THE LETTERS OF LUCIA TO A LONELY SOLDIER.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 830, 7 October 1916, Page 6

THE LETTERS OF LUCIA TO A LONELY SOLDIER.

it rWrittcn for THE SUN fur the benefit of any soldier feeling loneiy while on active service.] By the Avon, October 6. Dear Lonely Soldier,— Sometimes 1 have a half-formed wish not a half-warmed fish, as the Spoon erism hath it—in my heart that yon were of the feminine persuasion, so that 1 could talk chiffons with you. I want to tell you how firtui winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest. And behold, for repayment, Spring lints are adorning the heads of the blest, And the shops show new raiment. If I were of the blest my head would he. similarly adorned, but paradoically, I'm blest if it is. Anyway, 1 hope. Kendall's shade will forgive mc for turning his. charming verse into such a horrid parody, but spring thrills and spring frills always go hand-in-hand. Now, don't they? Oh, but, there, you're a mere man —1 have such a desire to talk about new elo' to you that I keep on forgetting. So bear with me a while, like a dear Lonely Soldier, until I get. it out of my system.

I Skirts have just about reached Tlie Limit as regards length, but what is lost ' perpendicularly is gained horizontally. | They are now so wide that you—l mean ; I—eould wear a little pink petty from . Peter, a little blue petty from John, a 'green and a yellow from some other | fellow, a la Miss Hook of Holland, withi out appearing in any way overdressed. One lady here, a recent returnee from j England, was seen the other day in a , brief gown that billowed fore and aft in the most reckless manner —very short, very full, very fussy. White-lopped boots and white spats bridged somewhat the hiatus between skirt-hem and pavement. I and my friend Mareia stood rind watched her for a space, silently marvelling. Then Mareia said, very hushed and sort of awe-stricken, " What does she remind you of?" Hut 1 could only shake my head wordlessly, while my brain fairly reeled in pursuit of some maddeningly tlusive suggestion she conveyed. Mareia 'a wits were quicker than mine, and she tracked it down while I was still in hot mental pursuit. " I have it," she said, with sudden triumph—"a turkey!" And she was quite right. The abundant mass of dark plumage perched on two exceedingly slender white supports, the long bare neck rising put of the aforementioned dark plumage, the small hat atop, all gave an unmistakably turkey-Ish suggestion. We almost felt that we ought to tell her about it, for, as Mareia said, ihe turkey was a bird with a bad name these days. Bul we restrained ourselves, and so 1 suppose she still walks abroad, unwittingly giving her excellent imitation of a domestic fowl, while l.er heart exults in the message of her mirror, which tolls her that she is astonishing the natives with the latest fashion from Home.

Mr Bernard Tripp, who went to Egypt on the Ked Cross Commissioner stunt some little while ago, is on his way back to New Zealand— in fact, his ship is due in about a week's time or so. Mr Tripp went, off with a zealous heart and much patriotism, determined to do his bit in a neeile.il direction, but, with all the goodwill in the world, he doesn't appear to have been such a howling su<»v

cess as to have pleased everybody, tloii't you know. His imnonding return was announced ;it a inoeti ig of Red Cross workers the other day, and Hie ladies were asked if' they would like Mr Tripp io come alone- to n meeting ami (ell ..hem some of his experiences. Mayer applause answered in the affirmative, and one lady near mo muttered vengefully, "Yes', let him ci me, and we'll ell kin, what we think of him." One able sent by Mr Tripp, which caused • inch perturbation, was to the effect hat no more bandages were no "led.

The committee wondered whether their Red ('ross Commissioner had stalde information regarding ihe sudden and speedy termination of the war, whether Hie cable only applied to Egypt, whether Kngland was so girt about with bandages that she could hardly move, etc., etc., etc. However, like sensible women, most, of them went on making bondages just the same, and Heaven kno"'s it looks as if every one will be wanted. We—we stands for Women this time, and don't you forget it. —have been doing Hindi heaps of things lately, am! doing them so uncommonly well, that we're not likely to let the" fact tnnt a mrn'a a man stop us from indulging in a lit.t'e mild criticism of his actions if we feel that it is deserved.

We are in the throes of a Shakespearean season, and an evening or so ago I saw the melancholy Prince of Henmark stalk to his tragic doom, accompanied by relatives and family friends, and heard his father's spirit, give awesome hints of the abode of troubled ghosts. Previous to that there was "The Merchant of Venice,'" and other plays are to come. The marvellous beauty of the immortal lines hushes the house to a pin-drop silence each night, and wakens long thoughts of the Shakespearean era. Wonderful it is to think how genius lives on, imperishable, evergreen, immortal —how that dead hand, long since dust, can yet. reach out over the chasm of years and thrill us with its old-time magic! He takes us up amongst the stars, where his spirit dwells.

Such a sending-off of Christmas shifts as is going on the«e ilnys! Every lass that loves a soldier is busy packing a hamper, and the Liverpool Depot ladies, the fairy god-mothers of all soldiers, are sending them off in thousands. Loving thoughts and wishes go along with the smokes and sweets ami socks —do you ever feel them touch you, warm and soft and comforting, when yon open your parcels! Selah, Lonely Soldier! LUCIA.