would be a fitting subject for charity, so, at least the careless thinker might imagine. Not so, however, in the estimation of these groat dames. He may be as ragged as he likes, and tatters are picturesque, as we all know. But with his monkey it is different. His clothes must be pretty. Embroidery must appear on his garments! And what nobler aspiration can a woman have, than to have introduced

the latest thing in needlework into the adornment of an organ-grinder’s monkey ? These ladies have found an object, and life has suddenly become worth living, again. The study of human nature is a truly interesting one.’ It is a pity that women are permitting the charge of brusquerie and bad manners to be laid at their door without seeming to make any effort at mending their ways. Now and then, it is true, a man does yet meet the woman who thanks him for small courtesies, but too often such are accepted in a haughty spirit, as if they were rights, and not concessions. A friend told me quite lately—to my sorrow I own—that her husband had repeatedly had his seat taken in a crowded tram without the slightest acknowledgement on the part of the woman to whom he had gracefully ceded it. The fact that he had paid for his seat and had. a perfect right to retain it, if he pleased, seemed not to have entered! her head, much less did she recognise the courtesy that prompt# him: to proffer his seat. It is foolishness such as this on the part of women that makes the true advance of the sex so difficult. Such women, together with their mannish, cigarette smoking sisters, can. only be regarded as traitors to the cause they pretend to champion—a cause which 1 demands all the gentleness, all the modesty, all the large heartedness of 1 which the sex is capable, to be marshalled! under its standard. Not one of the feminine virtues and graces can be missed;: nay, they are needed in a more highly developed form than we find them to-day,,' If only some women could divest their minds of their unfortunate prejudice against men, much would be achieved, but until then friction and graceless behaviour will characterise,the most ordinary social, intercourse between men and women.