He had gone but a short way down the walk, when he broke off into the park, on the side where, after following the line of the outer heath for some distance, it takes a sweep round to the river. It was a beautiful evening, and the hour, which was approaching eight, was not so advanced but that it was quite light. Everything looked gay, and buoyant, and cheerful; and, though the splendour of the day had passed off, the verdure of the grass and foliage, which had now attained its most perfect tint, had lost none of its freshness, or looked a whit less green in the mild light of the evening. The nimble fawns, too, which were scattered in groups over the prairie, evidently met the evening with a welcome, and sported and raced about with unwonted spirit. Now in groups, anon in pairs, or singly, they shot across the park, or, like trusty sentinels, watched the solitary passenger who had intruded on their domain, as though his vicinity and progress caused them alarm. But Sir Walter, absorbed in meditation, noted none of these things. He pursued his way over the area without looking round; and the sweet tranquillity of the scene, which, in its diversity of wood, and hill, and dale, all clothed with verdure, embraced a hundred beautiful accidents, quite escaped his perception.
Thus progressing, he came to the top of a high hill, looking down on the river, and crowned, about the centre of its summit, with a solitary oak. This fair tree, which gives the hill its name, was then arrayed in foliage, and, in its upland situation, looked truly like the monarch of the realm below.
Pausing on the crown of the hill, he seemed, for the first time during his ramble, to understand his local position, and to look with interest and pleasure on the objects around. In its peculiar features, the landscape which those objects constituted had no peer in the world. In his rear lay the noble park, with its surface varied by fair valleys, and gentle eminences, topped with trees; and, here and there, traversed by broad avenues, to which unbroken lines of oak and elm, but principally oak, were appropriate landmarks. On his side, at the verge of the park, rose the stately palace, with a flag, on which was emblazoned the royal arms, floating from each of its two dome-capped towers, and marking it as the residence of the Sovereign. Beyond could be seen a forest of tall masts, which a glance on his further side, down the river, would change for a view of Kent, extending as far as Shooter’s Hill. Opposite to him was spread the low coast of Essex, creeping back, from where its turfy limit was laved by the river, to inland heights, which tall woods seemed to mark as its natural boundary. Before him flowed the matchless Thames, coursing along, on either hand, as far as the eye could reach, in twenty graceful sweeps; and bearing on its calm bosom hundreds of barks, with their white sails swelling under the volume of the evening breeze.
No one could contemplate such a scene with indifference, and, though he had often viewed it before, Sir Walter Raleigh, on waking from his reverie, scanned its varied features with the liveliest enjoyment. He did not, however, tarry long on the hill. After a brief pause, he set forward again, and—for the steepness of the descent obliged him to pick his steps—passed slowly, but not mournfully, towards the further park.
Whether it be true, or not, what some assert, that men sometimes have an instinctive foreboding of a coming ill, there certainly are moments when we are more inclined to look forward to calamity, than to anticipate success. And, perhaps, it may not be difficult, on a close survey, to make this dejection appear to be really the work of instinct. As the guiding influence of man is distinguished from that of brutes by its attribute of reason, so all its promptures, though without our perception, regard more than the passing time, and are tempered by a look at the future. When the judgment is healthy, this look, however closely pursued, will ever have some savour of hope; and if we cast hope aside, the judgment loses its distinguishing characteristic, and sinks to the level of an unrestrained instinct.
During his progress to the palace, the cheerfulness which Sir Walter had derived from external nature, in contemplating the prospect from One-Tree Hill, subsided, and his melancholy returned. The depression seemed to weigh him down, and, despite his efforts to repel it, to take the shape of a presentiment. Though his strong mind wrestled with the feeling, he found himself, every now and then, anticipating some evil, and looking forward to misfortune as if it were actually in view.
His dejection increased as he approached the palace. As he was advancing to the palace-door, a pursuivant, who was standing by, came up to him, and delivered to him a sealed billet. Sir Walter, glancing at the superscription, perceived that it was from the Queen, and eagerly tore it open.
The billet ran thus:—
“To Sir Walter Raleigh, knight, these:—