transient excitement. The circumstance caused much regret and astonishment at this time, and was commented on in the newspapers. The Oak, which Mr. Jesse would decorate with Shakespearian honours, stands at a considerable distance from the real Simon Pure. Every old woman in Windsor knows all about the facts.
There is no occasion to dwell on the spirit of contradiction and flippancy in which this passage was written; but I will proceed to facts.
That a tree was cut down near the Castle in consequence of a dispute the King had with his son, afterwards George IV., cannot be doubted. Sir Herbert Taylor informed me that he heard the order given, but he assured me that the tree so felled was an Elm. Indeed, the whole character of George III. would of itself be a sufficient guarantee that Herne’s Oak was not cut down by his order. He always took a pride and pleasure in pointing it out to his attendants whenever he passed near it, and that tree was the one whose identity I am now advocating. It may also be doubted whether any monarch would venture to incur the odium and unpopularity of felling such a tree as Herne’s Oak.
To set the matter at rest, however, I will now repeat the substance of some information given to me relative to Herne’s Oak by the late Mr. Ingall, the highly respectable bailiff and manager of Windsor Home Park. He stated that he was appointed to that situation in the year 1798. On receiving his appointment, he was directed to attend upon the King at the Castle, and on arriving there he found his Majesty, as he said, with “the old Lord Winchelsea.” After a little delay, the King set off to walk in the Park, attended by Lord Winchelsea, and Mr. Ingall was desired to follow them. Nothing was said to him until the King stopped opposite an oak-tree. He then turned to Mr. Ingall, and said:
“I brought you here to point out this tree to you. I commit it to your especial charge, and take care that no damage is ever done to it. I had rather that every tree in the Park should be cut down than that this tree should be hurt. This is Herne’s Oak.”
Mr. Ingall added that this was the tree still standing near Queen Elizabeth’s Walk, and it is the same tree I have referred to and given a sketch of in my “Gleanings in Natural History.”
Having stated the above decisive fact, I may remark that George III, was perfectly incapable of the duplicity of having pointed out a tree to Mr. Ingall as Herne’s Oak if he had previously ordered the real Herne’s Oak—“the Simon Pure” to be cut down. I have also the authority of His Royal Highness the late Duke of Cambridge for stating that George III. always mentioned the tree lately blown down as Herne’s Oak.
I might mention many other arguments in favour of the identity of the tree in question, but I will only add that Mr. Charles Davis, the present well-known and much-respected huntsman of her Majesty’s hounds, assured me that he had heard the King assert that he had not cut down Herne’s Oak, and that he repeated the assertion when his mind was in a perfectly healthy state.
In order that the tree might be readily recognised by strangers I had the following quotation placed upon it:
There is an old tale goes, that Herne the Hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,
Walk round about this Oak.
I have been assured that after the inscription had been placed on the tree, some females, who had been in the habit of passing between Windsor and Datchet through the park at night, have been alarmed with the fear of meeting “Herne the hunter.” If this was so, it curiously shows the fact that superstition holds the same sway in this neighbourhood as it did when Shakespeare made Mr. Page say
In deepthere want not many that do fear,
In deep of night to walk by this Herne’s Oak.
I may mention as an interesting circumstance, in conclusion, what took place when the Emperors of Russia and Austria, and the King of Prussia, assembled at Windsor Castle to celebrate the christening of our Prince of Wales. The Queen invited these potentates to walk in her grounds, but some of their attendants remained at the castle. Instead of viewing the objects in it, the celebrated Baron Humboldt inquired his way to Herne’s Oak. This was the first object of his attention and curiosity, and probably of his veneration. The splendour of the castle, its pictures, the noble scenery which is to be seen from it, and the many historical facts connected with it, were objects of inferior interest compared with the shattered trunk of an oak, “dry and dead,” yet rich with recollections of the genius of our immortal Shakespeare. On arriving at the interesting relic, the Baron gazed upon it in silence; and at last gathered a leaf from the ivy which clung to the decaying trunk, and deposited it in his pocket-book, as a relic to carry back to his own country, to be exhibited there as one of no common interest. The nobleman who accompanied him to the tree acquainted me with this little anecdote, which I must confess afforded me no small degree of gratification.
This ancient tree, alas! no longer stands on the spot which Shakespeare has immortalised: it was but lately—
But clad wa huge oak, dry and dead,
But clad with reliques of its trophies old,
Lifting to heaven its aged, hoary head—
With wreathed roots, and naked arms,
And trunk all rotten and unsound.—Spenser.
At present portions of it will be eagerly sought after, like the Mulberry tree of Stratford, to turn into snuff-boxes and tobacco-stoppers—such will be its “reliques”!
Arbore dejectâ qui vult ligna colligit.
THE WHITING.
I need not make any apology to my readers for introducing to their notice this exceedingly beautiful and popular sea fish; and a few words relating to it may form a very fitting supplement to my remarks on the “Cod Fishery.”[1]
