ENGLISH SCENES.

Otago Witness, Issue 2949, 21 September 1910, Page 13

ENGLISH SCENES.

By Mrs Malcolm Ross.

To the Woods —Among the Pines —Where Meredith Lived—A Country Church — Lord CuTzon at Home —Luxury and Art —Henley Regatta.

it is wonderful to leave smoky, bustling London, where one feels—as E. V. Lucas says in his delightful " Listeners' Lure " —" so damned anonymous, just one of a white-faced, hurrying crowd " —and, in an hour or less, to stand in the great woods, where all is peace and rest, the silence broken only by the song of the birds and the rustle of the wind among the branches. Especially is a pine wood impressive. The great tounks rise in endless vistas like columns in a cathedral, dusk-brown from their heaps of needles, Or their carpet of rich bracken, and, above their dense green branches make a fretwork of the blue sky. Here and there in quaintest contrast to the grim pines stand delicate silver birches, the tree which, when Orpheus summoned with his lute all the forest, was tardy in donning her white satin dress, and came too late, so was condemned always to wear it, in picturesque rags. It is at sunset when a pinewood looks most wonderful, for then the level beams turn the trunks to columns of flame, and the bracken to dazzling golden-green. Oxshott Woods, where we wandered, have been painted by Holman Hunt and Burne Jones, and written about in his Sandra Bellona by George Meredith, who lived not far from them. In the beautiful memorial edition of his works there is an exquisite picture of these woods. My hostess had met the great man in his ouaint square-faced house on Box Hill—such a house, he told her, as a child might build, so simple is itf= style. He was then too great an invalid to mount to his chalet at the top of his garden, where he used to write, but, though deaf, he was a vivid and brilliant talker on almost any subject. As an old man, too, ho was splendidly handsome. A young couple, ardent admireTs of Meredith's, now live in the house, and keep the garden just as he would have it when lie knew each plant within its high box hedges.

Just on the outskirts of the wood, shaded partly by the pines, we came upon a tiny thatched cottage -with latticed windows set in ivy and climbing roses, and a little porch beside which grew7ft high delphiniums of vivid blue. It was strangely familiar, and then I remembered it might have been the very fairy tale cottage where the old witch lived. Not long ago, two Pucks of children did live in that cottage, and people passing through the woods in evening dusk used to start when two golden heads were pushed up, with impish cries, from the bracken, where they were hidden. Even residents lose their way in these woods, and on winter evenings they go through like giant will-o'-the-wisps in "snow shoes, with lanterns, and together, for there are many tracks and one part is confusingly like another. Just be\'ond the woods I picked my first sprig of purple heather, just opening in imperial contrast to its neighbouring golden broom. We went to church on Sunday morning through the most enchanting lanes, with hugo trees on one side and on the other wild fields, scarlet with poppies among the pale green corn. Against the horizon were outlined, in misty blue, the Dorking Hills. The Church of Stoke d'Abernon is old. and belongs to a manor-house, so we walked through the lovely avenue and into the grounds to get to it. The great house, set in its wide, river-threaded gardens, is divided by no railings from its church, where lie the former squires and their ladies. Into the grey walls aire built red Roman bricks, and within are some of the oldest brasses known in England. It is a peaceful, simple service ; the very faces of these country folk are more restful than those of Londoners — and there were no huee hats or tube frocks to frivolously divert attention. The best-dressed man in church was a footman—handsome, slim, tall, and immaculately groomed, with a black livery and shoulder knots. Snme of these menservants are remarkably fine looking. He came in with the lady's maid, a demure little person in a tiny black bonnet and naai. hlaolt ajid skii'fc.

Lord Cuxzon gave a large " at home " last week, and though Basingstoke is over 50 miles from London, and the weather looked threatening, a number of guests went from London. Hackwood Park belongs to Lord* Bolton, from whom Lord Curzon leases it, and is of immense size, the old house, part of which dates from Elizabethan times, standing in wide gardens, lovely woods, and great grassy stretches, where herds of deer roam. Our host, who is not unlike a younger edition of Sir Charles Bowen, received his guests on the lawn, the very type, in soft hat and light tweeds, of a genial country squire, with a cheery word for each person, and a. proud appreciation of his treasures. His three little girls were also in the garden. The house is full of art treasures and the guests were taken through in parties by a man who explained the chiel attractions. The first room was hung with marvellous Flemish tapestry and lit with large Indian silver electroliers. The old furniture and fine pictures were interesting, the large Romney, "Mrs Milner," being a famous and beautiful example of the work ol that most charming painter. Exquisite pale blue brocade covered the walls of the next room, which was hung with landscapes by well-known artists. Each picture. was lit by footlights, concealed by a narrow brass bar set about a foot from the canvas. The effect was extraordinarily wonderful, a sunny glow being given to the foreground. Here, as in all the rooms, were many pictures of the lovely dead chatelaine, sad, smiling, alone and with her little daughters. The most wonderful was in the library, on an easel, and is by Lenbach, the German artist, a hauntiiigly beautiful portrait in tones of ivory, gold, and chestnut, the delicate oval face looking out from the canvas with a half-smile, and the finger on the lip—reminding me of Romney's lovely "L.ady Hamilton." Lord Curzon owns one M the finest Gainsboroughs. a beautiful portrait of Lady Impey. Everywhere are tokens of his" Indian _ Viceroys-hip—-gorgeous carpets and hangings, gold and silver work, and skins of wild beasts. An immense tiger skin is a trophy of his own rifle, and opnosite it lies a lion skin, one of the largest ever got. I confessed to Lord Curzon,- when saying " Good-bye. that I had gone in twice to see the treasures. He smiled and said he admired my taste, for he loved his pictures.

The large saloon is the original bit, of the house, the Elizabethan hall, where the Virgin Queen and her merry court used to breakfast after the hunt. Round 't has been built the rest of the fine house. The huge dining-room has been divided by tapestries, .uut the part now utilised is'very large, and the round table, set with silver and roses, and with one pathetic chair ready, seems quaintly small in the wide space. Here are hanging lamps of the wonderful Blue John, the .Derbyshire spar, so rare and so -gloriously marked. Here, too, the Chippendale sideboard is loaded with gold plate and glistening cut glass. There is no end to the wealth and taste displayed, and it shows confidence for Lord Curzon to leave about such priceless treasures on cabinet and table. Grinling Gibbons's carvings are in many of the rooms, extraordinary in detail and design. Italian workmen came to England to carve the ceiling in the dining-hall. India and Turkey furnished their choicest camets. the curtains are heaviest satins r>nd brocades. In the hall—near an old Belgian font of bras? that is used for flower?—is a great organ that may be plaved by hand or .electricity, .and the billiard-tattle is covered with the most gorgeous of Indian earners—all crimson velvet and gold embroideries. There was so much to look at one 'almost missed the enchanting views from the great windows of brilliant lawns, set with flowerbeds of scarlet, blue and <*old and the dense background ot huge %1-ees. Tea was served on the lawns under an immense Eastern tent of red and blue embroideries, and a band, unseen in the wood, played delightful music.

This is Henlev week, and tbe weather has been discouraging—damn, dreary, and dull, with, on Wednesday heavy showers that made the meadows quagmires and the merrymakers in the punts muffle themselves in wa term-oofs and rugs. Really, as yet, England has had no summer. It is all too cold to think of muslins or linens, and fires are welcome in the evening?. In fine weather Henley regatta must be n wonderful scene, for the setting—the broad river with its grassv banks and great trees, its nicturcsque boat-houses and ouaint grey bridge —is lovely, and is made more charming bv the innumerable craft of every kind, filled with gf»ilv-dre«sed girls and men in blazers and flannels, while wreaths of flags flutter everywhere along the shore, an"dthe barges are beautiful with flowers. We had tickets for the Balliol barce, and, though the day was from pleasant, were most comfortable, awnings protecting us from the wind and occasional .showers, a luxurious lunch breaking the day most agreeablv, and interesting people about, while in front of us. over the railing massed with white lilies and scarlet geranium and bonfire salvias, passed the fascinating panorama of the river, ever changing. The races were evanescent thrills in the entertainment—a moment of tense anxietv and hoarse cheering as the magnificent boats sped by with their straining crews bending to the flashing oars. Quite as interesting to me was the river life, the variety of types and combinations, the pretty girls saddling while the handsome man lay luxuriously at full length on the cushions, the familv parties—father, wearing his vowing blazer and tie: mother, with a matronly eye on the hamper; and the son, eager for years to fly and let him join the contest. The veteran oarsman is a delightful type—upright, bronzed, well-groomed, and keen as mustard ; and the young Englishmen one sees here —the out-of-door. breezy men. firm-lipped, clear-eyed, lean—are splendid.

Towards midday tables \wwa laid in

T the punts, and we watched numbers boil' ing their ktttles and eating chicken and salad, with draughts of beer and claret. All along the banks were thousands making picnics, to the accompaniment of music of sorts from the river minstrels, of whom there were many. We mighthave been sitting in a music-hall instead of on a barge .overlooking the Thames, for conjurers, ventriloquists, solo singers and choruses, nigger minstrels, and gipsy fortune-tellers all paddled up and did their little turns for our edification, concluding their performances by passing a long rod with a bag at the end along their audience for contributions. There was not a dull moment. To some Canadians near us, however, the most exciting event was the race in which the Winnipeg men, rowing magnificently, won by a length. This was " the crucial moment for sure," as one of the men explained, and they had come a long distance to see "their men win, he guessed. When it was over, they all pranced round and shook hands emphatically with each other, apologising later for their wild shrieks of encouragement and their elation. It was not in accordance, they said, with English customs to show any emotion! The excitement was infectious, for we all yelled too to the boat as it passed, driven by the rhythmic powerful strokes. Eton, "too, >-ame in for hearty cheering as it won—the boys are huge favourites.