in

Avon, called Tyrrell's Ford. The manor which this ford is situated is called Avon Tyrrell, because Sir Walter Tyrrell escaped by this ford from Hampshire into Dorsetshire, whence he fled to France; and the proprietor of this manor pays to the sheriff of Hampshire, to this day, a yearly fine of five pounds, imposed on it as a punishment on the then owner for having suffered Tyrrell thus to escape. This shows evidently that Tyrrell was pursued (wrongfully or not) as king Rufus's murderer; and that he was so long beset, that there was time to give orders to close all the passes of the New Forest against him; otherwise, no blame could have been attached to the owner of the manor in question, and Tyrrell would not have fled, and waited an opportunity to escape, if he had not known that he was pursued for a crime."

We are not aware that the above circumstance was ever made public except in the paper mentioned. In addition to what is here stated, the following remarks, which have their authenticity only to recommend them, may not be without their interest.

The descendants of the man (Purkess) who drew Rufus to Winchester, are now living in the immediate vicinity of Rufus's Stone; and the remains of the cart in which he was drawn there, were but very recently destroyed. Rufus's

*The property of the Hon. Anne Fane.

stirrup is now preserved in the king's house at Lyndhurst, and is shown to visitors as an article of curiosity; it is of iron, and was once gilt; its width at the bottom is ten inches and a half; depth seven inches and a half, and, measured all round, is two feet seven inches. It was formerly used as a test for ascertaining what dogs kept within the forest should suffer expeditation*. If a dog could not be drawn through the stirrup, he was to undergo this operation, to disqualify him for the pursuit of deer.

An anecdote of Rufus, very characteristic of his vanity or extravagance, is given by the old metrical chronicler, Robert of Gloucester; and, divested of its original orthography, is as follows: "As his chamberlain him brought, as he arose one day, The morrow for to wear a pair of hose of sey;

He ask'd what they cost him? Three shillings the other said.

Fy a dibles!' quoth the King. Who says so vile a deed?

A King wear any cloth, but what should cost him more;

Buy a pair of a mark, or you shall rue it sore!

A worse pair full enough the other sith him bought,

And said they cost a mark, and therefore so were brought. "A bel Amy," quoth the King, "these are now well bought;" In this manner serve thou me, or thou shalt serve me not."

HENRY THE FIRST.

HENRY I. (the youngest son of the Conqueror) was a scholar and a statesman. The title of Beau

In the laws of the forest, to expeditate, signifies to cut out the ball of the dog's fore-feet, for the preservation of the king's

clerc evinces his claim to the former character; and that of the "Lion of Justice" marks his regard to those sacred obligations of law and equity, the public observance of which constitutes the surest bond of social happiness and order.

The worst action of Henry was the treatment of his brother Robert, imprisoning him, and, when he attempted to escape, putting out his eyes. Hollingshed's account of Robert's death is somewhat singular and affecting.

"It is sayde that, on a festival day, King Henrie put on a robe of scarlet, the cape whereof being strayte, hee rent it in striving to put it over hys heade; and perceyving it would not serve him, he layed it aside, and sayde, Let my brother Robert have this garment, who hath a sharper head than I have. The which when it was brought to Duke Robert, the rent place not being sewed up, he discovered it, and asked whether any man had worn it before. The messenger told the whole matter; how it happened. Hereupon Duke Robert tooke such a greefe, for the scornful mocke of his brother,

game: but the ball of the foot of a mastiff was not to be taken out, but the three claws of the fore-foot of the right side were to be cut off by the skin.-Cromp. Jurisp. 152. Manwood, cap. 16. This relates to every man's dog who lives near the forest; and was formerly done once in every three years: and if any person keeps a great dog, not expeditated, he forfeits to the king three shillings and four pence. 4th Institut. 308.

that he waxed wearie of his life, and sayde, Nowe I perceyve I have lived too long, that my brother shall clothe me like his almes-man with his cast rent garments. And thus cursing the time of his nativity, refused from thenceforth to eate or drink, and so pined away, and was buried at Gloucester."

RICHARD THE FIRST.

Richard, that robbed the lion of his heart."-Shakspeare.

How very singular it would sound, now-a-days, were his Majesty, King George the Fourth, to say that he would sell London, if he could find a purchaser! Sell London! Sell the metropolis of the British Empire! How our worthy citizens would stare-what a dust it would stir up in the common-hall, were a King of England in the nineteenth century, so to express himself! Such, however, was the daringly despotic reply of our first Richard, when, after he had renounced, for the sum of ten thousand marks, the superiority of Scotland, gained by his father-after he had put to sale all the revenues and manors of the crown, all places of trust and profit, and even the seats in the courts of justice - his ministers ventured to remonstrate with him against the rapacity and oppression he was exercising. For

what, it may be asked, was he exercising such rapacity, and such oppression? Simply, that he might extort money from his unhappy subjects, in furtherance of his darling project for extricating the holy land from infidel domination. Well may we exclaim, tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis!

Pregnant as were the reign and character of Richard with romantic incident and high dramatic interest—essentially romantic as they were in their nature-it is surprising that, with a poet's eye, our Prince of Bards never selected them for one of his grand historical compositions. The reign and character of Richard might, indeed, furnish materials for fifty dramas: to the descriptive poet, to the dramatist, to the romance writer, they constitute a rich and inexhaustible mine. We look on the crusades, at the present day, with something of the same emotion which we feel when we talk of the Trojan war; and Cœur de Lion and Soliman no more excite our sympathies than Achilles and Hector but between two and three centuries ago, at the name of the Red Cross and its holy warriors, the dying flame of enthusiasm quivered brightly in the heart of our ancestors; the name of Saracen had not ceased to be hateful to their ears, and the sepulchre was still a shrine and a temple; there yet lingered a feeling of veneration, in the hearts of men, for the heroic deeds of their