CHAPTER I.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 29, 22 December 1883, Page 5

CHAPTER I.

Tiik winter of itiOO, according to old writers, was ono of tho severest ever oxperiencod in old England ; and Christmas, not wreathed with roses, bathed in sunshine, and gemmed with blushing strawberries, as in New Zealand, wore a cold, snowy beard, and was decked u ith the red berries of the hardy holly tree. At the time of which I write, the time when John Donne, Ihe old preacher-poet, received his Christmas box, peer and peasant were brought together in old baronial halls and mansions. There was no middle class in those days, and rich and poor were separately associated with the How of feasting and festivity. The old hall resounded with the music of the harp and the soft melody of the Christmas carol, and the tables were said "to groan under the weight of lordly hospitality. These were, as they have been tonned, " tho good old times/ Some of us, however, are rather sceptical on this head, and are disposed to thank Heaven thai those days are for ever passed away ; that man is no longer a vassal, tied and bound to the estate of a lordly tyrant without tho advantages of a common education, of nolitical, intellectual, and religious freedom. The place where John Donne received his first Christmas box and sulfcred for certain youthful indiscretions is still known as Loseley Park, and was in the possession of a branch of the More family, of which Sir Thomas More was the most illustrious member. This beautiful park, with it-! wood y glades and pleasant by-pastures, lies amonothe far-famed Surrey Hills, near to the substantial market town of Guildford, and within sight of the mossy ruins of St. Catherine'^ Chapel. Loseley House k a venerable mansion, and was much larger than at present in the reign of Henry VIII. It was then the property of Sir Christopher Move, a brother of tho Chancellor. The male members of tho family have bocomc extinct. A little river (the Wey) winds peacefully between the white chalk downs and the rich wooded scenery of Chantrey ; and in the adjacent valley is a tiny village, which in course of time has gathered around the quiet church. Even in Loseley's prime, the market town to which I have referred was fairly populated ; indeed, it was the largest ' . of the Surrey towns. At Christmas, I<JOO, i there was a great gathering at Loseley House, and the proprietor, Sir George More, seemed determined to outvie his neighbours in the splendour, breadth, and luxuriousness of his hospitalities. Although the landscape was clothed with fleecy snow, tho atmosphere icy cold, and the large ponds thickly frozen over, a number *of sports were indulged in era the yellow setting of the wintry sun. I need not pause to minutely describe the rude pastimes of those ruder ages, when ladies were not too proud to patronise bull-baiting and cockfighting. Some of the sport?, however, of those twilight days, when unseemly religious strife existed between Roman Catholic and Protestant churches, were full of spirit and lustihood, and men enjoyed life roughly, but heartily. Among the Christmas guests at Loseley was Egerton, afterwards Ellesmere, Lord High Chancellor, a man of extensive knowledge for the period, and widely esteemed for his benevolence and personal virtues. He was accompanied by his secretary, John Donne, a fair, tall young man, with a florid countenance, and possessing more than ordinary intelligence. Donne was of a lively temperament, fond of gaiety, and who had wasted in luxurious habits a considerable fortune. He was related to the More family on the maternal side; Sir Thomas Egerton was fond of speaking of his secretary as the "poet of Hatchlands." This young man was the life of the party : he recited verses and sang his own songs ; he was quite a favourite with the assembled ladies in the hall, and was regarded with affectionate interest by Margaret, the beautiful daughter of Sir George. But when it was whispered that John Donne bore no lordly title, thafc lie had wasted his patrimony, and was only a secretary with poor prospects, most of the young ladies turned from his presence with fashionable pity, and left him to the society of Margaret More and his own thoughts. Margaret More was not only handsome and fascinating in manner, but she possessed the power of discrimination and was a keen discerner of character. She was deeply interested in John Donne, was pleased with his affability and conversation, and felt that he was a gentleman in spite of circumstances, and qualified for a higher position than that of a secretary —no mean appointment in those days. She was charmed with his general demeanour and genial outflow of knowledge. His comparative poverty and financial reverses had made him rich in a certain sense, inasmuch as he had not been drawn from severer studies by the hollow friendships and frivolous pursuits of meaner men. The pretty Margaret More questioned and cross-questioned the obliging young scholar, and her questions ranged from the theological perplexities of the age to fashion and the mistletoe bough which hung in the centre of the spacious hall. John Donne \va3 quaint in some of his answers and witty in others. These peculiarities will easily be recognised by thoughtful readers of his poetry, which fairly represents his intellectual character. " Tell me, John Donne," said the teasing little lady, "tell rae the me&ning of the mistletoe in your own poetic manner. We Loseley folk know that you are a poet." "My sweet questioner," replied John Donne, "you do me too much honour! Why ask this of a poor secretary ?" "Because," she said, "Sir George and the Earl say you are learned in most things, and are a great scholar." " Would that I were better able to teach and to do my duty faithfully to God and man, " he replied ; • ' but I have endeavoured to be faithful, Margaret, in my nearest duties." " You will do better by God's help, John Donne," said Margaret, softly ; " besides, you are wise and fanciful, and will not refuse to answer my question at this happy Chi'istmas time." " The misletoe, Margaret, like yourself, ib a remarkably tender plane, delicate and beautiful." " The comparison will not bear investigation, John, "the young lady said. " Margaret More is not faultless." " The misletoe, like some one near me, is—" " Hush, John Donne, the truth, and nothing but the truth, if you please." " Pardon me, Margaret, I was about to!: say that the mistletoe, with its white, transparent berries, is always attached to stronger forms of nature, either to the mossy apple tree or to the venerable oak. The mistletoe would seem to possess a mysterious consciousness of its own inability to support itself, and bo it leans upon another. In this respect the tree and silver-berried plant indica te a'union of hearts. Its pretty, small green leaves illustrate the freshness of youth, and its white berries, purity ot thought and sentiment. In its attachment

to sturdy, congonial trees, it roprosonls true marriage; not after tho fashion of this world, making the solemn corcmony a mockery, as though it wore a marketable commodity, and young* ladies sold to the highest bidder." ' ' Oh, John Donne,"' sighed little Margaret, " Uncle Ejjerton told mo you wero a poet, and ho told mo truly, ''and she looked up to him with her soul-soarching eyes, and beforo sho was awaro of his suddon intention, ho gave her n juss under the seasonable mistletoe, and icceivcd in return a shaip box ou tho ear. u You should not take such liberties, John Donne, with tho daughter of Sir i Goorge/' said Margarot. ''Forgive me, Margaret," said the young scholar, "it \\ r as done on tho impulse of tho moment. I accept your Christmas-box with modest approval, and shall never torget it while life lasts." Sounds of musicand merriment were loud in the decorated hall of Loseley, and so ; ■ numerous were the guosts, and so liberal the Christmas privileges, that ono might wander abroad for hours without being missed from tho joyous assemblage. Margaret More and John Donne had made mutual apologies for what hud occurred beneath the "mistlotoe, and they agreed to take a bracing mecmlight walk in the avenuo of oaks looking towards Guildford Castle, looming over tho icy river. The ! evening was cold — bitterly cold. The sharp, blood-stirring frost had waved its magic wand over thclandscape, and the mansion appeal ed completely crystallised among tiie bare trees. The square-towered little Catholic Church in the paik was distinctly visible and apparently silvered over, glistening in the moonlight like a temple of snow. It was understood almost intuitively that the secietary was not of high lineage, and that he had no immediate prospects of eminence in the political world. Excellency of character and the pOM?e*sion of superior qualities of mind and heart were of no moment in tho estimation of the majority of the guests of Loseley ; few, therefore, cared to bear Donne company ; besides, it was rumoui\:d that John Donnp had paitly renounced Catholicism and v. as inclined tow aids the principles of tho -Reformation. This was especially distasteful to Sir George More, who was coldly reserved towards him. Maigaret, however, felt a pleasure in listening to his conversation, and showed no disposition to slight tho scholar on account of differences of creed. She consented, somewhat reluctantly it is true, to accompany him to the cldapidated' stone chapel on the hill dedicated to St. Catherine, and w hich to this day bears the saintly name. The outlook from the windowless chapel was almost divine beneath the brilliancy of the full moon, while every leafless spray and flowerless shrub wero fringed ith white by the fairy fingers of Nature. A .brief stay within the mossy ruin was sufficient to cool the ardour of the young couple, and gladly, and with hasty steps, they returned to the paternal mansion, , where the yule log blazed brightly, wheio they mingled with the gay assemblage, and < shared the festive enjoyments of a Christ- j mas night in Loseley Hall. ;