"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 2818, 18 March 1908, Page 91

"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

(Specially Written for the Witness Ladies' Page.)

AWAKENING LONDON

A spell of sunshine after weeks of gloom, culminating in six days' fog, has awakened the metropolis from it«s gloom, and the opening of Parliament yesterday gave many thousands their foretaste of coming pageants. The fog on this last occasion was not a "London particular," as the "y° un g man by the name of Guppy" in ''Bleak House" designated it, but spread over most of the island, blotting out the Channel and the Solent, and enveloping sea towns in a white, wet mist, which in London was densified to a pall of darkness in which at times the traffic was at a deadlock. Many accidents occurred both on road and railroad, to say nothing of collisions at sea and drown ings in rivers and ponds into which people walked as if ■olmdfolded. The disorganisation of business and the cost of the fog for the six days in London alone has been estimated at £1,000,000, as follows : —Extra electric light,- £12,000^ extra .gas, £12,000; loss to tramways and omnibuses, £13,200 ; loss to cabmen, £3600 ; railway companies' extra labour, £60,000; less "oi custom to shopkeepers, £800,000 ; loss of time and broken appointments in city financial and professional circles, £100,000 ; — total, £1,000,800. No one who can possibly remain indoors ventured forth, and thousands of pounds that would have been spent in an ordinary way in shopping and getting about were not spent. To the West End shopkeepers the fog is a serious blow, for those ladies who must shop prefer to do it locally rather than venture further afield among lost cabmen and useless taxicabs, struggling horees, and obliterated motor care and omnibuses. The chief harvest is to the lighting companies. In London one company alone is estimated to have supplied eighteen million additional cubic feet of gas during each day of the fog. All the other companies shared proportion. London may be called "The City of Dreadful Night" when wrapped in this gloom, which would be fitill and silent but for the noise that breaks through like the terrors of a nightmare without explanation. Nervous people suffer agonies both in the- trains and in the street conveyances, and the underground railways and tubes are the resort of those who can do their journey that way. Even those on foot immediately outside the radius of the lamps — when their light is visible, ■which is not always the case — are in fear of molestation from pickpockets. The railway and river thieves reap a rich harvest, for although the river police patrol tUe water in their boats as usual, they and the etTeam are invisible, and in spite of the extra hands and police at the railway stations the thefts are very numerous. The policeman's lot in these dense fogs "is not a happy one." When 'the burglar's done a-jumping on his mother, as described by Gilbert and Sullivan, there is no respite from him, for however much he may "love to lie a-basking in the sun there is no sun to bask in, so he goes on jumping through windows, and haying secured the spoil, escapes, and is lost in j oblivion. * -vr ~ The unemployed marching from Man- , Chester to London so-as to be on the spot , at the opening of Parliament had a wretched &ne of it By the *«*.£s reached Birmingham they were tired, but still plucky. A writer says: — They knew they would have to tramp hard alfday^heTr average is well •*«»»*£ through all kinds of *«*«• J** *>c* ■food would be scarce, and that they wouia X to shelter a* night just anywhere .they could They said to themselves they couldn t le worse off than they were. They joined ■imply because they. had nothing else to do , There is no danger to be feared from the processionists. They are too Patient too poorly fed to harbour any thoughts of &olence. As I stood with them in the Market Square at Stafford, where they waited for three hours before they got food or any assurance that they would find shelter for the night, I marvelled at their apathy. It was pitiful to realise how well accustomed to £old and hunger and' uncertainty they must be. „,-. They are not bitter against society. They taXS r xheir hardships very much as a matter j of course. They are kindly, cheerful, humorous, quite unlike the stuff of which your social revolutionary is made. No, they themBelves are not dangerous. Loafers you can hardly call them, remembering their average of well over 20 miles a day. But assume that they do not want to work. "Well, isn't it a bad thing that the State does not follow Germany's example. «nd make them work? A large floating class of destitute people who won't work must be « canker in any community. ' | My belief is that they are neither hardened tramps Uor exceptionally good workers TEney are just average men, like most of us On the other hand, they don't shrink from trouble or exertion . The other night there was a difficulty about the heating of the v liall they were to sleep in. Late m the "evening it was difficult to get coal. At length a kindly househol3er offered them three buckets full it they would fetch it frcm hie house two miles away. A fatigue party told off for this duty went and :»me back with the utmost alacrity. Nor is there any grumbling about weariness on the march. They did the l»6t four miles into Birmingham on Thursday evening better than they Lad done any of the previous 24, although they had eaten nothing all day save some bread-and-butter and coffee at 10 o'clock. But, on the other hand, they' have no initiative. Set them to work, and they would, most of them. I believe, put their backs into it. But take away their job, and their only idea is to go around looking for another like it. They have little elasticity jf mind, little enterprise. They possess the qualities 'of the old kind of ' soldier, who did what he was told but could not think for himself. The parliamentary section of society is back in London, and characteristic and brilliant receptions are beiner eriven. Owing to the illnees of the Prime Minister, Sir ■Henry Campbell-Bannerniarij his political

reception had to be abandoned, but Lady Beauchamp, who came to the rescue, received the greater number of the Liberals at the beautiful house in Belgrave Square purchased several years ago by Lord Beauchamp. The party was given the night before the opening of Parliament, and the magnificent white drawing rooms were used, decorated lavishly and artistically with Ted tulips and mimosa. Lady Beauchamp looked handsome in pink velvet with old lace, wearing a diamond crown with pear-shaped pearls, with diamonds ! also glittering on her neck and bodice. The diplomatic world was in full force, and | many notable names were included in the ( list of those present. Some of the ladies i wore exquisite igowns and wonderful jewels. j Many went on to Lady Lansdowne's reception for the opposition at Lansdowne i House, members of the Government side ■ also putting in an appearance from the , Ministerial dinners. The reception was j very brilliant, and the beautiful rooms a I fairyland. The long corridor that leads to , the ballroom was decorated with palm<s. j A string band supplied the music, and I supper was served in the State dining | room. Lord and Lady Lansdowne re- | ceived their guests, and there was a string of distinguished arrivals till almost mid- , night, the Dukes and the Lords wearing I their Garter ribbons and stars, the ladies . their most beautiful jewels and gowns. . Previous to the reception Lord Lansdowne : gave a Ministerial banquet, the gentlemen , remaining on for the coming of their ladies. i There was sr* representative gathering of ' the leaders of both Houses, also of thei Opposition, diplomats, and other distin1 guished personages. I • The bright day brought an unusual number of people out to see the King and Queen open Parliament in state, and the i approaches to the House of Parliament j were crowded, so also was the neighbour - I .hood of Buckingham Palace, a concourse of many thousands reaching right down to i the Horse Guards and along the beautiful King's drive and the Mall, along which the procession passed, the sunlight streaming through the winter trees of the park and shining upon the gilt State coach drawn by its eight beautiful white ponies, in which were seated their Majesties. The drive through the Mall to Parliament House takes 25 minutes, and Parliament; opens at 2. Exactly at 25 minutes to 2 the band in the quadrangle of Buckingham Palace struck up "God save the King," a signal that the procession had started. Officers in brilliant uniforms cantered up and down between the throngs to keep the Toad clear for the gilded carriages, five of which preceded the State coach. The first four carriages were each drawn by six bays, the fifth by six blacks, contrasting with the famous Flemish creams and their scarlet-coated postilions, and with tti6 escort of the Yeomen of the Guard and a detachment of the Household Cavalry. As the- brilliant and stately procession rolled on, glittering in the sunlight, a mighty roar of cheering broke from the lines of spectators in the Mall, past the Horse Guards, through Parliament street and Old Palace Yard. Punctually at 2 the State coach readied the Victoria Tower o; the House of Lords, their Majesties bowing right and left all the way in acknowledgment of the enthusiastic greetings of their loyal subjects. Meanwhile the Prince and Princess of Wales, with their suite, in Toyal state, had- preceded their Majesties, to* receive them. Great precautions had been taken to prevent any interruption of the proceedings by the suffragettes. The regulations ' of the' Commissioner of the Police conI tamed a clause that no procession other ! than that of his Majesty should pass along the route, and tickets admitting to the Royal Gallery were also safeguarded, as ! h was expected that thete indefatigable , ladies, if given the chance, would assail ' the King with "Votes for women ! As 1 it was, at several points along the Mall ! a woman here and there darted from | among the crowd with her white scroll iwTth its motto. "Mabel Collins, he i authoress, an enthusiastic ™ e ™ b f ., oon,™£f n ,™£ ■ Woman's Freedom League, dashed through ; the troops and the police and her companion, Miss Munro, Dunferrmine, manI aged to get within a few yards of the 1 royal coach before being stopped. It is Sid that his Majesty did not appear to notice the incidental there are a good ' many incidents which it would not be diplomatic for his Majesty observe. An eve-witness of the brilliant scene within the House of Lords thus describee ! would principally have struck an observer unacquainted with English We as I he contemplated the scene m the House , ot Lords before their Majesties arrived? Surely iheqiiiet dignity of it all. The an of sureness, of harmony, of repose. The bright daylight was gently toned down aB it filtered through the stained-glass windows. The electric lamps high up in the fretted roof shone with a reticent glow. The panelling of dark oak provided a perfect setting for the rich colouring of costumes—the silks, satins, velvets, and laces which were the making of the assemblage from the spectacular point of view. Looking round the galleries or along the floor of the House, the eye was charmed by vistas of delicate colour, blues and greens and yellows, all shading off into one arouher with exquisite effect. In every woman s hair were feathers, mostly white, bat a few black so as the better tc set eff diamond tiaras. And down every back flowed a filmy diaphanous veil. Some wore handsome fur coats' over their low-cut gowns, and others opera- cloaks. Here and there glittered a sequin dress, while the di=creet sparkle of diamonds caught the eye at every turn. I Watching the peeresses sweep in and sit down with a graceful movement to arrange their dainty skirts, one received a soothing impression of instinctive elegance and refinement. Their- charm of feature, their highbred distinction of manner, their ease of , movement would certainly draw from those

Germans who have lately been astonished ' by the beauty of eighteenth-century Englishwomen an admission that the Englishwoman of to-day are no less to be admired. About half-past 1 a diversion was caused by the entrance of the judges. Much attention was paid also to the officers of the German Hussar Regiment, to which King Edward belongs, who have come over to make a presentation to his Majesty. The quarter allotted 1 to the ambassadors of foreign powers *ras a parterre of gorgeous colours. When the Prince and Princess of Wales entered, the former heavily robed in scarlet and ermine, the Princess elegant and distinguished in blue, everyone rose and bowed, sitting down again when their Royal Highnesses had taken their seats, one on each sid© of the two thrones set for King and Queen. And now the moment for the business of the day has arrived. There is a bustle af the doors, and then in dead silence, the whole assembly standing, the procession files in. As the officials pass the Prince and Princess, all bow . with formal reverence. There is Lord Crewe, carrying on a cushion the Imperial Crown, Lord Carrington bearing the Sword of State. Lord Winchester with the Cap of Maintenance. Prominent also are the Duke of Norfolk. Earl Marshal; Lord Knollys, Sir Dighton Probyn, and Sir Evelyn Wood, quaintly described as " The Gold *Stick." - When their Majesties reach th« steps of the thrones, King Edward gives the Queen hiß hand to assist her to mount them. The slim young royal pages arrange her Majesty's long train of red velvet, the King bows three times, and then the perfect stillness which has reigned since the doors opened is at last broken by the general rustle of sitting down once more. Now follows a wait of several minutes while a message is taken to the " faithful Commons " to bid them come. But the wait is by no means ungrateful, for it gives one the opportunity to take in at leisure the brilliance of the scene. On either side of the thrones stretches a splendid line of uniforms. Under their graceful Gothic i canopy their Majesties' seated figures form a fitting centre to the group. King Edward's open cloak of royal red reveals beneath a scarlet tunic covered with Orders. I The Queen's dress is b^ack. The brilliants I glittering on her bosom give back the sheen of her tiny diamond crown. The memory 'of a hundred gOTgeous stage spectao'es fades into nothingness before the splendour and beauty of this. j When the Commons have come to the Bar of the Hou=e with their customary scuffle, the Lord Chancellor, on bended knee, ) offers to his Majesty a copy of the King's ' Speech. Taking it with a gracious gesture, the King puts on his heavily plumed fieldj marshal's head-dress and, without rising, ■ reads it in a firm, clear voice. I It is listened to with close attention, by . no one with greater interest than the Queen, who bends towards her royal consort to . catch his words. ; The reading over, the King folds th« bpeecn and gws the signal for departure. in the same silence the procession is reformed. Their Majesties are followed out by all their train. Then the Prince and Princess of Wales go out. The ceremony is over. Parliament has been duly opened. I Ihe pitiful end of "Ouida," the famous novelist, news of which comes from Viareggio, has brought- compassion and sadness to the hearts of thousands of her readers. She died in the poor rooms which she rented there in a- little cottage, with no carpet on the brick floor of her bedroom, attended to the last only by her faithful maid, and three last dogs of the 40 she once possessed, the only near remaining friends of a world she had at one time delighted or entertained with 1 her books. "Ouida- lay, when the end had ! come, on a narow bed, the clear, incisive , features wearing an expression of repose, the eyes half-open. She was dressed, I observed, in a' silk blouse, with a white satin gown over it, and had long woollen mittens on h-er fragile hands, m which , was clasped a bunch of the country flowers she loved- All through the night, after death had come, the little dogs howled | round their mistress, jumping on to t-he bed to gaze at her motionless features. ! Ouida returned here in September from Massarosa. She was then suffering from pneumonia, complicated by heart weakness. She recovered her health in some degree, but last week the pneumonia returned. iFour days ago she telegraphed to a fiiend in London: 'Am very ill; am dying." She disliked doctors, but consented three months ago to receive two visits daily from Dr Paci, who is Mayor of Viareggio. The doctor was her only visitor during the last six weeks, witih the exception of Mr Carmichael, the British Consul at Leghorn." During those weeks she did not leave her room. She sat on a sofa by the fire reading and chiefly writing. She passed away soon after the midnight of Friday, 24th of January. "There was no gathering of mourners at Ouida's house. The body was quickly placed in a plain coffin of chestnut wood, and this was conveyed in an ordinary street cab to Lucca. . . . i There is no English cemetery here. One wreath sent by a woman friend was on the coffin, and the cab was followed only by ambulence men on foot. Few saw the departure of the cab, and I was the only Englishman present, our Consul from Leghorn having gone to Pisa to arange for the graveside service. The body will be interred at Bagni di Lucca, as the Consul believes that Ouida's mother was also buried there. Ouida received a 1 quarter's payment of her Oovernment pension of £150 on January 8, but died absolutely penniless. Her maid declares that she paid all expenses last week. All the novelist's papers have been sealed by the Brit'sh Consul. There is a great quantity of them, including a half-finished novel. It seems that Ouida has not left a diary, but slie was busy with her pen even until Friday, when she was wsiting a letter to .he Marchesa di Cosentmo at Paris." . . When, a few months ago, her pitiable condition became known, r fund headed by her sisters and brothers of the pen, would have been raised move than sufficient for her comfort, but she shrank from the ordeal of public chirity. And it , seems there was no frierd left Who could J do her this kindness unknown, and save hei in her need. She had outlived most of them. At three-score years und ten the woman who has no family ties is piti-

fully alone. And Ouida lived in spinsterhood, a strangely retiring and isolated life even in the yeais of her wealth* in her beautiful home in Florence, eurrounded by works of art—^trophies of her genius, — gifts many of them from admirers. When she was. rich she was generous and improvident, the friend of dogs and children. In her poverty she was uncomplaining and proud. Bagni di Succa she herself described as "at the foot of a magnificent amphitheatre of hills." The British Con-

sul at Leghorn made fitting arrangement? for her burial, and the little group by her graveside was composed of her friends. The coffin bore the simple inscription : OUIDA. Died a.t Viareggio, Jan. 25, 1908. She is>resting among the sunny hills ska loved, which will blo&Fom eocn with the Italian* spring. Messrs Macmillan and Co., the publishers, have the MSS. novel — the last from her tired hand.