THE COSY CORNER CLUB.

Otago Witness, Issue 3244, 17 May 1916, Page 65

THE COSY CORNER CLUB.

MEMBERS' MEETING. The session of 1916 sees us meeting once more together, and to all members, whether active or silent, Elizabeth extends a very hearty welcome. You will be glad to see that one who has been for some time a silent member has emerged from her retirement in the person of Invercaukl, and has joined our small circle for the first, but not the last, time, I hope. Alpha, Oscar, Elsie, and "Val are all faithful friends as usual, and we are glad, too. to hear from Eve and Gabrielle once again. "It is with great pleasure," they say, "that we look forward to a reunion with, our old comrades, and we would be glad if you would pass on to them all our very kindest greetings. We both like the topics you have chosen for the coming session, and hope we may bo able to be present at most of the meetings, though we feel that it is unwise to make actual promises—we are such very busy persons, and know so often, to our sorrow, the truth of Burns's words with regard to the plans of mice and men." At this time, more than ever, one's plans are

apt to "gang agley," as doubtless all of us know, but I trust that all members who mean to be present at any of the meetings will be able to put theirs into execution. With heartiest greetings then, and best wishes for a pleasant session, I declare trie meeting open. SHAKESPEARE. Dear Elizabeth, —I think the first paper I ever wrote for the C.C.C., now many years ago, was on Shakespeare. The cycle of time brings us round to the tercentenary of Shakespeare's birth, and as my love for the poet is as strong as ever, I think it is fitting that one of the members of the C.C.C. should write up a few notes on the genius of Shakespeare. The tercentenary of Shakespeare's birth fell on Easter Sunday. April 23. He has been described as the Muses' darling child. I expect not much can be said of a fresh character on the great poet; but, like the sun in the heavens, be is ever new and fresh. I would like in passing here to pay a tribute of praise to the Dunedin Shakespeare Club for all the pleasure they have given me during the last 15 years in attending their public readings of the poet's work: they always seem to do well, and one is never disappointed in their readings. I expect most readers will find their Shakespeare not easy to follow in many of the plays, and to read a whole play in one night may tend to tire one. I have pleasure in bringing under notice a little book, "Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare," which they will find a joy to read over. This little book I recommended to a young lady in Canada, not knowing she had read it, and she sent mo word back that this little book was a timehonoured favourite, and had been read so often that it was past counting. So I hope the members of the C.C.C. will look into this little book, "Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare." Shakespeare is a many-sided ma!i. I heard a very good paper given the other evening in commemoration of the tercentenary of his birth by a Dunedin scholar on the humour of Shakespeare, and Shakespeare songs were sung .at the close of the paper. I spent a very enjoyable evening listening to the paper and the songs. Emerson in his beautiful essay on "Shakespeare or the Poet" deals in one part of his essay on the cheerfulness of Shakespeare. I quote the lines from his essay that give me much pleasurei—"One more royal trait belongs to the poet i I mean his cheerfulness, without which no man can be a poet, for beauty is his aim. He loves virtue not for its obligation, but for its grace. Ho delights in the world, in man and woman for the lovely light that sparkles from them. Beauty,

the spirit of joy and hilarity, he eheda over tho universe. Epicurus relates that poetry hath such charms that a lover might forsake his mistress to partake of them. And the true bards have been noted for their firm and cheerful temper. Homer lies in sunshine, Chaucer is glad and erect, and Saadi eays, 'lt was rumoitred that I was penitent; but what had Ito do with repentance? Not less sovereign and cheerful, much mora sovereign and cheerful is the tone, of Shakespeare.' His name suggests jov and emancipation 1o the heart of men. If he should appear in any company of human souls who would not march hi his troop, he touches nothing that does not borrow health and longevity from his festal style. "We sav from tho truth and closeness of his picture's that he knows the lesson by heart. Yet there is not a trace of egotism. In the poet's mind the fact has gone quite over into the new element of thought, and has lost all that is exuvial. This generosity abides with Shakespeare." George Dawson, M.A., of Birmingham, whom I greatly admire, and who seems quite an authority on Shakespeare, said at the Birmingham Shakespeare Club these words that I feel a joy in repcatin? to the members of the C.C.C., and which will clos« this short paper on the memory of Shakespeare : —"While one man sees to sneer and make mock, the great soul whose memory are met to honour says to love—to lov«* everything and everybody." I appeal to the members of this company to say whether Shakespeare has made you less genial, less gracious, less generous, less good tempered, less good humoured, less mirthful, less kindly, less full of power to enjoy tin's wondroua world and all the good things therein. For my own part I can say that the man has enlarged my horizon, deepened the little good that was in me, ruinihtered never to whai was evil. I therefore look upon him not. as a great geniuw, but as a great teacher who has given the greatest of all lessons that a. human teacher can give—increase of knowledge in a wise soiu is increase of power of love. I give you 'The Memory of William Shakespeare.' " LEX. I am very glad that you chose Shake«pear« for your subject. Lex, as I have been regretting that I did not fix a Shakespeare subject for this year's course. "Unfortunately I had arranged the syllabus before I remembered about the tercentenary. Perhapsr another year members might like to send >n papers on their favourite Shakespeare character, or some aspect of Shakespeare's work.

YOUNG LIFE. Dear Elizabeth,—This is an unusual subject to choose, but one often discussed nowadays, la these progressive times the tendency with youth is to grow up quickly. See how eager a girl of 16 is to put her hair up and the boy to wear man's suit. Those who write on this subject say "keep your youth as long as you can, for once it is given up it never comes back." Athletics and proper care of health will often make a girl look young long after she is of age. Taking on such a responsibility as early marriage will often rob a girl of the freedom of youth. The present war is the cause ol many boys nnd girls losing their youth before their time. See how much older men and boys of 20 look when they come back from the front. The awful experiences they have come through have given them different views of life. The war work is making a difference on the girls at Home. Th* strenuous life solas of them lead makes them look older than they are; but they are told it is an advantage to keep young in looks. There are ways for people of all ages to prevent them from growing old quickly, and these ways arc not artificial. Queen Alexandra is an example of well' preserved age. No one likes to be told they are looking old. How true are the following words written by an unknown author: "AH young life is impatient. Impatience is the one characteristic of childhood and youth. Life is fuller of promise at this time than at any other. It spreads before the eye like a rich and varied feast, like a garden full of blossoms ready to be plucked. The senses arc keener for enjovment. and there is a resile* longing to get "all that life promises ■•■■ >:■•:. Youn* people are in ho-ste to grow >■ »»d obtain in childhood the advantages met and womea enjoy. And in this longing they trample underfoot many of thfl blessings of their present age. and lose the charming grace which should distinguish their early years. They aro prematurely satiated. They have seen an end of all perfection, and find nothing new to interest or delight them. You know what happens if you try to open the bud of a lily and make it unfold its pure white heart to the sun too soon. You spoil ths bud, you take away its beauty and grace by. your violent haste, and you spoil the flower. Its growth is stopped. Neither its bright hue nor fragrance is developed, and before it is half expanded it begins to_ wither and decay. And so with the young child who seeks to be grown up at once. The charm of the child and the beauty of youth era both destroyed. Childhood and youth are the period of preparation for after life, in which wise and holy lessons can be most effectively imparted by teachers and the _ discipline of the heart and character carried on moat advantageously in the loving atmosphere of home. And it has been proved that, just as animals which have the longest infancy are the most highly developed in -the- end, so human beings who remain longest in the state of childhood and pupilage achieva highest distinction afterwards." INVERCATJL-D. We are very glad to welcome you as a member, Invercauld, and I hope we will hear from you often through the session. Yea, I think the war does tend to make young people grow old more quickly, and it seem 3 a pity for some reasons. We do not like to see youth overburdened with experiences and responsibility, but it cannot be helped ( for young and old must do their share; but it is possible to keep- a. young heart even. on into old ago. Dear Elizabeth,—ln those far-off days before the war our friend went from us out to his northern home, and when the great call oamo ho could not lost. He left tho needed rest and the little wife to go_ wherever he might be sent, and now I havo a letter from Cairo, dated March 11, 1916, which runs: 'My dear friend, —I havo just come down from Luxor, a long way up the lordly Nile, whore I spent a few days sightseeing among th<> ruins of ancient Thebes. I can't even give you a list of tho Eiarvela —such as temples, monoliths, inscriptions, colossi, sphinxes, etc. —which I have seen, but I shall always be glad that I had and took the chance of going there. The one great impression the ruins made upon me was size and durability. The huge blocks of stone and granite used for building the massive pillars and the enormous statues of kings and gods all convey this feeling of strength and bulk. Those who should know assert that there is a beauty in those ruins also, in tho columns and statues; I confess I could see no beautiful lines whatsoever.

There was also a deadly sameness about the plan of the various temples that palled after seeing one or two. As for Barneses 11, the great builder, his statues and inscriptions are so numerous that he becomes a perfect bore. I always headed Hassan' Achmed, our worthy guide and dragoman, into some other topic of conversation when old Ramy appeared. Kamy was a great pioneer in advertisement, and he is remembered where many a noteworthy man is forgotten. I have taken a great many photographs, which will give some faint idea of the majestic size and grandeur of these old temples. One statue of our friend Ram II weighs just about 1000 tons, and is carved out of one block of granite! Don't ask me how the granite was carried there and set up. I wasn't there, and I didn't see it done. Just to give an idea of the vast dimensions of Karnak Temple, there is one out of many halls there, the hypertyle hall, which contains a large number of enormous pillars, and in that one hall the whole Cathedral of Notre Daine do Paris could be stowed away. Add to this that Karnak had been a ruin for centuries before our ancient cathedrals were built, and j - ou are astonished. Thebe3, which was the wonder city of ancient Tunis, is now an aggregate of small holdings, where the fellah works all day long on the fields where once the Pharaohs drove their chariots. A few mud huts stand where, great and rich, stood the palaces of Egypt. Here and there a temple, too solid for the destroying hand of Time, remains to remind us of the glories of the past. Strangest of all the Colossi of Memnon. Two enormous figures seated side by side, they stand in the middle of a field, and ' no vestige of a temple within a mile. There they have stood for countless years. "What could they tell us if they could speak? Then there was the wonderful Valley of the Kings. Here, in a rocky valley leading from Thebes, the old kings were buried, and their graves so carefully concealed that only recently were they discovered. They are wonderful constructions, hewn out of the hard, solid rock. They usually consist of a series of chambers connected by a long sloping corridor, and finally a vault containing the sarcophagus in which rests Pharaoh. Many of the mummies now lie in museums in Europe and America, of course; but some still lie as they have lain through the ages. Walls and ceilings are covered with inscriptions and drawings, and in many cases the paint and plaster looks as fresh as if done last week. The drawings, to my mind, are anything but beautiful; but no one can fail to be impressed who reflects that they are the work of men who have been dead for 4000 years. Roman and Greek came after, and their ruins are also to be seen; mere parvenu! I have written enough on this to wdiet your curiosity, no doubt; but to give you any idea of it at all is beyond my powers. Karnak must be seen —no description can do it justice. The country along the Kile Valley is of marvellous fertility, and, when ■ I passed through, was a sea of bright green from the young crops. J Everywhere are canals and watercourses, 'carrying the lifegiving waters to the parched soil. There is no waste. The roads are formed by the canal banks, and the water-courses are the dividing lines. The peasant is everywhere hard at work raising water to his fields; altogether it is a wonderful sight. A 3 the sun went down away across the western desert the j scene was picturesque and lovely. There is a curiously glimmering saffron light at sun- j down which transfigures the whole landscape. Feather-topped date palms silhouetted against the west, and groups of peasants wending homewards with their camels and donkeys make it all Biblical. Pharaoh has gone, and Greek and Romans followed him j down the river of j'cars. But the Egyptian peasant to-day is doing the same work, grow- ! ing the same crops in the same fields, and : hoarding tha precious Nile water just as ho did thousands of years ago. A drab, mono- I tonons life is his, chained, to his littlo farm ! through the ages, watering, ploughing, reap- j ing, and then begin again." Such, Elizabeth, '

are the thoughts of my friend from ancient and modern Egypt. With all good wishes to president arid members, comrades of C.C.C.. for a pleasant session and well-attended meeting. OSCAR. Your friend has a happy gift of description, Oscar, .and his vivid account brings those Egyptian scenes to our mind very clearly. "These old avid colossal monuments sre indeed among the marvels of the world, and the sight of them must be something to remember all one's life. Dear Elizabeth, —Best wishes for a successful gathering for the session of 1916, and may each member do his and her part to make it so. A reader of the Witness who is now with the forces in Egypt has written on several occasions and expressed his keen appreciation of the Witness as it reaches him in camp. For many months now he has received our Witness regularly; so far they have all reached him, and, as he says, "A'o one can tell how very much they are appreciated." In one letter he said: "I don't care what I go without if I can get hold of th& Otago Witness; it is more to me than all the chocolates you can post." And so, in hopes that each member will post his paper on to some other boy at the front, I writ; the following extracts from a letter just received:—"lsmalia is entered by us from the native part. Here there are narrow, filthy streets, with a smell which certainly docs not come from the wood violet or mountain lily. All sorts of shops exists in this place, and in many instances they are not nearly so large as your dining room, and a number a little bigger. First comes the shoo whore fancy work is sold, and these men must be making a fortune. Things which were priced when we came here for 5s or 6s now cost 15s and £l. I saw ono drawnthread traycloth marked for 6s, but did not purchase. Later I was shown the same one, which a fortnight later had been bought for £1 ss! We now come to the corner where vegetables and fruit are sold; but I do not care to buy here, as everything is exposed to the filth and dirt of the streets, to say nothing of the chronic smells. On our way to the butchers we pass a crowd of natives gambling to their hearts' content. Then wo reach the shop, where the meat is exposed in anything but a tempting manner, and one never feels as though he could appreciate a glided steak. The next place is the baker's, and here—outwardly, at least—the place is clean, and everything laid out in a very tempting manner. However, I was disillusioned here also. The other day another chap and I wore waiting to buy a hot loaf, when a huge cat walked over to a tin of water in a corner as though he was familiar with it, and had a drink, whilst the baker, who was looking on, took and brushed his bread with the same water. Next in order are the post-card seller's and hatter's, but I've not been much interested in them. There are several grocers' shops in these streets; the goods sold are mostly tinned stuffs, butter, etc. With the exception of butter the prices compare favourably with New Zealand. Tinned fruits are six piastres (a piastre is 2Jd), salmon five piastres, butter is 10 piastres per lb. Pass on, and we are at the watchmaker's. The other day I bad my watch cleaned, and it was very well done, for 4s. However, I took it next door, and asked the man to have it looked at. ' Very dirty, very dirty.' I told him it had just been cleaned, and he replied, 'lt very, very dirty. I make it clean good" for Is.' We left him still protesting the other man had cheated me. In the main thoroughfare goats run at large. I think they are kept to eat up the refuse. There are natives of all sizes and ages selling oranges in the streets, They go along calling cut, Oranges very good., "very clean!' but as they mostly carry them in -heir blouses I can never see where the cleanliness comes in, because if the oranges are clean their skins (the natives') are filthy, and close contact doesn't improve the fruit. When wo came here oranges were 20 for Is; now, as the season is near the close and the demand very great, they are 12 for Is. Strolling from the business part to the back streets, scenes are met that can never be forgotten: old men, women, and children are sitting everywhere, and the flies creep over them in all directions, and it never seems to affect them. Their houses are much like the old Maori whare, only the roof is flat, and in a great many cases the roof serves as landing for another, and I'm certain every roof acts for a fowlhouse; places are nicely set out for the lions to lay in. Some of the places arc very well kept in the main business part; but ask the nationality of any men, ho is either a Russian or Italian, though Greek or Turk is stamped all over him. So much for the native part, and we will visit the French portion, which is very beautiful indeed; but as it's on the cards we are to have a swim I hope to continue my description for the next mail." We are all interested in the subjects for the meetings, and hope to see all the old names appear once more. Shasta, don't disappoint us this year; and where has The Khan gone to? ELSIE. Your letter is interesting, too, Elsie, giving us, as it docs, a glimpse of modern Egvptian life, instead of the ancient. What varied experiences many of our men will have had by the time they return to us! From Egypt to France is a long step, though the actual distance is not great, and they may find it difficult at first to get accustomed to the new environment. Dear Elizabeth,—To-day I write only for those members of our club who hold an unfeigned place in their hearts for their dogfriends. Otherwise they had better pass my paper by, for it will contain little to interest them. To every man and woman is not given the gift of insight and sympathy to understand the dumb comrades and servants that are placed in their keeping—the dog comprehends always. Do not make the mistake that man has mere intelligence upon this point, for he has not —he makes many senseless blunders; but the canine brain which studies him (responding the while to his beck and call), coupled with that subtle thing which we name instinct, never errs.

If you are served with fear and apprehension, because that service must be given, instead of the spontaneous devotion of a faithful heart, the fault is your own. When you find a churlish or untrustworthy dog', trace back to its puppyhood, or its forebears' puppyhood, and in nine cases of out ten tho cruelty of man has been the caiise of that falling away from virtue. Charles Kingsley held that heaven would not be all that ho expected it to be if his dog was not there to give him welcome; and with that all true dog-lovers will agree. Whyte Melville echoes the same thought, and if you know Lehmaim's poem to Rufus—his spaniel—you find the same craving for the after-life companionship of that little friend whom this old world had given him. I wish that I could quote the whole of his lines for the benefit of those who are strangers to them; but space forbids, and an extract must serve, though the portrait of this "little brown dog" will thereby suffer: Rufus! there are who hesitate to own Merits, they say, your master sees alone. They scorn your gestures and interpret ill I'our humble signs of friendship and goodwill. Laugh at your gambols, and pursue with jeers The ringlets clustered on your spreading ears : See without sympathy your sore distress When Ray obtains the coveted caress, And you, a jealous lump of growl and glare, Hide "from the world your head beneath a chair. , They say your legs are bandy—so they are; Nature so formed them that they might go They a cannot brook your music; they assail The jovful quiverings of your stumpy tailIn short, in one anathema confound Shape, mind, and heart, and all my little hound. , Well, let them rail. If, since your life- began, tksvond the customary lot of man Staunchness was yours; if of your laithtul heart . Malice and scorn could never claim a part; If in your master, loving while you live, You own no fault or own it to forgive; If, as you lay your head upon his knee, Your deep-drawn sighs proclaim your sympathy ; If faith and friendship, growing with your age, Speak through your eyes and all his love engage; If by that master's wish your life to rule— If this be folly, Rufus, you're a fool. Old dog, content you; Rufus, have no fear; While life is yours and mine your place is here. In similar and most exquisite measure Morgan Douglas pays tribute "to rny dog," and with him I may couple Bishop Doane's beautiful poem of love and sympathetic insight. These two, I think, would not be complete if I did not place beside them mention of the words spoken to "A Little Deaf Dog," by E. Brewer Defoe. I cannot take an extract here, for all of that poem would be needed. Shall I tell you then of the charming little story of the stray dog from Buffalo Bill's troop of strange animals which lost itself on the way to Marseilles, and attached itself in persistent joy to the French poet of Provence who so oddly resembled his master. What was the use of telling him to depart?—he remained until tho day of his death: not as a friend —ah no! but as a child of the family. Did he, Pan-Perdu, not know the family tomb before it was even pointed out to him? Did he not prove himself a staunch Catholic in spite of four legs and a tail? Even the bishop holding service of confirmation in the little' village church did not dispute this. It was not the custom of Pan-Perdu to attend the services—he knew well that man excludes dogs from these rites; but on this occasion he entered quietly and unobserved, and as .the bishop laid his hand on the bent heads of the children, behold the black head of Pan-Perdu thrust under his hand. "What is this?" cries Monseigneur, startled and shocked. The children, seeing their friend, smile and excuse him. "Oh, it is the dog of the poet; he is not as other dogs," they _ reply. "Oh, the dog of the poet," exclaims the good bishop, and, stretching out his hand, he lays it on the head of PanPerdu, thereby confirming him also; and Pan-Perdu respectfully licks the episcopal ring, and, having baen thus made a good Christian, discreetly retires. This is a true story, remember, and Pan-Perdu went peacefully to rest in France long before these stormy days. Does he eleep more soundly, I wonder, for the lick that was vouchsafed him of that episcopal ring? How your dog, on his side, keeps his faithful compact with you is shown in the following; few words—are you always worthy of his devotion? "The affection of your dog is unfailing and unobtrusive. If you are sad. so is he. If you are merry, no one is more willing to leap and laugh with you than he. To your dog you are never old. To your dog you are never poor. Whether you live in a palace or a cottage, he does not care, and fall you as low as you may, you are his providence and his idol still." I will close with that beautiful and expressive tribute to "a favourite dog," found graved on a Greek tombstone by an unknown hand: "Thou who passest on this path, if haply thou dost mark this monument, laugh not, I pray thee, though it is a dog's grave; tears fell for me, and the dust was heaped above me by a master's hand, who likewise engraved these words on my tomb." GABRIELLE. Your paper will give pleasure to many who have faithful dog-friends, Gabrielle, for those who cannot always put their own feelings into words are glad to find someone to express those feelings for them, and your tribute will thus bo a very welcome one. Have you over read the story called "Owd Bob," which has a Scottish sheep-dog for its hero?

Dear Elizabeth—Last year for the subject of our members' meeting I chose, from a little book of short poems, some verses entitled "The Wind-swept Wheat"; to-day, from the same source, I select two poems of war. The singers of the present time have been very busy with the theme of wax, and despite the fact that the thoughts and interests of most of us centre round this subject, one is apt to grow tired of the war verses that are in evidence everywhere, and that are so often built upon the same pattern. Those that 1 have chosen, deal in a different way with the subject, and though they were printed many years ago, they are applicable to any time. I offer them to my comrades to-day in the hope that they may be new to some of them. I choose the first verses because of their human touch, which, I feel sure, will appeal to all those who recognise that when war comes to the nation courage finds an equal place in the hearts of those who go to face death and those who stay at home to face what the days may bring. The writer, whose name I have seen only in this little book of poems, is T. Buchanan Read. The Brave at Hojie. The maid who- binds her warrior's sash With smile that well her pain dissembles, While beneath the drooping lash. One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles— Though heaven alone records the tear, And fame shall never know her story— Her heart has shed a drop as dear As e'er bedewed the field of glory. The wife who girds her husband's sword 'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart bo rent asunder, Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of death around him rattle, Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er Was poured upon tho field of battle. The mother who conceals her grief While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy hlood as e'er the sod Received en freedom's field of honour. The second poem is by Carmen Sylva, whose death was recorded a short time ago, and it has always appealed to mc because of its beauty, and because it seems to me so uncommon both in conception and workmanship. I Am Contented. The soldier said as he was called to die: "I am contented; But tell my mother in the village, iviy sweetheart in tho cottage, To pray for me with folded hands." The soldier's dead; his mother and his sweetheart, They pray for him with folded hands. Thev dug his grave upon the battlefield, And all the earth was red Wherein they laid him. The sun beheld him thus, and said: "I am contented." And flowers clustered on his grave, And were contented there to bloom. And when the wind, would roar Among the trees, Then nqked the soldier from his deep, dark grave : "Was it the flag that fluttered?" "Nay!" said the wind, "my gallant hero, Nay; thou hast died in battle, but the flag Hath won the - day. Thy comrades Hath carried it away full happily." Then said the soldier from his deep, dark grave: "I am contented." And then he harkened to the wandering Of lierds and shepherds, and he asked: "Is that the din of battle?" "Nay!" they said: "nay, my gallant hero; For thou art dead: the war is over; Thy fatherland is free and happy." Then said 'the soldier from his deep, dark grave: "I am contented." And then he harkened to the lover's laughter; And thus the soldier asked: "Are these the people's voices, who remember me?" "Nay!" spake the lovers; "nay, my gallant hero, For we are they who never do remember; For spring hath come, and all the earth is smiling; We must forget the dead." Then said the soldier from his deep, dark grave: "I am contented." EVE. The selections you choose for the members' meeting. Eve, are always out of the ordinary, and make us acquainted with versos which otherwise we might never have come across. I like the "t&oughts expressed in both the poems you send this time very much indeed. Dear Elizabeth, —This tremendous war seems likely to bring in its train a social revolution, more wide-reaching and more profound than the political changes it will effect. Here I will touch on. one phase of that revolution—the altered status and widened activities of woman. Already many writers have called attention to the changes the war will bring and is bringing to women; in these pages alone you yourself have done so, so has "Alien," .and so have some occasional writers. It has been shown how the resort to women's labour necessitated by the drain of men into tho war field, and the efficiency women are showing in so many different kinds of both paid and gratuitous work, will result in the permanent opening to them of many callings hitherto reserved to men. But what I wish to touch on here is not tho removal of barriers set by law, or upheld by the determination of men, but the removal of barriers and breaking of fetters contrived by women themselves, or at all events passively accepted by them. The war is a great revealer, showing up shams, and separating tho chaff of life from the true grain. And how many things most women have prized or, at least, thought indispensable are shown by it to be but worthless chaff. I remember, some time back. Constance Clyde had a short story in the Otago Witness showing how the war enabled two loeoplc who loved one another to marry by revealing to them that the supposed obstacle of want of means was nonexistent. They had sufficient for all essentials; they found that lack of means for display and luxury for which they did not care mattered nothing. The lessons of the war should result in life becoming more natural, simpler, healthier, and thus happier for all. And women especially should benefit, for women are more fettered by convention and more in bondage to the trivialities of life than men are. Women often feel this and resent it; but what has struck me is that while they complain they do nothing to free themselves, when they might do so with perfect ease. Of late years it has been very common to hear a _ class of feminist writers denouncing domestic work as cramping and benumbing. A married woman, they teach, ehould still he "economically independent," going out into tho world to earn her living. She is filling a more elevated place as cashier or typewriter than in making and caring for a home. Now, I often wonder if these writers, who find tho domestio routine of the ordinary conscientious wife and mother so narrowing, have freed themselves from thft

bondage of false standards of life and of feminine fashions. I fancy that often they are as much enslaved by the trivialities of life as any mere domestic woman. At all events they would be better employed in showing their less self-assertive sisters how to free themselves from needless fetters and burdens than in teaching them to look down on what, well performed, is the best work they can do, and one of the very few kinds in which they are not out-classed by men. It is, after all, mainly ihe spirit in which we do our work that decides whether it shall be' enobling or belittling. Certainly the work of the busy housewife and mother must often be burdensome, particularly in our colonial conditions, and leave very little space for books or other means of intellectual culture. Under these circumstances women need to plan and to simplify their work as much as possible by cutting out things which, on duo consideration, they find to be truly needless. Most would find that a good deal could be left out which they have been accustomed to do as a matter of course. To come to details, is all the dusting, washing, ironing, baking, and sewing done by n good housekeeper really necessary in order that tho family shall bo well fed, nicely dressed, and the house kept sweet and clean and pretty? Cannot furnishings, meals, and clothing be simplified so that fatigue may be lessened and precious time saved for mental cultivation or social work and intercourse? I have known a delicate mother of delicate children spend afternoon after afternoon in the house in beautiful weather, engaged in making elaborately-trimmed children's clothes or in fancy work, instead of going down to the sea beach close at hand with her little ones to gain health in the air and sunshine. For many years it was do rigeur that a little girl should have a fresh white pinafore every day, elaborately trimmed and got up. How much work this must have represented to the mother of several girls! Now, it has been discovered that school girls do not want white pinafores, and much ironing is thereby spared. Women, as a rule, are just like a flock of sheep: one does what she sees the others doing. Dress fashions in particular cause an immense waste of time and brain energy, let along waste of money. A woman is compelled to buy twice as many clothes as she needs, if she would be anywhere within the fashion; she must, in addition, spend hours in altering last season's gowns and hats if she cannot nfford to discard them altogether. Probably she makes many of her blouses herself; certainly she usually gets them up. Now, why should a woman who does eight hours of work for pay, or who is well occupied in indispensable domestic duties, spend what might be her leisure in laundry and needle work? The feminist will tell you that it is because she does not get a man's wages, and so cannot afford to pay for the work being done. But sometimes you will find that .die actually is earning equal wages to a man doing similar work. No; it is fashion that is responsible for the consumption of her time in trivial labour. Until within -he last few years fashion decreed chat the walking dresses of a grown woman must nearly or quite touch the ground. Sometimes they were a little longer, sometimes a little shorter, but never short enough for wet weather and muddy streets. Now wo see portly matrons tripping about with skirts half way to the knee, and I recall bitterly the many hours I have wasted in brushing out muddy skirts that need not have been muddied, and mending frayed edges that need not have been frayed. We shall have long skirts again, of course, and all other former- follies cf fashion if we will endure them. One great and needed reform is made easier to us by the economic and social changes brought by the war—tho deposition of fashion, and the adoption by women of a simple, healthful, and economical mode of dress, varied to suit the person and occupation of the wearer. So long as women countenance the follies of fashion and suffer their limbs to be cramped and their energies wasted at its dictates I cannot be very sanguine about the advance of women. We need a. women's league to free the vast majority of women who must work from the constantly-changing fashions .set up in the interests of manufacturers and tradesmen, and favoured by feminine vanity and folly, and still more by feminine inertia. But I have exceeded my space, so must quit .a subject on which I could say much more. ALPHA. As usual, Alpha, when I came to the end of your paper I found myself thinking, in the words of poet, "Them's my sentiments too." Your two main points—that a good deal of our domestic work is needless drudgery, and that we should be strong enough to emancipate ourselves from the tyranny of fashion—are both points which appeal to me very strongly. Dear Elizabeth, —How many thousands of anxious hearts there are to-day, those whose best and dearest are at the front, fighting to protect us from the ruthless hand of the enemy. Whatever would we do in times like these if it were not for the continual presence of God in our midst? He says, "If ye abide in me and my words abide in you, ye shall nsk what ye will and it shall be done unto you." Seme people think that if we ask God to help our boys to fight a good fight for Him and for the King, and to bring them safe home again, we are taking too much on ourselves, are thinking that we know better than God does, and that if they belong to Him now, it is just as well for them to die on the battlefield as to come home again and perhaps drift away from Him. and so to lose their souls. But God says, "Ask and ye shall receive," aiid wo are told to come boldly to the throne of Grace, and when we do so we like to: Large petitions with us bring, For His grace and power arc such None can ever ask too much. It is not they or us who have the charge of keeping our souls, but God Himself, and none can pluck them out of His hands. So let us doubt no longer, but just trust them in His hands. Let us ask Him to so surround them with His own holy presence that no evil can come near them. One good thing that the war is doing is making men turn to God as they never did before. For: The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small— So soft and slow the great wheels go, they scarcely move at all ; But the souls of men fall into them, and are powdered into dust, And in that dust grow the passion flowers— Love, Hope, Trust. It is when our souls have . been through God's mill, and have been ground into dust, that He gives us the priceless gems of love, hope, and trust. I like this letter from. Archdeacon Allnutt: —"Draw me, wo will run after Thee, Song 1, 4. He goeth before them, and tho sheep follow Him, for they know His voice. St. John x, 4." But in this cruel war time Ehall wo still think of the Shepherd's crook and happy sheep ? Now that earth's green fields are growing red with the blood of the slain, and tears are falling down human faces like rain? A thousand times, Yes! What other voico in the woebegone world can hind up tho brokenhearted? Lord to whom except to Thee Shall we go when ills betide, Who, except Thyself, can be iloce, and help, and strength, and guide.

In the scarcely darker days of Kero, the Good Shepherd filled the dying gaze of His beloved in the arena. They met the tyrants burnished steel The lions gory mane; and triumphed in the peace of God which passeth all understanding. Look through the eleventh chapter of Hebrews, "that Westminster Abbey of the Bible," and sec how it has been all along. To other eyes they seemed to be dying a cruel death, but ' they had eaten of the leaf that is for bruises and sores" (Ezek. xlvii: 12), and in the darksome valley they feared no evil. Remember the girl-martyr Blandine in the old Roman days being gored to death by wild heifers. Yet, just before she died, was heard to ask: '•When are the wild beasts coming? And so the sweet old song goes on from age to flge: In death's dark vale I fear no ill With Thee, dear Lord, beside me; Thy rod and staff my comfort still, Thy cross before to guide me. 0 praying mother, whose brave boy-hero has laid down his life for the flag, fix your heart upon the Good Shepherd. Keep well in memory His wondrous love and power. Be sure you eat of the leaves that are for bruise's and sores. Let the leaves of the Book comfort you. Only light of all the ages. Star of dawn to earth's benighted shore; Radiance of the eternal morning, Whose cxhaustlcss sun shall set no more. 1 believe Thee, Holy Bible, I have loved Thee since my day began, Herald of the sweetest tidings, Ever welcome bv the soul of man.

"And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations." (Rev. xxii: '2). "Thy words were found, and I did eat them; and Thy words were unto me a joy and the rejoicing of mine heart." (Jcr. xv; 1C). Yes, God can take away the sting of all our sorrows, and give us His sweet peace instead. We can all of us pray for all those who me protecting us. We may not bo able to net apart much time for prayer, but we can ask God to breathe His praying spirit into us, and we can pray as we work, and pray that God will turn all the people throughout the world to Him, for wdien we are all turned to Him and put Him first in cur lives, then the war will cease. For although He is the God of all comfort, yet He is a jealous God, and we must put Him first. When we do so He will fill us with His love, joy, and peace. We read in Psalm 107 how when people forgot God He sent them oppression, affliction, and sorrow; but it was only until the lesson was learned, and then He made His face to shine upon them. 1 like this verse in 2 Cor. i, 4: "Who comforteth us in all our tribulations, that we may be able to comfort them w'hich are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God." Yes, they who try to sprinkle the balm of comfort on others get a few drops spilt on themselves. FAITH. Many thanks for the kind words of appreciation in your accompanying note. Faith. Sometime.-:' one feels the sense of responsibility very keenly, knowing that one's words arc goin,>i far and wide; but one can but do one's best, and which I endeavour to carry out as far as possible myself. The simplification of life generallv and the tendency to get down to real essentials form part of the silver lining to the present war-cloud, and we can only hope that these good things will remain with us when the war-cloud has passed awa3 r . And hero, to close our meeting, are some of Val's dainty verses, which will bring back pleasant, recollections to all who saw . the rose-walk at the gardens in its full glory through the summer : A PERGOLA OF POSES. (In the Botanic Gardens, Dunedin). Gay rose-wreath'd walk, what glory has been thine Through all the shine and cloud of summer days! Thou hast made glad the hearts of humankind With thy rich tinted blooms—a wondrous colour maze. Under thy brilliant archways moved the crowd. — The young, the old, the sprightly, and the slow, Some out for joy. and some for sad reflection — A changing, motley crowd as moments come and go. Lovers and friends a world of joy around them. Gaze- at thy blossoms fragrant from the dew, They see no shadows 'ncath the fragrant petals, Nor lurking sadness in thy rainbow hue. But there are some with fondcstrecollection — Sweet memories lie for them in every rose, And there are others sad with restrospection — Life's evening shadows soft around them close. Sweet rose-wreath'd walk, life's wounded, worn, and weary Come for thy balm, but seek it in the shade When the gay crowd, and gleaming sunshine passes, And mellow lights fall soft upon the glade. Gay rose-wreath'd walk, a glory has been thine, Through all the shine and cloud of summer days, Sweet " joy and comfort unto humankind Thou hast sent forth to devious city ways. Yal. Second meeting, June 14. Papers to be in by June 3. THE SEA OR THE HILLS. In this mountainous, sea-girt land of ours I suppose there is riot one of us who does not live within sight of either the ocean or the hills. Some love one of these forms of Nature and some the other. Tell us of the one that appeals to you most, or, if you prefer it, quctc another's description iu some masterpiece of literature. Hints and A broken clothes peg makes an excellent window wedge. To keep suet fresh, bury it in the flourbin. If a cupboard becomes musty through having been unused for some time, place an ounce of spirits of lavender and a lump of salts of ammonia in an open jar and leave it in the cupboard. When arranging your household duties, tick off one afternoon in the week for mending and darning, and get a friend to come in for a chat while you are doing it. When making a milk pudding, add a pinch of salt, and you will not require to put as much sugar' as usual. To remove rust from steel, moisten a piece of soap and rub all over the steel, then powder with tome bathbrick and rub well. Polish with a clean dry rag. Hints on Frying.—To prevent fat spluttering see that the pan is perfectly clean before putting the fat in. Use plenty of fat to prevent the food from sticking to the pan. Steam or strain it off for use again when finished with. When frying liver, kidneys, or anything thick, cook slowly, or the outside will be too brown before it is done right through. To clean a gentleman's light felt hat, first thoroughly brush away all dust, and take off the band. Obtain a cake of pipeclay, and, dipping this into water, rub the" resulting paste well into the felt. Allow thoroughly to dry. and then brush off with a. stiff clothes' brush until no suggestion of white dust arises from the hat. The band may be washed and ironed, or a. new one purchased to replace it. Pipeclay may be. used dry if preferred, when the process is quicker but not so effective. Rabbitskin Mat,—Durable bedside mats can be made from rabbitskins. As soon as the skin is taken from the animal slit if up to the head, and to the tail, and stretch it, fur downwards, on a board, and secure it in shape with tacks. Dissolve a tcaspoonful of salt and a teaspoonful of alum in half a fceaenpful of hot

KST Descriptions of balls, &c, must be endorsed by either the Witness correspondent for tie district or by tb<; secretary of the ball committee. The MS. of any correspondents who do not comply with this rule wiii be sent to the secretary for eudorsiinetit prior to appearing.—ELIZABETH. To ensure publication in the forthcoming issu« letters should reach the Witness office if possible on Saturday night, but on no accouut taLer thau ilonduy night. WEDDING AT CIIRrSTCHURCir. A very pretty wedding wua solemnised in the Church of Christ on March 28, when Pastor I!. A. Gebbie united in the holy bonds of matrimony Miss Ada Ure to Mr Meredith Dorrecn. As the "Wedding 1 March" was being played by Miss Pitts, the bride entered the church on the arm of her father, Mr TV. 11. Ure. She looked charming in a white satin dress, draped with ninon over lace, and long train lined with pale heliotrope. She also wore Honiton veil and orange blossom, and carried a shower bouquet of white flowers, with a touch of heliotrope. The bridesmaid. Miss L. M. Ure, was daintily attired in a white silk dress, with pale pink ninon drapings, and picture/ hat of black and pale pink, and carried a bouquet of white and pink flowers. Master Stanley Roberta, nephew of the bride, wearing a. white velvet suit, acted as page, and was accompanied bv Miss Lesley Hargreaves, dressed in white silk, embroidered with pink and heliotrope, and carrying a basket of pink and heliotrope flowers. The bridegroom was assisted by his brother, Mr D'Arcy DorrePn, as best man. The bridegroom's present to the bride was a handsome pearl cluster ring, and to the bridesmaid he gave a ring set with an aquamarine, and <i gold brooch to the little flower-girl. The bride's present to the groom was a set of gold sleeva links. After the ceremony, the guests, alxmfc 60 in number, sat down to a recherche breakfast in the Henrietta Rooms, when the customary toasts were proposed and drunk, the last toast being for "Our Boys at tho Front." The wedding presents wore both numerous and costly. The hoppy couple left, amidst showers of confetti, by the second express for the Xorth Island, where the honeymoon is to be spent. The bride wore a travelling costume of navy serge and black velvet hat lined with champagne.