LIFE IN THE CITY.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume XXX, Issue 8450, 15 May 1906, Page 6

LIFE IN THE CITY.

Life is a journey; on we go Through many a scene of joy and woo

A Dull Week—Farewell Entertainments —Departing WeMingtonians— Visitors to Town—the Picture-An Impression —An Ideal—All Sorts and Conditions ■ —A Great Baritone—Violinist and Pianist-Refractory Tresses—A Peculiar Haven-- Concert for the Invalids.

There was not much excitement last week —perhaps to make up for the various entertainments of the previous week. The Rimutaka carried away a number of Wellington people, among them Nurse Reos, who, with another nurse, was in charge of poor Captain Mayoss. For her Miss Palmer gave a charming farewell tea, asking many of Miss Rees" friends. The table was very gay with purple irises. Various little impromptu teas were got up for other departing friends. I noticed a little morning teaparty in the D.I C, that had Mrs Martin, of Martinborough, for its centre. Mr and Mrs Sim, from Dunedin, and their small daughter, and Capt. and Mrs Bone, from Christchurch, are passengers Home by the Rimutaka, and Mr W. A. Fitzherbert and family, who leave, I believe, with no idea of coining back, at least to settle, havo also left. They will be much missed in the Hutt, where the family his grown up, and whore they exercised much hospitality. Mrs Yon Zedlitz and Mrs Lathom are both daughters of Mrs Fitzherbert. Mr Fitzherbert, junr., the clever black and white artist, has recently married at Home. Other people are meditating a trip to England. Indeed, in this present day of costly living and Cheap fares, it is cheaper than keeping house. Dr and Mrs Cbapple leave shortly for a year's stay at Home. Last Saturday tho Premier, who, notwithstanding his indomitable energy, has not been well of late, left for Australia. His party consist of Mrs and Miss May Seddon, and Mrs Frank Dyer and her little daughter. Miss Wolters, of Carterton, who was staying with Mrs Stott, has gone home, the two Miss Gibsons, of Bonny Glen, Marton, are guests of Mrs Malcolm Ross, and Mrs Sandford Cox, also from Marton, is staying with her father, Dr. Macgregor. The Governor arrived from Christehurch on Saturday/and Lady Plunket is also in Wellington, staying at Bishopscourt. She has not been very well.

The picture, "The Light of the World," has been the subject of much comment and discussion. It was hung at the further end of the small concert room in the Town Hall, which was darkened except for lights beside and in front of the painting, hidden in the. crimson draperies that surrounded it. There seems no occasion-unless it was so ordained by the artist—to view it solely by artificial light. Indeed, the crude electric glare spoils to some extent the wonderful painting of the light from the lantern, which is, even when seen thus, marvellously realistic. Holman Hunt has been called an impressionist. We associate the term with weird, unfinished, unintelligible masses of colour, like the sunset which was described by a sarcastic art critic as a tabby cat smothered in tomatoes ancl cream. But all the details in " The Light of the World " are exquisite. The fallen apples in the soft green crass and the tangled brier that trails up the door one could almost think were real, and tbe jewels in the clasp that holds the royal mantle glitter with ruby and emerald. About the face, perhaps, there is most dissent. It is too sad, too worn, too stern, too German in type. These are some of the objections. The fact is most religious people have an ideal Christ, and when does one find one's ideal in concrete form ? There is a haunting power about the expression of the mouth ancl eyes that is exceedingly peculiar, and the colouring is so splendid that, seen from the corridor outside the hall, it absolutely glows like some great jewel in the darkness. The crowd that comes and goes is interesting, consisting, as it does, of all conditions, the smart lady in her carriage, the messenger boy, the navvy, the shop-girl, and whole families brought by their careful parents, When I went in once, there was a whole class, under an anxious-eyed teacher, ranged along the wall. Some of those who went to see the picture had seen the original in Keble Chapel, Oxford. Mrs Rhodes and Miss Richmond have both seen it, and state that it is smaller by far than the replica in Wellington. The artist declared he improved on the original in the copy, and worked out more perfectly his ideal of the Christ. This same picture was the cause of great annoyance to the musical enthusiasts at Mr Andrew Black's concerts, who were disturbed by the constant tramping up and down the stairs of those who went to see the painting.

Mr Andrew Black is a splendid singer. In London he has a grand reputation as, perhaps, its finest baritone, and he manages his voice with consummate ease and art. Especially in ballads did he captivate his audience, perhaps because the majority do love an old familiar air. Mr Black has had rather hard luck, for he arrived with a cold, and, though there was not the slightest symptom of hoarseness at his first two concerts, on Saturday night, he was not up to form, although, of course, his singing was a revelation to many. The Town Hall is a very trying place to sing in, for it is too bare and big, and seldom quite full, so that the voice echoes and the words are ditiicult to catch.

The violiniste, Miss Sinclair, is very fine, and plays delightfully ; while Mr Borschke, the Hungarian pianist, is a master of his instrument. He is most peculiar in appearance—pale, and very youthful, and with long hair, parted in the middle, and slightly curling over his coat-collar. When excited, these locks fall over his face, and the more frivolous in his audience were more intent watching the caprices of his tresses, and his efforts to tuck them behind his ears, than in enjoying his beautiful music.

By the way, I hear that a young Wellington girl, Miss Lilian Irvine, with a very fine voice, sang before Mr Andrew Black at the conclusion of one of his concerts.

The Home for Chronic Invalids is perhaps the saddest place in Wellington. In hospitals, asylums or even prison, there is always an element of hope, and where there is hope their cannot be dispair, but into this beautiful home hope rarely enters. How-

ever, now; and again, cases improve sufficiently to go out again into the world, perhaps, poor souls, only to wish themselves back again in the peace and comfort of the Home. It is the most restful haven imaginable for worn-out bodies, and the head wisely tries not to mako it so much a hospital as a Home. It was built you may remember, with tho money got by the great bazaar opened by tho Duchess of York when in Wellington, and is a great erection with splendid curved windows that afford a sun bath to the. patients. On Tuesday night a little concert party, headed by Mr I. F. Can*, who sings most sweetly, gave an hour's entertainment to tho women's ward. It was a dreadful night, but the storm without made the warm place within more serene. The invalids from their beds listened eagerly, and enjoyed the gay songs and recitations. Ono little girl begged the performers to come back soon, and a clay after the promoter got a note of thanks from ono of tho inmates, saying they were still talking of the entertainment.