oak where I had left the dogs and was to meet him, rough outlaw, who, with uplifted dagger, was dragging but discovered that, not having taken sufficient note her to a cave near to the spot. The earl heard him of the way I had come, I should have considerable menace her with a fierce oath, that unless she was difficulty in returning to the spot I had quitted. I, silent he would bury his skean in her heart. As she however, started in the direction I fully believed to { still uttered the most piercing shrieks, the fellow probe the correct one, but had not proceeded far, when, ceeded to carry his threat into execution, when an by the difference of the trees and the narrowness of arrow, discharged from the earl's bow, quivered in his the glades, I saw that I had mistaken my way. I heart, and he fell with a terrific groan at her feet. went on for a short time, but their changing cha-The earl sprang to her side, and having allayed her racter assured me still stronger that I was wrong. I fright and excitement, saw her safely to the borders hesitated for a moment, and during that hesitation of the forest. He ascertained during their walk that the sound of voices fell upon my ear. The tone she was of good family, one whose alliance would not aroused my suspicions. I stole stealthily to the spot, sully his escutcheon, and whose beauty and personal and beheld the young earl encircling with one arm acquirements would add fresh laurels to his high-born the waist of a beautiful young female. This was a position. He was already smitten with her, and consight for which I was unprepared, but which at once ceived the romantic notion of gaining her heart withaccounted for the change in his demeanour. out communicating his rank to her, in the hope that she would love him for himself, and not for his title. He, therefore, under a feigned name, wooed her and won her. He told her that he was the son of a yeoman, and more fully to make the deception bear the appearance of reality, he gave out to his vassals that he was about to visit his uncle in Normandy. "He took but one attendant with him: I was that one. "Here was news for De Beaseant. He was in love! My next object was to find out with whom, and getting as near as I could without being discovered, I listened earnestly, in hopes to gather something which might satisfy me; but nothing transpired to tell me who was the lady. I heard her swear to be true to him, in thought, hopes, word, and deed, and he gave her an oath of a like nature. More I could not, at this interview, ascertain. He led her to the borders of the forest, almost to the very spot I had so recently quitted. There he parted with her, and gazing after her a short time, he turned to seek our appointed meeting place. I took him for my guide, and soon observed he knew the path well, for I began to remember places which I had passed in pursuit of him. When he had nearly reached, as I imagined, the old { oak tree, I struck off to the right, and, taking a circuitous route, sought to gain the tree before him. I exerted all my speed, but when, as I supposed, I had reached the tree, I found myself mistaken. I had but one alternative, which was to cheer the dogs. I was immediately answered by a loud baying near me. I turned in the direction of the sound, and gained the old oak tree. I had barely released the hounds, who clamored immediately they saw me, when I perceived, by their pricking up their ears, and giving a short, low whine, that he was approaching. To lull any suspicion I fancied he might have at my cheer, I gave a long blast with my horn, which he answered by ap-first-born." pearing from a covert close at hand. "What made you wind your horn ?' he demanded. "The sun has already sunk three hours,' I returned; and knowing the intricacies of the forest, I feared you might have lost your way, and blew the blast, as I have several times previously, to attract your attention.' "I did not lose my way,' was the only reply he made, and we returned to the castle. I "For a long period these secret meetings were carried on, and I had been fortunate enough to attend them all; gathering little by little, until I had sufficient to make up a good story for De Beaseant. forwarded it to him to Aquitaine, in Normandy, and received for reply, that the young earl must not marry; that the lady must be sacrificed rather. This was a startling command, but I had put myself in a condition which prevented my refusing to undertake it, if 'twere necessary. I had by degrees ingratiated myself so much into the young earl's favour, that I wormed his secret-none to me-out of him, but learned also much with which I was unacquainted. It appeared that his intimacy with this maiden had originated in his accidentally having saved her life. One day, when separated from me and some of his vassals in the heat of a spirited chase, his attention was taken from his pursuit by loud screams; he turned to the spot, and beheld a female upon her knees, struggling with a He furnished a cottage at Locksly,* in this county, besought her to wed him secretly, and fly with him to his home. For some time she objected; but at length, on his expressing a belief that she did not love him, and a determination, if she refused to consent, to go to the wars, she gave him her hand, and, with tears in her eyes, told him she would give up all the world for his sake. He pressed her to his bosom in joy and thankfulness, and soon after they were married by his confessor-the only one let into the secret besides myself. I did not attempt to prevent the wedding, in order that I might have a hold on De Beaseant at some future time. We retired to the cottage, and for some time they lived very happily; the earl liked his privacy so well, and wishing his people to believe that he had been across the sea, stayed beyond a twelvemonth at this humble abode. I sent the whole history to De Beaseant, and he com{municated in reply his determination of returning. In the meanwhile a child was born; but the earl's wife, like his mother, perished in giving birth to her "And that child was- -" hastily interrupted Gilbert, waiting for the reply with intense anxiety. "The boy you call Robin," returned Ritson, almost exhausted by his long tale. "I knew he came of noble blood," cried Gilbert, exultingly. "Then he is Robert, Earl of Huntingdon; my Robin, the yeoman's foster-son, Robert, Earl of Huntingdon! Proceed, for Heaven's sake, Ritson, proceed; your information more than purchases your entire forgiveness." With a feeble smile, he continued his story. "The Earl was distracted at his loss. He refused all consolation, would listen to nothing, but gave himself up entirely to despair; his reason forsook him, we were compelled to confine him; his strength gave way, and he was stretched on a bed of sickness, reduced by fever to the last extremity. I knew not how to act, but thinking I should best comply with De Beaseant's wishes, gave the lady burial as a yeoman's wife, in the precincts of a neighbouring • In Locksley town in merry Nottinghamshire, [Robin Hood's Birth, Breeding, Valor, and Marriage.] No known map of Nottinghamshire contains the name of this town, although that may be considered no proof that it did not exist, as the names of a vast number of towns and villages have disappeared, which are known to have existed. A Loxley in Warwickshire, and one in Staffordshire, are both mentioned in Spelman's "Villare Anglicum," Adams' "Index Villaris," and in "England's Gazetteer," by Whaetley; but neither appear to be the true one monastery; the child I placed with a cottager's dame, and waited with impatience for De Beaseant's return. He arrived while the Earl was still confined to his bed, and he approved of what I had done. "To prevent the suspicion of foul play, and as yet there had been none very material, fortune having favoured his views in the preceding circumstances, he directed the Earl's removal to his castle, accompanying him, as if he had brought him from the Continent. Seemingly fortune had determined that Baron De Beaseant should be Earl of Huntingdon; his nephew declined daily-all hopes of his recovery were fled. "One day De Beaseant sat by his bedside, and for the first time since his wife's death, the Earl spoke coherently; he related to his uncle the whole of the preceding events, and drew from him a promise to bring up his boy as though he were his own son. To this De Beaseant consented, although he had no intention of carrying his promise into effect; the Earl, after a few more words, sunk back upon his pillow, dead. I was in the room, and De Beaseant made me swear, over the dead body, never to reveal what I knew while he lived. There was great mourning among the vassals when the Earl's death was made known, for he was beloved by them, and he was buried with all the pomp his rank demanded, in a monastery at St. Neot's. Spite of what I had done -of the motive with which I had attended him, I grieved sincerely for his loss, his uniform goodness to me having affected even my thankless heart. "De Beaseant, as Philip Fitzooth, assumed the Earldom; and it now remained for him, in order to enjoy it securely, to put the child away. I proposed death; but he had sworn to act as though 'twere his son, and he would not imbrue his hands in its blood. We planned several schemes. At length I thought of you; the distance you lived from Kimbolton, your retired forest life, your honesty—all decided that you were the best person to whom the charge of the boy could be committed; it was resolved, and 'twas done; you know the rest concerning him." "True," observed Gilbert, on finding that he stopped; "but what has become of the Earl ?" "He went, some years since, to Normandy, taking me with him. On our return we were wrecked. He perished. I bore the tidings to the castle, and the rich Abbot of Ramsey, William Fitzooth, De Beaseant's nearest relative, now holds possession of his estates. { In a quarrel with a favourite attendant of the Bishop, I drew my skean and stabbed him to the heart; I was thrust from the castle, and excommunicated into the bargain. I should have been hanged on the ramparts, but some of my fellow-men proved that he had com- { menced the quarrel, and had first wounded me. Stung with rage, I swore to be revenged, and I shall be, although I shall be dead long ere it is accomplished: but I know little of Gilbert Head, if he suffers Robin to be defrauded of his right." "Here's goodly help, indeed," rejoined Gilbert. "With his powerful aid I doubt not I shall oust Master Abbot of Ramsey, albeit he is styled the rich Abbot of Ramsey and Baron of Broughton." "You will, you will"-suddenly and eagerly exclaimed Ritson, springing up on his bed-"you will promise me that ?" "With heart and hand," returned Gilbert, surprised by his act. "If there is but half a chance, Robin shall be Earl of Huntingdon, in spite of all the abbots in Christendom-and there's a round number of them." Ritson's eyes gleamed vividly while Gilbert spoke, and he held up his hand pointing, as if registering the speech as an oath; and when it was concluded, fell back in his bed, saying-a bitter smile crossing his features "I shall not die unrevenged. I am content-I am content!" There was a dead silence for a minute, and Gilbert thought he had breathed his last. He approached and bent over him; he found him yet alive, gasping for breath, his eyes glaring hideously. His struggles were terrible, but eventually he overcame the spasm, and said, with a voice awfully changed "Gilbert, I have but a few moments to live: I feel it. Listen to me while I can speak, and do not interrupt me. Yesterday, the Earl of Nottingham, in whose pay I have lately been retained, commissioned me to murder the two persons, a youth and his sister, now in your house. You know I attempted, and was prevented. Bid them beware of the Earl: he seeks their destruction; why, I know not. "And now for myself: when I am dead, bury me in the spot I shall name to you. Not far from hence there is an oak which has a beech tree growing from its trunk-the branches of the two put forth their leaves together: beneath its shade lay me. Do not fail in this-promise me by your hope of heaven you will." "I promise," returned Gilbert. "Then shall I die happy," uttered he. "Will you not have a priest to shrive you? there is one in the house; I will fetch him," said Gilbert, preparing to depart. No, no-come back," hastily uttered Ritson, half rising in his earnestness. Gilbert returned to his couch, and seated himself. "No," he continued, "I will see no one-all will shortly be over; you alone shall receive my last words; I have yet more to say. Gilbert, you know not the wrong I have done you-do not dream how deeply I have injured you. Gilbert Head, you had one only sister." "Ha!" exclaimed Gilbert, starting and clenching his hands, while a foreboding of something horrible flashed like lightning through his brain. Peace! hear me out," said Ritson, motioning him "You indeed know little of me if you believed to silence. "You and I were playfellows-grew up otherwise," cried Gilbert, with enthusiasm. "Robin { companions; you fell in love with my sister, and Ĩ shall be reinstated, or I'll lose my life in the effort. with yours-nay, start not; you knew it not, I was What relations were there on the mother's side? If too much of a villain to let you. I loved her to you know aught of them I might claim their assist-madness: this I knew not myself, until offering to ance; for 'twill be to their interest to place their kinswoman's son in his right station as an earl of England." Her father is old Sir Guy, of Gamwell Hall," said Ritson. "What!" cried Gilbert, starting to his feet, "old Sir Guy, of Gamwell, the other side of the forest, with his stout sons and stouter foresters, one of the rangers of the forest?" “The same,” articulated Ritson, almost inaudibly, growing faint and exhausted. wrong her; she spurned me from her, and refused ever again to meet me. I could not live without her; I followed her at every turn; I urged, I entreated, prayed her forgiveness; at last she yielded to my earnest, nay, frantic appeals, and granted it. I could at that moment have worshipped her. I adored her, and used every means, employed every art, to make her return my affection, and succeeded, Beneath that tree did she plight her vows to me; I swore to be faithful, honest, and true to her-and seek her happiness alone in every future act. She believed me; her gentle nature knew no guile; but I deceived her, grossly, wickedly deceived her. We were married, as she thought, by a monk from Linton, but a wild companion personated the character-" "Hell and death!" interrupted Gilbert, grinding his teeth, scarcely able to prevent himself from springing on the dying wretch, and at once inflicting the death upon whose verge he now trembled. "Restrain your rage, Gilbert; although I deserve annihilation from you, the worst is yet to come; I fear I shall not have breath to finish. She remained for some time longer under your father's roof, until her condition was such that she must either quit or acknowledge the marriage. About this time you married my sister, and there existed no earthly reason why I should not have acknowledged yours, but that I wished to travel. My passion was satiated, and I began to grow tired of her. I had serious thoughts of quitting secretly and at once. 66 One evening she met me, as usual, beneath the oak and beech-tree. She there urged me to acknowledge her as my wife, or take her away. I made a thousand shuffling excuses, but she set them all aside. She { conjured me by my love, by my honour, to have compassion on her and consent. To her entreaties I proved deaf. She still continued to urge me; I grew surly-I felt a devil within me. I resisted her importunities; and in a passion of tears she fell at my feet, beseeching me to kill her rather than expose her to shame. was none near. "She had no sooner uttered the words than the thought of its advantage ran like lightning through my brain; 'twas as if the foul fiend had whispered I was alone with her; no soul near, none knew of her meeting me; none, but one, knew of our connexion, and I could not be discovered. As the tempter's words sounded in my ears I drew my knife, and looked hastily round; there was none near.-God! there Had there been any human soulaye, one living thing-I had not done the foul deed; but there was none to step between me and my horrid intent. She looked up in my face, and said, 'You must consent to what I ask! Let us leave this place together! I care not where-where you go I { will cheerfully follow. Every spot in the world is the same to me, if thou art with me. Have mercy, Roland! take me! take me! Should my brother know of this, I am lost!' The last words decided her fate; my knife gleamed in the air, and "You did not-you could not—” almost frantically screamed Gilbert. I murdered her!" gasped Ritson. "Holy Mary!" groaned Gilbert, and buried his face in his hands in agony. "The knife I buried in her bosom!" he continued hoarsely. "She shrieked as she received the blow, and for a short time was senseless. I awoke then to to the horror of my crime. Hell was raging in my soul. A hundred times was the knife raised to plunge into my own heart, but I was withheld by the promptings of a worse spirit. She, in a short time, opened her eyes, and turned them with a faint look upon me, and smiled. Almighty God! that smile was to me the most tremendous punishment I ever endured." Farewell! let no one know that I am even dead; they will think me lost, or carried away, or anything, rather than they should know the truth. Lay me beneath this tree; 'twas where I first owned my love for you; I would it should be my last earthly resting-place, and if you will promise me that when your time arrives, you will be laid beside me there, I shall die so happy. You will promise me, will you not ?' "Blinded by tears, in an agony of maddening grief and remorse, I swore to comply with her wish. She took my hand, pressed it, even kissed it; she prayed the Holy Mother to intercede for me. With kind glances from her dying eyes, with a smile and blessing on her lips, she yielded up her spirit. "When I found that she was dead, I committed a thousand extravagancies. I railed, swore, cursed my villany, and flung myself, exhausted, upon her bleed{ing body. At length, when somewhat recovered, the necessity for concealing the body forced itself upon me. With my hunting-spear and my skean I dug the grave at the foot of the tree, loosening the earth with my weapons, and throwing it out with my hands. When I had dug it sufficiently deep, I laid the body in it. I kissed her cold lips, and dared to offer up a prayer for her repose. As I threw the mould over her, like a weak child I wept, sobbed, rained tears; and when I had completed my task, I sank senseless upon the ground. I slowly recovered to be attacked by a wolf. As well as my scattered senses would permit, kept him at bay; at that moment you came up, and saved my life. The night had passed away during my occupation and my swoon. You had spent it madly seeking for your sister, whom I had so recently murdered. The wolf wounded me in my shoulder, and you took your sister's blood, which stained my dress, for the effects of my wound. You thought my incoherent replies were caused by my alarm at the encounter with the animal, for it was a large and fierce one. I accompanied you in your search. We wandered through the forest until the sun was high: 'twas in vain-I-I-I-Holy Mother of God look there, Gilbert! "Tis Annie !-she smiles on me-she calls me-I come! Gilbert, remember-the foot of the oak and beech”— He suddenly ceased, and when Gilbert raised his eyes from his Lands, Roland Ritson was dead. KING. My guards-seize him. How stand we now? I ne'er shall wear again; that ne'er knew spot KING. You do hear-to prison with him! (LITHELY and merrily, in the morning's "You have once more been kind to me,' she feebly brilliancy, did Robin, Allan, and the stoututtered, once more ere we part for ever. I have hearted, sturdy-limbed friar, take their way noticed lately that you treated me, looked, and spoke through the sun-tinted glades of the broad to me coolly; I thought you had ceased to love me; forest. The bonny Shirewood was not merrier with and 'tis better to die, I feel, than to outlive your love. its bright green leaves, its fair flowers, and its blithe You have spared me the misery of living to learn its singing-birds, than were the three travellers. There truth; and I forgive you having taken my life; for was the witty saying, the lively ditty, and the clear, as freely do I give it you as I gave you my heart.silver-toned laugh of Robin, tempered with the steadier, yet sprightly converse of Allan; while the jolly friar, by turns, yielding to the influence of both, doing honour by a lusty chorus to the ballads of the one, or lending a pious exordium to the counsels of the other. In this fashion did they leave Gilbert's forestnome behind them, and in this way did they proceed, until the altitude of the sun proclaimed it mid-day. "Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine That overhung its quietness." "This is a treat I counted not on!" exclaimed Allan, gazing his fill upon the scene before him, "right glad am I that you have brought me hither. Is this sweet and sequestered spot well known? How came you to know it, Robin, distant as it is from thy home?" "Good Master Allan," observed Robin, "the sun has found out the broad of my back, with a most scorching discernment; likewise hath my stomach discovered, with a grumbling precision, that my breakfast was taken when the lark rose. Now, a short distance from hence, there exists a babbling, ""Twas Gilbert, my foster-father, who gave me the bubbling brook, a stream of clear, sparkling, chrystal knowledge of this place; once in the year, at the water, which runs laughing over some glittering{ close of autumn, do we pay it a visit—it looks not pebbles, moistening and nourishing quantities of wild then as now you see it-the yellow leaves thickly strew flowers. Where it rises, or where it loses itself is of the ground, and the long branches of the trees around no import, but I know where it is shaded by a wide-throw themselves nakedly in the air. 'Tis a sad sight spreading, fantastical oak. I, therefore, propose that we seat ourselves beneath its shelter, and discuss in grateful cheerfulness the contents of this wallet and wine-skin." "I echo thy words in all heartiness of spirit," cried the friar; "and my teeth shall bear witness how much I am of thy opinion." "I have no opposing voice to offer," said Allan, "but I would it should not be late ere we turn our eyes on Nottingham's proud towers. I have matters of some moment to transact there, which must not be interfered with by a loitering journey." "We are at your command," returned Robin, "and go or stay, as you list." "We will to the stream, there rest and refresh," exclaimed Allan, "and when our repast has concluded, prithee have we far to journey?" Oh, no," answered Robin, "three miles from this glade will cover the distance." It was with considerable satisfaction that Allan received this intelligence, and felt, consequently, less reluctance to accompany his youthful guide to the intended resting-place; and when it was reached, the satisfaction was still greater that it had not been missed. to see, after having beheld it in its prime; but it is a sad duty we come to perform, and the scene befits it." May I enquire what the duty can be that leads you, in a drear season of the year, to such a distance?" asked Allan, with an air of interest. "Beneath yon beech tree," replied Robin, pointing to ono a short distance from them, "lies a twin brother of Gilbert Hood's; I bear his name. He was christened Robert, but his brother, in his fond familiarity, called him Robin. The reason of his lying there is this: the two brothers, as was their wont, had been hunting together; the chase led them to this spot, and here they slew it. While refreshing themselves after the fatigues of the chase, two fierce outlaws broke rudely upon them, demanding with savage action their money and their weapons, at the same time expressing their intention of carrying off the slain deer; the brothers, however, coolly defied them, and prepared to resist their lawless intrusion. Ere they could put their resolve into action, one of the villains, who bore a cross-bow, discharged a bolt at poor Robin, which he, unprepared, could not avoid: it entered his brain, and killed him on the spot. Even while the laugh was in the mouth of the outlaw at his success, an arrow from Gilbert's bow pierced It was situated in the bosom of a small dell, his heart; the second outlaw, surprised by the encompassed by trees of all descriptions. Here was sudden destruction of his comrade, was for a moment the monarch of the woods, with its fanciful gnarled paralysed; but he was not allowed time for even an branches twisted into straggling but admired dis-ejaculation of wonder-Gilbert sent him to his order; there, the tall beech, with its thin, elegant account as speedily as he had his companion. Thus boughs; the graceful acacia, the stately elm, the dark in one little minute he was bereft of him to whom he pines, the larch, and the gentle willow, with its had been so affectionately attached, to whom he had drooping dress of pale green leaves, like unto the borne the most devoted love as a dear brother, as a aërial drapery of a fairy. The earth was carpeted { most esteemed friend. He dug his grave where he with a turf, whose tint and smoothness made it diffi- fell, and with no soul near save his own, no eye save cult to believe that it was grass and not velvet the Heaven's, laid him in the earth, weeping over him feet were pressing. There was a profusion of flowers with a heart almost broken, as he covered his body here, there, and everywhere; they sprung up among with mould and leaves. The bodies of the ruffians the grass, just of sufficient frequency to make the he left to the beasts of the forest and the birds of variation sweet to gaze upon, but they clustered at prey; soon there was nothing but their bones to the foot of the trees, as though they sought pro-whiten in the sun. It was a twelvemonth ere Gilbert tection of a power stronger than their own, as fragile and delicate females in their weakness cling to man. In the midst of this dell stood an oak of enormous magnitude,-its twining, strangely-shaped arms, shot out to an almost incredible distance, while its trunk, decorated with moss, and encircled by the dainty ivy, was of a girth whose extraordinary dimensions betokened a good old age: at the foot of this king of the forest sparkled the stream of which Robin had spoken; it was a cool, delicious, winding piece of nature's wine; looking like a fluttering satin riband of purest white, waving over a dress of rich green velvet; a sweet refreshing thing which prevailed upon himself to visit this spot; when he had done so, he made a vow to make a pilgrimage to it annually, and religiously has he fulfilled it. Thus became I acquainted with this place." ""Tis a pity that so sweet a spot should have been thus desecrated," remarked Allan. "Ah!" chimed in the friar, who had listened to the foregoing with a feeling very like impatience, "where will you find the spot, however fair, which has not in some way or other been desecrated? why even my breast has had its share. I wish I could say the same for my stomach; but I am afraid if you boys get talking so spiritually, there will be a forgetfulness of things bodily. Come, master Robin, seat thyself, and show us the contents of thy wallet!" Robin, at the friar's request, sat down and No. 4. laid bare his store of provisions. There was plenty to satisfy their wants, much as they might have been hungered, and certainly plenty to slake their draught had they been ever so athirst, for was not the limpid stream flowing at their feet? But, pure and tempting as it looked, they did not pay it so much homage as they rendered unto the wine skin; indeed, they had commenced to assuage their thirst with the juice of the grape, and as the day was warm and they were dry, they were less abstemious than was perhaps prudent. Robin waxed exceedingly merry as the wine mounted to his brain, nor did his hilarity remain unseconded by his companions. Allan grew romantic, and the triar talkative. The latter gave them his whole history, birth, parentage, and education; how he came of good family; his name, Giles Sherborne ; had been educated for the church, but preferred a life in the merry old woods, rough as it was, to AUTHOR'S OWN EDITION. |