et
with a tragical close. His dead body was found by peasants in a glade
of the New Forest with the arrow either of a hunter or an assassin in
his breast. Sir Walter Tyrrel, a Norman knight, who had been hunting
with the king just before his death, fled to Normandy immediately
afterwards, and was suspected of being a regicide. The body of Rufus
was buried in Winchester Cathedral.

CHRISTMAS IN THE REIGN OF HENRY I.

Henry the First's Christmas festival at Windsor, in 1126, was a
memorable one. In that year Henry's daughter Matilda became a widow by
the death of her husband, Henry V. of Germany, and King Henry
determined to appoint her his successor to the throne of England and
the Dukedom of Normandy. On Christmas Day, 1126, a general assembly of
the nobles and higher ecclesiastics of the kingdom was held at Windsor
for the purpose of declaring the Empress Matilda (as she was still
called) the legitimate successor of Henry I., and the clergy and
Norman barons of both countries swore allegiance to her in the event
of the king's death. This appointment of Matilda was made by Henry in
consequence of the calamity which occurred just before Christmas, in
1120, when he lost his much-loved son, Prince William--the only male
legitimate issue of Henry--through the wreck of _La Blanche Nef_ (the
White Ship). On board the vessel were Prince William, his half-brother
Richard, and Henry's natural daughter the Countess of Perche, as well
as about a hundred and forty young noblemen of the most distinguished
families in England and Normandy, all of whom were lost in their
passage home, only a few hours after the safe arrival of the king in
England. Henry is said to have swooned at the intelligence, and was
never afterwards seen to smile. He had returned home anticipating a
joyous Christmas festival, a season of glad tidings, but he was
closely followed by this sad news of the death of the heir apparent.
The incident has called forth one of the most beautiful poems of Mrs.
Hemans, from which we quote two verses:--

"The bark that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves rolled on;
And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?
He lived--for life may long be borne,
Ere sorrow break its chain:
Why comes not death to those who mourn?
He never smiled again!

* * * * *

He sat where festal bowls went round,
He heard the minstrel sing;
He saw the tourney's victor