NEW FOREST, FROM BRAMBLE HILL.
RUFUS'S STONE.
Almost in the centre of the forest is the village of Lyndhurst, regarded as the best point of departure for its survey—a hamlet with one long street and houses dotted about on the flanks of a hill, the summit of which is adorned by a newly-built church of red brick with bath-stone dressings. Within this church is Sir Frederick Leighton's fresco of the "Wise and Foolish Virgins." In the ponderous "Queen's House," near the church, lives the chief official of the forest, and here are held the courts. Formerly, this official was always a prince royal and known as the lord warden, but now his powers are vested in the "First Commissioner of Woods and Forests:" here the poacher was in former days severely punished. The New Forest was originally not only a place for the king's pleasure in the chase, but it also furnished timber for the royal navy, though this fell into disuse in the Civil War. Subsequently parts were replanted, and William III. planted by degrees six thousand acres with trees. The great storm of 1703 uprooted four thousand fine trees, and then again there was partial neglect, and it was not until within a half century that a serious effort was made to fully restore the timber. There have now been ten thousand acres planted: a nursery for young trees has been established, and about seven hundred acres are annually planted, the young oaks being set out between Scotch firs, whose more rapid growth protects the saplings from the gales, and when they are able to stand alone the firs are thinned out. About four miles north of Lyndhurst and beyond Minstead is Rufus's Stone. Around Minstead Manor the land has long been enclosed and cultivated, and looks as little like a wild forest as can be imagined, while northward the ground rises to the top of Stony Cross Hill, disclosing one of the finest views in this region, looking down over a wide valley, with cultivated fields on its opposite sides and woodland beyond, gently shelving to Southampton Water, of which occasional glimpses may be had. There is an abundance of woodland everywhere, checquered by green lawns. At our back is the enclosed park, within which some intrenchments mark the site of Castle Malwood, where tradition says that William Rufus passed the night previous to his death. The king just before dawn aroused his attendants by a sudden outcry, and rushing into the chamber they found him in such agitation that they remained there until morning. He had dreamed he was being bled, and that the stream from his veins was so copious that it rose to the sky, obscuring the sun. The daylight also brought other omens: a foreign monk at the court had been dreaming, and saw the king enter a church, seize the rood, and rend it with his teeth; the holy image at first submitted to the insult, then struck down the king, who, while prostrate, vomited fire and smoke which masked the stars. The king, whose courage had returned with daylight, made light of the monk's tale, though he did not go to hunt as usual that morning, but after dinner, having taken liberal drafts of wine, rode out with a small party, including Walter Tyril, lord of Pontoise, lately arrived from Normandy. They hunted throughout the afternoon, and near sunset the king and Tyril found themselves alone in a glade below the castle. A stag bounded by, and the king unsuccessfully shot at him; then another ran past, when Tyril shot his arrow, bidden, as tradition says, by the king "in the devil's name." The arrow struck William Rufus full in the chest, and he dropped lifeless. Tyril, putting spurs to his horse, galloped westward to a ford across the Avon into Dorsetshire. Soon after a charcoal-burner named Purkis, whose descendants still live in the New Forest, came past, found the king's body, and, placing it on his cart, bore it, still bleeding, to Winchester. Tyril's arrow had glanced from a tree, which long existed, but, decaying centuries afterward, Rufus's Stone was set up to mark the spot. This became mutilated, and has been enclosed in an iron casing, with copies of the original inscriptions on the outside. It is now a cast-iron pillar about five feet high, with a grating at the top, through which may be seen the stone within. It stands on a gentle slope, not quite at the bottom of the valley, with pretty scenery around. Tyril got his horse shod at the Avon ford, for which offence the blacksmith afterwards paid an annual fine to the Crown. He was not very hotly pursued, however, and made his escape into Normandy, where he sturdily denied that the arrow was shot by him at all, laying the blame to a conspiracy of the king's enemies, of whom he had many.
Southward from Lyndhurst the road goes over undulating ground and through magnificent oaks and beeches to Brockenhurst, past a heronry at Vinney Ridge. This section contains some of the finest trees in the forest, with plenty of dense holly and an occasional yew. The ground discloses the bracken fern, and gray lichen clings thickly to the trunks and branches of the trees. The woodland views along this road are splendid, and only need the wild animals of a former era to bring back the forest-life of mediæval times. Off to the eastward, standing on the little river Exe, are the foliage-clad ruins of Beaulieu Abbey, founded by King John, and now held by the Duke of Buccleuch, who has a mansion near by. Here was buried John's mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and here came the widow of Warwick the King-maker, after the battle of Barnet, for sanctuary. Perkin Warbeck when defeated also took refuge at Beaulieu, where he surrendered on promise of mercy. The abbey is a wreck now, for after its dissolution we are told that its stones "went to build Henry VIII.'s martello tower at Hurst, and its lead to repair Calshot" on Southampton Water, while the gate-house serves as the entrance to the modern ducal mansion, and the refectory is the parish church. Here are the tombs of Mary Dore and Mary Do. The former was a noted witch, "who could transform herself into a hare or cat, and afflict or cure all the cattle in the neighborhood." The latter is credited with more celestial attributes in the obituary that survives her than were allotted her unfortunate companion; and the acrostic inscription on her tomb is often quoted:
"Merciless fate (to our greate griefe and woe)
A prey hath here made of our deere Moll Do,
Rapte up in duste and hid in earthe and claye,
Yet live her soule and virtues now and aye;
Death is a debt all owe which must be paide
Oh that she knew, and of it was not afraide!"
BROCKENHURST CHURCH, WITH THE FAMOUS YEW AND OAK.