As o'er the sea it glides,
But wreck'd is its deep idolatry
On the dark and stormy tides.
_Deal._ G.R.C.

* * * * *

THE ARBALEST OF ROBIN HOOD.

_(TO THE EDITOR.)_

In No. 538, of _The Mirror_, is described an elegant Cross-bow, and
a desire expressed for information where such things are _now_ to be
seen. I have lived many years in Yorkshire, and have seen several
kinds of these bows at _Kirklees Hall_, the seat of Sir George
Armitage, a few miles from Huddersfield. Amongst those bows I saw one,
at least six feet long; but some of them were not more than two or
three feet in length. There were also a variety of weapons of war,
with helmets, and some curious boots, which buttoned on the leg from
top to the bottom, and had wooden soles. They were then kept in an
attic on the top of the leads over the hall. Many of these relics are
said to have belonged to the famous "Robin Hood," who lies buried
in the park; the remains of the ancient grave-stone having been
surrounded with a handsome iron railing, by the late Sir George
Armitage; in the wall is an old inscription on brass; it is situated
in a very gloomy place. Not far distant from his grave are the remains
of a Nunnery, and a burial-ground, with tombs in it; but I could find
no date, either in the house or on these tombs. One of the tombs has
this inscription round its edge:

"Sweet Jesus of Nazareth, show mercy to Elizabeth Stainton, late
Prioress of this place."

If an intelligent person were to call at the Hall, he would be able
to gather much information of an authentic nature respecting Robin
Hood.[1]

[1] We hope this note may meet the eye of some of our Yorkshire
correspondents.

JOHN BATEMAN.

* * * * *

SONGS, _FOUND IN THE ALBUM OF A DELIA CRUSCAN POET._

_(FOR THE MIRROR.)_

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

BY T. MOORE, ESQ.

Thou winged gem, whose starlike splendour
Gleams on the bosom of the rose,
I lore thy light when skies are tender,
And winds are wandering to repose.
The Grecian lute, the Moorish song,
And Crockford's home, with all that's in it,
May challenge fame from many a throng,
But thou, _alone_, fair bird, canst win it!

I've often watch'd thy plumage glancing
So evanescent in thy bower,
And heard thy silver voice entrancing
Soothe me, as music soothes the flower.
Although dimin