OUR CHRISTCHURCH LETTER.

Observer, Volume 2, Issue 52, 10 September 1881, Page 614

OUR CHRISTCHURCH LETTER.

By " Countess Kate."

Ohiiistcutjech, Sept. 2. I don't know if tlie society doings and society people of this city of the plains will prove interesting to the readers of the Observer, but I am such a confirmed Aucklander that I flatter myself I can tell even bo far away from home as this what will interest them and what will not. The fact is i I am a Tery old Auckland resident. I can remember the time when the sea came up to the corner of Shortland-street, and when Mr John Williamson, of the JYiew Zealander, and Mr Hugh Carleton, of the Southern Cross, were our bi-weekly instructors, and we had no other. Mrs G-ore Browne kept her simple state at Government House then, and walked quietly to and from St Paul's on Sunday, shaking hands and chatting with all her acquaintances, high and low, and Lady Martin and. Mrs Selwyn used to trudge to the same place of worhsip with their prayer books in a native kit. Ah ! those were rare old days when everybody had to possess some knowledge of Maori, and nobody boasted a carriage but Mrs Wynyard. I remember that when I came to the colony the local fashionables looked terribly antiquated and out of date. They were so far away from England then, and the crinolines and bonnets of the recently-arrived English ladies made them objects of surprise and curiosity to everybody. The Maoris especially were inclined to mob such strange figures. I remember a Maori woman took a fancy to a hat I had brought out which cost 15s, and offered me £2 for it. If I had been as old and wise as I am now, I might have been willing to make so good a bargain, but youth is saucy and unpractical, and I was very highly indignant. But I hope old Auckland friends will excuse these little digressions and recollections of " Auld Lang Syne." From time to time I shall not be able to avoid dropping into them, as Silas Wigg dropped into poetry. But now for the cathedral city. • New arrivals do not find our ladies look antiquated. I often hear it remarked that we are "very English indeed" here. I think we are. The climate is colder than Auckland, and the light gay "garden party-ish" costumes worn in the streets of your northern city are not possible here. Christchurch society is stiff and cold and reserved on the surface, essentially English and English cathedral city like into the bargain, but the place is wealthy and there are many ways of making a comfortable living; moreover, there is much solid comfort in the pretty retired homes all smiling in greenery, that not only adorn the suburbs, but almost encroach on the very centre of the city itself. There is too much kindness and sociability on the hospitable English pattern when you get to know people, the getting to know taking, however, as many months as it would days in the Auckland of olden times. I think, however, it is not entirely local prejudice that makes me think the ladies of the Auckland of to-day especially, and markedly gracious, approachable, and winning. The sweet faces of many Auckland ladies settled in Christchurch are much admired. Mrs Cracoft Wilson is one of our acknowledged beauties, and her sister Mrs Chenow is unusually sweet looking. Dr and Mrs Ellis have proved a groat addition to society here, and have met with a warm welcome, Mrs Ellis' musical talents being highly appreciated. But now a word about the fashions before I close* Have you had weather cold enough in Auckland to offer an excuse for all the sealskins and fur that have been so fashionable here ? Every lady seems ready to risk anything, even the credit of fathers, uncles and cousins (to say nothing of those legititimatc objects of prey, husband's), to get costly sets of furs. I think the handsomest and costliest winter cloak I have seen has been worn by Mrs Wills, daughter of Mr E. H. Rhodes. It is a costly sealskin, magnificently trimmed with sable. I should be sorry even to make a guess at its price, but people who can afford to build cathedral spires can indulge in garments others may not even dream of. Mrs Wills' is slender and graceful and one of the few who look becomingly clothed in such a heavy combination as sealskin and fur. Spring dresses have not yet made their appearance here. A few arc wearing narrow bright spring flounces under the hem of their dark dresses, but generally the weather has not been favourable to the casting off of winter clothing. Granny and Mother Hubbard cloaks are worn by a few,' but the majority of ladies have not the courage to wear them for fear of looking remarkable. This fear greatly pervades Christchurch society, and quite prevented the Tarn o' Shanter being generally worn here when it was quite the thing elsewhere. One fashionable lady I saw in a very handsome velvet one, with black plumes at the beginning of the winter, but she did not seem to care about wearing it, for within a few days I saw her in her modost little toque again, and noticed one of her children wearing the discarded Tarn o' Shanter, denuded of its plumes. Speaking of children, Mrs J. R. Gresson has dressed her little ones with a very pretty fancy this winter. They are all in white, white merino and fur, and as they are very fair they look like little snow flakes.. The most fashionable evening dresses I have seen have been worn by the Misses Willem. These young ladies wear regular Mother Hubbard dresses, a little like bed gowns to unaccustomed eyes, and they have very handsome ermine opera cloaks, lined Avith cardinal. And now I will bring this little gossip to a close. I shall, at all times, Mr Editor, use the full names of the ladies I write of, but I shall always try to write kindly and courteously of all, so I can do so without fear of dragging you into an action for slander on account of the gai'rulous pen of Countess Kate.

— An art critic was turning over the leaves of Ghistav Dore's " Wandering Jew " in an auction mart tlie other day, and remarked : " Oh, these old painters have a style peculiar to them. KW, no modern artist would delineate a forest in this strange manner." " Humph," remarked a bystander, " Dore must be as old as the Wandering Jew himself, for he is not dead yet !" The art critic looked at his watch, and, remembering that he had an engagement, he retired.