ALICE'S LETTER TO HER READERS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1951, 11 April 1889, Page 33

ALICE'S LETTER TO HER READERS.

I never hear that song, "The toilers,"— and Sir Densem sings it so well— but it gives rise to a whole train of thought. In the crowd around us we see but the outward semblance of the man or woman — and perhaps we should be more generous in our appreciation and applause, if we knew every toilesome step that had been taken before the present stage of the journey— if we knew the long effort, the hopes and fears of the toiler, and saw not only the publio aspect of the man, but the man as he is subject to disappointment, weariness, and pain. An actor smiles as he plays his part — he is paid to banish the care of others ; his own care he must carry to his own home and bear as best he can, for the people who weep over his assumed grief and applaud the actor's love of honour care nothing that the man has troubles which are no farce tragedies that he must fight out alone with what strength he has. The author with a fluent pen pictures a scene of sadness, and the reader cons it with deepest interest while the tears from a ready fountain flow. The people applaud the fight for honour, the stivingfor good, intheheroine, and admire the author's pathetic mood, but lay down the book and straightway grind down some human sister, driving her almost to desperation and thinking her days of hopeless drudgery and their hand in it not half so cruel in real life as that depicted in romance. Because real, they do not imagine her efforts to be half so noble. In another, whom despair taught recklessness, they see not what came before, and their part jn it, but only have an eye for the wrong, making the unfortunate a target for insult and scorn. There are none in this wide world who expect so much from their fellow creatures as those who do the least for them ; none who are so ready to doubt the purity of action of others as those who endeavour most to grind or push their fellows into the dust ; none are so suspicious as those who would themselves readily do evil. Where there is a bad odour there is rottenness, and where there are evil thoughts there is a wicked mind. No bird so quickly smells corruption as the vulture who comes to the spot to rend the prey. In a story, how we admire noble men and women I Yet the greatest artist is he who deals with living men, but who sees a hero in the man who sits opposite him at the table or a martyr in the woman living next door. We don't want the vulgar joys and sorrows of the people — we know the author is of no account. The book heroes >and heroines i make one weep; yet how do we know but he is giving us for our diversion the sorrows of his own heart? telling the battles he has fought out in the dark and the sorrows^he has wept over'alone 1 or a description of his struggles for his daily bread ? for he is a toiler like as we are, and he knows that you will buy his book heroes when you will have none, of him, though they and he are the same. The painter leaves on the canvas dumb, passionate glimpses of his hidden life. Ready words fall from the critic's lips. They call his picture an artist's dream. Dream ! God knows — and the pain to wake. You had your dream that was just as sweet, but you need not sell it to earn your bread. Do you think that the singer aspires to praise only for praise in its vulgar sense ? Are there no hopes for the little ones? No idol as dear to their soul as yours ? no one to work for, to plan for, and to strive for ? Is it for words of passing praise they so earnestly read what the critics say ! It is to please the public — that hard, hard task-master — they toil so earnestly because of the necessity of providing for a child or a wife, or to earn for themselves their daily bread. Those who have only to work with hands often think theirs the hardest lot. With their few fast friends and their little home, with one master to please, if small 'wages bo % get*- their life is a private and sacrßd thing. Their hatreds and lovei, their ' pleasures and pains, belong to themselves and their little home. If they do not choose no one need know ; but a public man cannot even die but the papers tell it, and how he died ; and every hour of his daily life is one long conflict between self and you. He knows as you do his private «fe ; he must do this, and you say he can't. You take his actions stripped of motives, and clothe them with others which he never dreamt of. What to him is right you often call wrong. What would be wrong to him would be right to you. He must sacrifice those whom it is his duty to consider a thousand times to please you, and often he is like David playing unto Saul. You are restless, ill-pleased, exacting, but he is pouring out all the musio that is in his soul while your faces are turned to the wall. Think sometimes of the cares that lurk' beneath the charm that soothes your pain. The essence of another's grief is often the odour that is Qiftused into your sweetest hours. The, inu&ic that lulls you or fires you .and makes you^strongiis^the story of some great com-

| poser's pain— poured out, told you, in its throbbing' beseeching notes — to win him bread. We are all toilers one with another ; -we live by bread, and some die to gainit. Then don't make it harder thanit is for those who toil to gain it. , During the last nights of the Spanish Students' concerts, Mr Densem sang and Mrs Murphy presided at the piano. The, ! night I saw her she Was dressed in black, relieved only by a duster of red poppies. Miss Wooldjridge wore her handsome gown of gold and cream. There were not any particularly pretty gowns among the audience. The City Hall rink provided an attraotive programme on Wednesday and Thursday nights — rinking for an : hour, then a concert by the Spanish Students. The hall was tastefully decorated with' Chinese lanterns and paper chains, and when the rinkersj oleared the floor chairs were placed in th^ centre for the performers, who • discoursed sweet music for over an hour. The circle was full of visitors, >who could but ' enjoy the cx T quisite strains. Accompanists' both at con T certs and at home so often err by playing too loudly. It must be a difficult thing to modu : late the tones of the piano always so as not to drown, the singer's voice ; but it is very irritating to the listener when the accompaniment is the chief part of the performance. Mr Barfch must be a farourite accompaniest with our local musicians, for his accompaniments are so expressive. Don't you think it is time our singers give us some new songs ? Some of the old ones could not be sung better> and it is always a pleasure to hear them ; but it would be a still greater pleasure to hear some new ones. Then we should come back to the old ones again like we come back to old familar friends after an absence, caring more about them than ever,' At the risk of being thought not musical I must confess to the opinion that concerts are nearly always too long, and if a good many people were to be honest they would say so too. When there are so many good things to feast upon one cannot do all of them justice, and gets tired before the last is served! One item towards the last seems to drive another out of the head.

The High School boys held their sports on Saturday afternoon at Oarisbrook, and of course a great number were present to witness them. I could not help ' noticing the pretty effect of the red parasols on the stand. In the summer they look too glaring, but in the autumn and winter, when there is a cold grey look about, their effect is picturesque. Of dress there is little to say between the seasons. The new gowns will appear by and bye, and the effect of the whole this winter will be rich and warm — yellow-browns and reds beautifully blended, greens, blacks, and blues braided with gold. I saw. Mrs Willie Neill the other day wearing a black cashmere, the side panels braided with gold, a sealette jacket and black hat trimmed with black and gold.ribbon. Mrs Ross ateo wore a gold-braided' dark-blue cloth made with Directoire coat.

[Io ensure publication in the forthcoming issue letters must; reaoh the Witness office not later than Saturday night.] BALL AT ST. BATHANS.

A ball was held at St. Bathans in aid of the Catholic school funds on St. Patrick's night. The room was just comfortably filled, and some of the' dresses worn looked very nice. Miss O'Halioran wore oream and pink, and with her graceful figure and good dancing was accorded the honour of belle of the ball. Miss Moran was in white muslin trimmed with blue ribbon ; Miss Annie Williams wore pale pink muslin with cream lace and pink ribbon ; Miss KateM'Phee, brown cloth trimmed with cardinal ribbon and fan ; Miss Emily Sharp, pink muslin draped with cream lace and pink ribbon ; Mrs Pyle, black lace- dresß ■; Miss Nellie Alpine, grey cloth trimmed with grey silk; Miss M'Donald, black velvet. Several other dresses looked very nice.— Lover of Dancing.