A LADY’S LETTER FROM. AUCKLAND.

Gisborne Standard and Cook County Gazette, Volume IV, Issue 615, 2 June 1891, Page 2

A LADY’S LETTER FROM. AUCKLAND.

'By Standard Special Correspondent—“A.T.”) May 26, So many months had elapsed since a theatrical company visited Auckland that Jennie Lee's arrival was eagerly looked for. She herself is an old favorite here, and “ Jo,” the play in which she opened, is popular among Britishers the world over. The company as a whole is fairly good, bat it is the lifelike representation of the London street arab which rivets the attention of the audience, and moves it irresistibly to tears or still more pathetic laughter. It is difficult to recognise the merry, prosperous little actress in the social outcast, with his heartbroken lament for his only friend, his inarti oulate conception of the injustice of society, which expected him to be continually “ movin’ on ” when “ there aint nowhere to move to,” and his patient endurance of his woes, spite of these occasional passionate outbursts of desperation. Noh an undertone of feeling, not the slightest indication of character or the natural working of his mind, is lost by Miss Jennie Lee- With the tattered olothea, the grime-smirched face and hands, and the shook hair, she becomes “Joe” in feeling, in manner, and in voice as well as appearance.

Were Jce a mere fancy sketch his story would still be pathetic, but when we think of him as the type of tens of thousands in the gi-eat cities of the world, as ragged, as lonely, as miserable and as friendless as himself, it appeals to us with double force. It is no unusual sight, I was told the other day by a gentleman who has lately had some experience of the terrible poverty in London, to see three hundred homeless outcasts sleeping in Trafalgar Square during the bitterest cold which frost and snow, east winds or damp fog can produce. The records kept by Dr Barnardo, Mr Stevenson, General Booth, or the hundreds of less known but equally devoted workers, attest the sad tale. Late numbers of the Illustrated London News, the World, and other journals, contain moat interesting articles about “Nazareth House,” an establishment conducted by the “ Little Sisters of the Poor,” at Hammer smith. There are about 250 children in the home, and almost the same number of aged peop’e of both sexes and all shades of religious belief, 3?he Sisters also provide free meals for all comers, Ip one day nineteen hundred of these were fed. The most repiarjiable part of the Sisters’ management is their plan of sending round wagons every day to collect the waste from many great houses, clubs, and hotels, and converting it into nourishing food for starving men and women.

Even ?,t this distance I believe that most of us might give some little assistance to the great and glorious work which these " high souls ” are doing. I know a lady (and many in Gisborne know her too, as she lived there some years ago) who, though a widow, and not too well supplied with this world’s goods, yet contrives occasionally to send a little contribution to Dr Barnardo. She keeps one or two cows, and every year sells a calf for the benefit of the fund. The sum she obtains, supplemented by stray pennies, subscriptions (limited to sixpence) from her friends, and the purchase money for many little fancy articles made by her busy fingers at odd moments, is regularly transmitted to London. A few poultry, fed on scraps which would otherwise be wasted, or the prqduee of one or two fruit trees might, in simflar fashion, provide a few, shillings annually, A circace of frozen mutton sent occasionally to the Homes in Stepney Causeway would be a welcome present to the adopted father of that enormous family of nearly 3000 children snatched from the streets and gutters of the greatest and richest city in the world.

Tha great attraction of the .concert given by St. Paul's Choir, in aidof the Church funds, on Wednesday evening, was the appearance of Madame Burton for the last time in Auckland. Her first song was Gounod’s magnificent composition “The Worker.” The passion and pathos of tha song wets perfectly rendered, the rich tones of her grand voice reaching not only the ears, but the tiearts of the large audience. As the last notes of the music died away a fury of applause burst on the air. Madame Burton, looking very handsome and commanding in her black lace dress and diamonds sparkling on the low corsage, returned and bowed once—twice; but as the uproar increased instead of diminishing, she yielded most graciously, and sang « Three Fishers ” as an encore.’ Although this song is a great favorite, it is rarely done justice to. Pew of those who listened to it on Wednesday had ever before heard it rendered as it was then. In the second part of the programme Madame Burton Stag Sullivan’s beautiful melody " Sleep, my lose, gldepi” had iii response to the inoyitgble and recall, gttve the lovely uld ballad "On the 'Batiks of Allan Water.” Amongst Bjore noticeable of the other items on the psogt&tpipo were Him Marsden’s violin solos. Now that so many girls are learning that instrument, it is a treat to hear of suitable pieces. A “ Mazurka ’’ by Wienawskl, was naw to me, although it may be as well known to my reader: as Raff's ‘ ‘ Cavatina. ” I always think jhe lafter better suited to a ’cello, but it is so lovely that ong likes; to -'hOat on any in. strument. Have yoq heard; BlumenthaVs “ Venetian Boat Song ” arrasged us 5 duet for soprano and contralto ? It is far more effective than as a solo. I was ignorant till the other day that the 11 Stali Stall ” which occurs in the retrain, is the cry of the boatmen op the canals, indicating that approaching boats must keep to the right. •• Tom ’ Jackson was to have sung “ Because I Love Thee So” (Robertois), but bad too l bad a' cold, We were disappointed, both because he if as a good voice, and btseausa the aoug is a paW and ptetly One, I

The “Divine Sara” has just flashed through Auckland like a brilliant, but very eccentric, meteor, The Monowai was a day before its time, so few people knew that the great tragedienne had arrived until they learnt that she was well on her way to Sydney. Captain Caiey (who undertook the responsibility of providing for her snakes) will have some amusing tales to tell about the voyage, I expect. He gave up his cabin to Sara Bernhardt, who had it re-furnished, hung with leopard skins, etc. Many stories are afloat, and if they are not actually true you must not blame me : “ I only tell it to you, you know, as it was told to me.” The old fashioned festivities (?) on crossing the Line were renewed on this voyage. One of the passengprs, a Frenchman, was chosen as the victim of Neptune’s rough play. When this fact was communicated to him he strongly objected; but Sara and the others would take no denial. He fled. Sara and the others pursued. He locked his cabin door. They broke it open—and were greeted by a bullet ! Fortunately it hit nobody, and the practical jokers did not wait for him to fire again. If they did nob exactly run away, at least they walked away very fast.

On landing here on Thursday evening Madame Bernhardt and a few congenial spirits went to the Albert Hotel, and there enjoyed a hearty and very merry meal. Then sallying forth, they “ did ” the town as far as was possible in the evening. They did not go to the top of Mount Eden, or round the Library, which we expect all visitors to see. Instead'they rushed into a shooting gallery. The gratified proprietor says the French actress is the best shot he ever had. She set the whole orchestra going—drums and horns, and cymbals and bagpipe, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all the rest.

Next day Patey arrived. Her concerts do not begin till Wednesday (to-morrow), so I shall not be able to send you word of my impressions about her singing this week, and next week you will have heard her in Gisborne. She will have tremendous houses here.

I have no time now to tell you about the dance Mr and Mrs E. Hesketh gave. It was most enjoyable. The two Miss Firths looked very well, one in pale heliotrope, and the other in pale pink. They carried lovely large bouquets. This word is rather going out of modern use as belonging to the formal stiff bunches of olden times. Now we carry “posies” or a “handful cf flowers” with long drooping sprays, and five or six long ribbon streamers, on one or two of which (and sometimes on all) a tiny bunch of the same flowers is fastened.