," and in the very exuberance
of his spirits, like Douglas of old, he thought fit to hunt in the
woods haunted by the "merrie men," as he in the Percy's country.
Such a merry young knight, such a roguish eye.

But he had not ridden far into the debatable land when the path lay
between two sloping, almost precipitous banks, crowned with
underwood. All at once a voice cried:

"Stand! Who are ye? Whence come ye? What do ye here in the woods
which free Englishmen claim as their own?"

A shaggy form, a bull-like individual, stood above them. The young
knight gazed upon his interlocutor with a comic eye.

"Why, I am Ralph of Herstmonceux, an unworthy aspirant to the
honours of chivalry, and conceive I have full right to hunt in the
Andredsweald without asking leave of any king of the vagabonds and
outlaws, such as I conceive thee to be."

"Cease thy foolery, thou Norman magpie.

"Throw down your arms, all of you. Our bows are bent; you are in
our power. You are covered, one and all, by our aim."

"Bring on your merrie men."

Not one of the waylaid party had put arrow to bow. This may seem
strange, but they had sense enough to know (as the reader may
guess), that the first demonstration of hostility would bring a
shower of arrows from an unseen foe upon them. That, in short,
their lives were in the power of the "merrie men," whose arrowheads
and caps they could alone see peering from behind the tree trunks,
and over the bank, amidst the purple heather.

What a plight!

"Give soft words," said the old huntsman, who rode on the right
hand of our friend Ralph, "or we shall be stuck with quills like
porcupines."

But Ralph was hot headed, and threw a lance at the old outlaw,
giving, at the same time, the order:

"Charge up the banks, and clear the woods of the vermin."

The dart missed Grimbeard, and immediately the deadly shower which
the old man had so keenly apprehended descended upon the exposed
and ill-fated group, who, for their sins, were commanded by so mad
a leader.

A terrific scene ensued. The horses, stung by the arrows, reared,
pranced, and rushed away in headlong flight down the stony
entangled road; throwing their riders in most eases, or dashing
their heads against the low overhanging branches of the oaks. Half
the Normans were soon on the ground. The outlaws charged: the lane
became a shambles, a slaughter house.

Ralph and two or three more still fought desperately, but with
little hope, whe