MISS COLONIA IN LONDON.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1211, 17 May 1895, Page 15

MISS COLONIA IN LONDON.

CONFIDENCES TO HER COUSINS ACROSS THE SEA. London, March 80. THE QUEEN AT CIMIEZ. Dear Cousin,--— A breath of spring is in the air as I write, and we are in hopes that the long cruel winter and bitter cold have at last finally left us. But I shall not put my furs away in camphor yet. The influenza, I’m glad to say, has also well nigh disappeared. It leaves also a terrible array of fresh gravestones behind. Every other person one meets is in mourning, and though the season has nominally begun there seems little or no entertaining. The Queen is growing very old, and very infirm. Mrs Crawford'writes that as Her Majesty descended from the train at Cimiez she stooped sadly. 44 How weary she looked, and yet how kind and obliging and well disposed to play her part in the rapidly acted pageant. She seemed unable to raise her head. The upward glances that she cast on all went to one’s heart. She looked up and round under her eyelids as if wanting strength to look otherwise. One might have thought that she did not feel her feet as she tottered down the sloping gangway leaning on the Indian Munshi. A painter worthy of the name could have done an immortal portrait if he caught her at that moment. The painter would have said with his pencil: She was unswervingly good at 76, she was invested with a majesty that altogether ceased to depend on her lofty station, that was entirely personal and a moral fact strange and interesting.” THE BEAUTIFUL DUCHESS. The death of 44 the beautiful Duchess of Leinster," though a surprise to the public, will not greatly astonish anyone who knew her. She never thoroughly got over the death of the Duke to whom she was devoted, and for a long time past had been in poor health. Just before Her Grace left Ireland for the South of France, she paid a visit to her husband’s grave in the private cemetery of the Fitzgeralds at Carton. Seeing the old gardener at work close by the Duchess called him to her, and pointing to a spot adjacent to where the Duke lies, expressed her desire to be buried there when providence should ordain her death. In the neighbourhood of Carton the loss of this sweet woman is being mourned alike by all classes. She knew the inner history of every poor family for miles around, and it was her constant desire to help without pauperising. The Duchess was the eldest of the four lovely daughters of the Earl of Feversham. When Lady Harmione Duncombe was presented in 1883, her exquisite beauty at once made her the belle of the season, and the following year the Marquis of Kildare married her amidst great rejoicings. In 1887 the fourth Duke of Leinster died, and Lord Kildare succeeded to the title. Her Grace’s willowy figure had by that time filled out, and the title of 44 the beautiful Duchess " conferred on her by the fashion papers came to be commonly used. She seemed to have a long, useful and happy life before her, when fifteen months ago the tall handsome Duke unexpectedly—as Mr Kipling would say— 44 went out." The blow prostrated the widow, and as I began by saying she never really became reconciled to life afterwards. THE MOURNING OF W. W. ASTOR. One has heard of men mourning their wives in many odd ways, but surely the method of Mr W. W. Astor, the American millionaire, is the quaintest. The Pall Mall Budget was his wife’s favourite paper. 44 Therefore," you say, 44 of course he cherishes it above the Gazette, or any other of his possessions." Not at all. 44 It was my wife’s favourite paper so I’m going to bury it with her," declares Mr Astor. And buried the poor old Budget was yesterday, when the last number came out.

I met Mr Lewis Hind in Bond street about four. He is one of the nicest men in London to flirt harmlessly with. So I just squeezed his hand sympathetically and said he might give me some tea. “ We’ll go to Charbonell’s, dear lady,” was his answer, and we went. After I had taken the edge off my fairy appetite with two cups of tea, a plate of cakes, and half a pound of caramels, the inclination to gossip became overpowering. “ Now tell me all about it," I commanded. But it seemed there was very little to tell. Every kind of argument and influence had been brought to bear on Mr Astor in vain. He had resolved to

murder the Budget , and naught else would satisfy him. Evidently the man is a complete “ crank." They hate him in America, and in London —as you may imagine—we don’t love him. Mr Hind made a great success of the Budget , raising its circulation from 20,000 to 50,000 in two years, and trebling the advertising. It was, he says, a real good property, and to show that he believed this, he was quite ready to give any sum in reason for it. But Mr Astor would not sell.

Did I ever tell you, I wonder, how, when a certain journalist went to see Mr Astor two years ago about the Ball Mall , he was shown into a room containing amongst other furniture, a solid-looking chest of drawers. The bottom drawer had apparently been left carelessly open, and it was full to the brim of golden sovereigns. A man might have taken out several handfuls and yet made no impression. The visitor had an insufferably oppressed feeling as though he were being watched, but whether he really was or whether the open drawer was just an accident he never discovered. Mr Astor presently entered and led the way to another apartment. A SECRET OUT. The secret cf the mysterious resignation of Casimir Perier is new out. It was his wife worried the already harassed President into shelving his responsibilities. They had both grown deadly sick of the anxieties and troubles entailed by high i office, and the Anarchist threat to kidnap their daughter brought things to a climax. “ Nothing,” said Madame Perier, “ could induce me to stop another week at the Elysde.” Her husband’s mother yielding to the pressure of his most intimate | friends, urged him not to desert his post in the hour of difficulty and danger, but her entreaties were in vain. There seems, indeed, according |o private letters, to have been a struggle for the mastery between the ex-President’s mother and wife, the younger of the two manifesting undisguised signs of jealousy at the influence which her mother-in-law endeavoured to exercise over her husband. As usually happens in such warfare it was the wife carried the day. LADY CYCLISTS. I learn from a new paper called the Lady Cyclist, that wheeling is becoming fashionable in smart society. The Princess of Wales and her daughters tricycle all about the grounds at Sandringham, though never outside their own gates. Other great ladies belonging to cycling clubs are the Duchesses of Sutherland, Portland and Westminster, Lady Margaret Spicer, and the young Countess of Dudley. This lady has a remarkably beautiful machine enamelled white, and lined with blue and gold. The handles are real ivory. Lady De Grey i 3 an enthusiastic cyclist, and Lady Jeune goes shopping in the country on her machine. Miss Mabel Besant can do a thirty miles spin without curning a hair, and the Duchess of Manchester and Lady George Hamilton are promising beginners. That this craze is expected to increase I gather from the fact that a new bicycle club with covered and open tracks will be opened next month at Fulham. It will be under the same management as the real ice rink at Nagara, and similar means are to be adopted to keep it select. Experts will be employed to give lessons, and a band perform on Sunday afternoon. The “ Sabbath Skate ” from three to six at Nagara on Sundays is invariably crammed despite the five shillings charged per head. DRESSES IN “ MRS EBBSMITH.” Your London correspondent tells me I mustn’t say anything about Pinero’s new play, as he wrote much too much, or at any rate quite enough, about it last week. I am to confine myself to the dresses. Well then; he smartest gowns in the Garrick play are those worn by Miss Ellis Jeffreys, as the parson’s widowed sister Gertrude Thorpe. One is of black and white checked glace, the pouch bodice simply trimmed with a graceful fichu of i

of white chiffon bordered with yellow Valenciennes, the long ends being caught into a waistband of black satin. With this gown she wears a short full cape of black cloth lined with white satin, and with a neck ruffle of black chiffon. A white straw bonnet trimmed with wide bows of black plush chiffon, divided by jet ears and a black Paradise osprey, completes a charming toilette. Miss Jeffrevs’ other dress is of black Sicilian alpaca." It has a plain skirt and a smart coat bodice with revers of white satin covered with black net, with an applique and frill of cream lace. The full vest is of white accordionplea ted chiffon. Both toilettes are charming conceptions in semi-mourning, and almost reconcile one to the possibilities of widowhood.

Miss Calhoun, as Mrs Cleeve, only appears in one act, but the evening gown in which she plays her little part is exquisite. It is made of black accordionpleated chiffon, the overhanging fulness of the bodice being caught into a deep jet waistband, while the square cut corsage is bordered with a broad band of jet. She has also a superb cloak of black glac£, patterned with sprays of faint hued flowers in which a lovely shade of pink predominates. This shade appears again in the huge silk revers which, with a collar of chinchilla, constitutes the trimming of a very lovely garment. Mrs Patrick Campbell’s first two dresses are by comparison with the up-to-date smartness of her fellow’s attire “ dowdy." The first is of dark brown serge almost nunlike in its severity, whilst the second is of grey cashmere similar in cut. Then the change comes and we see her at the end of the second act in a gorgeous raiment of shimmering black gauze, almost entirely covered with a raised floral design in gold. The corsage is cut low, and the sleeves simply composed of strings of gold beads. In the last act Mrs Campbell reverts to nun-like simplicity, and we see her clad in funereal black gown such as any dressmaker can turn out.

The male creatures in the play affect brown frock coats on all important occasions. It is the prevailing theatrical fashion, and promises to become general. Personally I don’t like brown frock coats* In my humble opinion a man looks his very best in a well cut black frock coat, with ample facings of rich silk.

FASHIONS TO COME. There are abundant indications of a showy dress season. “ Colour and plenty of it" seems to have been the watchword of designers and manufacturers, if one may judge from a tour in the big city warehouses. In hats the latest innovation favours large sized fancy straws with wavy and convoluted brims and large bunches of flowers above or below the brim. Bonnets are to be tiny, but of fanciful shapes. Jet promises to continue in popular favour in this connection and also in the form of aigrettes, but artificial flowers and foliage of a superior kind will hold the field. The variety in stock is unusually large, embracing almost every flower a botanist could name in twenty minutes. Capes of every variety will be worn. I have seen some most elaborate conceptions, all ruches, frills and bows, but those who prefer them plain will have a large variety to choose from. Jackets with huge sleeves will also be much in evidence, but I hope this sleeve mania will die out soon. It is shockingly inartistic. Dresses will follow the prevailing tendency as to colour, and blouses will be more popular than ever. Once upon a time they were useful only, but I now they are also things of beauty. In ] the more expensive blouses velvet will play a prominent part, and in the matter of tints there never was such a wonderful selection to choose from. For hat and bonnet trimmings ribbons will challenge flowers for popularity during the early season at all events. As in velvets, every conceivable shade is to be had, and in the shot ribbons some charming artistic effects are to be seen in the delicate toning of shades. The dress of the season will be all brightness; I wish we could be sure of weather to match. A NEW UMBRELLA. Let me draw your attention to an invention which will be a “ boon and a blessing" not to man alone, but to women also, and to women more particularly, the “ Habilis " self-opening umbrella to wit. There have been “ alleged " self opening umbrellas before to-day, but the “ Habilis" is a proved invention. By touching a spring conveniently situated the umbrella opens and spreads its protective covering out firmly without further aid. As one hand only is required in the operation, one need not relinquish one’s hold of dress or parcel with the other. But is it necessary to enlarge upon the advantages of such a parapluie ? It is a godsend to women folk and the pity is that it cannot be made unlosable. Colonial drapei-s should get a stock of the “ Habilis" umbrellas and parasols at once. They should sell like “ hot cakes."

The Nurses’ Home at Napier is almost ady for occupation. Ladies in the country requiring reliable Knitting Yarns, Art Needlework Bequisites, or Novelties for Birthday or Wedding Presents, will find Pringle’s, Wellington thoroughly satisfactory. Direcl keen buying, thorough knowledge, all combine in the customers’ favour. The Premier of Franco, M. Bibot, in his speech at the opening of the Bordeaux Exhibition, indicated the necessity for further taxation, including a graduated tax on domestic servants,