MAY-DAY IN THE OLDEN TIME ON SHOOTER'S HILL.

the right towards Blackheath and London. Our road is in the former direction; so bringing "a stout heart to a stone brae," we prepare ourselves for the lengthened but very gradual ascent of the famed hill, where of yore, at the opening of the merrie month of May, all London,―man and wife, young and old, the small as well as great,- -were accustomed to disport themselves. Here a party, clad in Lincoln green, would be practising at the butts; some busily adjusting their long yew bows, others examining with jealous care their well-poised fletches, whilst an accompaniment of noisy shouts of officious boys or anxious partisans announced the result of each successive shaft, as it whistled past the ear on its errand of adjudicature as to the archer's merits.* In another direction, perhaps, a crowd of amused spectators would be encouraging by their cheers some adventurous smock-frocked knight, to encounter another rough tumble from his heavy cart-horse in a mock-joust at the quick revolving quintain. Here, also, around a tall flowerbedecked mast, surmounted by a gaudy popinjay, a circle of youthful dancers, of both sexes, leap joyously to the jarring music of fiddles and tinkling dulcimers, or perchance to the less-pretending strains of the humbler pipe and tabor. Warm with exertion and flushed with excitement, the party at length break up, retiring for rest to pleasant bowers or reclining at full length on the soft green turf. These have given place to a boisterous party of lusty competitors, each bearing a clumsy cavalier's or long arquebuse, and who approach to contend for the prize given for the best shot fired at the popinjay. Not the least among the entertainments prepared for the pleasure-seekers to Shooter's Hill, was the opportunity thus afforded to braggart apprentices, or sly foresters skilled in the gentle practice of woodcraft, to exhibit their dexterity as marksmen ; and on this spot, no doubt, sulky discomfiture and saucy success have fretted their brief hour away. May-day, alas! is no longer the period of innocent recreation. Labour has no time for its stated holidays. We are all of us too busy-painfully intent on obtaining either gold or bread. With the one class it is incalculable profusion-with the other bare sufficiency. Still labour,-unsacrificing labour, is the genius of us all, and gold is our god.

* It is from these trials at archery that Shooter's Hill is supposed to have received its name.

A ROYAL MAYING.

Edmund Hall, in his history of the union of the houses of York and Lancaster, gives an amusing account of a May-day festival celebrated on Shooter's Hill, in which Henry the Eighth and his first wife, Katharine of Arragon, participated. As it presents an admirable picture of the amusements of royalty at that period, we extract it entire, the quaint style of the chronicler being in good keeping with the subject he is treating upon.

"The king and queen, accompanied with many lords and ladies, rode to the high ground of Shoter's Hill to take the open air, and as they passed by the way they espied a company of tall yeomen, clothed all in green, with green hoods, and bows and arrows, to the number of two hundred. Then one of them, which called himself Robin Hood, came to the king, desiring him to see his men shoot, and the king was content. Then he wistled, and all the two hundred archers shot and losed at once, and then he

wistled again, and they likewise shot again, their arrows wistling by the craft of their head, so that their noise was strange and great, and much pleased the king, the queen, and all the com

THE WHISTLE CRAFT-MAY-DAY WITH THE PURITANS.

pany. All the archers were of the king's guard, and had thus apparelled themselves to make solace for the king. Then Robin Hood desired the king and queen to come into the green wood, and see how the outlaws live. The king demanded of the queen and her ladies if they durst adventure to go into the wood with so many outlaws. Then the queen said, that if it pleased him she was content; then the horns blew till they came to the wood under Shoter's Hill, and there was an arbour made of boughs, with a hall and a great chamber, and an inner chamber, very well made, and covered with flowers and sweet herbs, which the king much praised. Then said Robin Hood, Sir, outlaws' breakfast is venison, and therefore you must be content with such fare as we use. Then the king and queen sat down, and were served with venison and wine by Robin Hood and his men to their great contentation. Then the king departed and his company, and Robin Hood and his men them conducted. At this Maying was a great number of people to behold, to their great solace and comfort.” †

Return we to our walk, which shall be extended to the brow of the hill, when, in one of the little parlours of the Bull Inn, we will sit awhile to recruit before we proceed further towards the Old Palace of Eltham. Reader, let us ask you whether you thought to observe the road we have just been traversing. There is something in its history deserving of especial notice. It was a public way

* In turning over the volumes of the "Transactions of the Antiquarian Society," we accidentally fell in with a notice of the whistle craft, or the manner in which the arrows were made, so as to produce the strange sound that surprised Henry the Eighth on this occasion. The Hon. Daines Barrington states, this was done by means of holes perforated through the side of the arrow-heads, and remarks, that they were frequently used as signals upon military occasions. This could not have been the case, however, when Hall wrote, or else surely the King would not have been much astonished at the exhibition, which seems to have afforded great pleasure by the novelty of the whistling arrow.

+ Of this custom of celebrating May-day upon Shooter's Hill, and of the hold such long-established usages have upon the minds of the people, we have a curious instance in a circumstance recorded in the "Perfect Diurnal for May 1st, 1645," where we are told that Colonel Blunt, "to please the Kentish people, who were fond of old customs, particularly May games, drew out two regiments of foot on Blackheath, representing a mock fight between the Cavaliers and Roundheads. The people were as much pleased as if they had gone a Maying." From this we presume some ordinance, interdicting this practice, had been issued by the Puritanical government then in power.

SHREWSBURY HOUSE-PRINCESS CHARLOTTE AND MR. WINSOR.

long before Cæsar and his soldiers arrived in Britain, even before the birth of Christ. The Old Watling Street, of which the road over Shooter's Hill forms a part, was one of the via patria which the Romans after their conquest adapted, with some slight modifications, to suit the convenience of their new colonies. It commenced at Dover, and proceeded in a north-westerly direction to Holyhead, traversing thus the whole length of the land, and conveying an idea of the direct communication which even in those remote times existed between the continent and the more distant Ireland.

On the northern declivity of Shooter's Hill, a little below the Bull Inn, a lane leads to a genteel, modern edifice, styled Shrewsbury House. Here the lamented Princess Charlotte is stated to have received a portion of her education; here, also, resided Mr. Winsor, whose name, it will be remembered, is associated with the first application of gas to useful purposes in this country, and who, like most projectors of great national importance, is reported to have been ruined by the speculation.

Shooter's Hill, thanks to the efficient police arrangements of the present age, is no longer that dangerous spot, which fearful travellers in former times were wont to journey miles out of their direct road to avoid. We can now pass and re-pass hereabouts in full security; yet how different was the case fifty or a hundred years back. The lives of the highwaymen of the last century record many a deed of violence and plunder enacted in this locality, which brought its perpetrators to the gallows tree. Byron, too, in his introduction of Don Juan to the "Great City," by way of Shooter's Hill, makes it the scene of one of those adventures with footpads which were even in his day sufficiently notorious. He tells us

"Juan now was borne,

Just as the day began to wane and darken,

O'er the high hill, which looks with pride or scorn,
Toward the great city. Ye who have a spark in
Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn,

According as you take things well or ill:

Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill!

"A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,

Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye

Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry

Sunset the time, the place the same declivity
Which looks along that vale of good and ill,

Where London streets ferment in full activity;

While everything around was calm and still,

Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he
Heard-and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum

Of cities that boil over with their scum."

The philosophic Juan strolls leisurely forward, indulging aloud in reflections upon British freedom and morals, the inviolability of the laws, and the security of the public roads, when he is surprised with a contradiction, in the shape of a knife and a demand for his cash expressed in no very polite terms, which, however, matters but little, as it is not comprehended. The appeal of the knife is more readily understood, and is at once replied to by a pistol bullet, which takes effect on one of the gang

"On which his train set off at speed,

And Juan's suite, late scattered at a distance,
Come up all-marvelling at such a deed,

And offering, as usual, late assistance.

Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed,
As if his veins would pour out his existence,
Stood calling out for bandages and lint,
And wished he'd been less hasty with his flint.
"Perhaps,' thought he, it is the country's wont
To welcome foreigners in this way: now
I recollect some innkeepers who don't
Differ, except in robbing with a bow

In lieu of a bare blade and a brazen front.
But what is to be done? I can't allow

The fellow to lie groaning on the road,

So take him up,-I'll help you with the load.' "But ere they could perform this pious duty

'Let me die where I am.' And as the fuel

Of life shrunk in his head, and thick and sooty

The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill
His breath, he from his swelling throat untied

A kerchief, crying, 'Give Sal that!' and died."