the place. The king's council was composed
of the knights already mentioned; but on
this occasion, seeking advice from none, he
left the camp alone—though not unobserved
by the five, who followed at a distance—
and proceeded to the dwelling of Mother
Shipton. He was seen to enter her hut, but
what took place within has been only imperfectly
guessed at, none of the knights having
courage enough to venture sufficiently near
to hear exactly what passed between their
leader and the dreaded witch. It is believed,
however, that in order to obtain her assistance,
the warrior proposed a certain compact;
but the conditions which Mother
Shipton strove to exact must have been too
hard, for high words arose between the two
—so much was ascertained by the listeners
before they discreetly withdrew—and her
harsh voice was heard to threaten the warrior,
who came forth in great wrath from the
hut, and strode back to his tent. How he
spent the remainder of the night is not on
record; but, at break of day he was in the
saddle, marshalling his men; and, long
before the sun had gilded the tops of the
forest trees, he led them across Lynham
Heath, and skirting Knollberry Banks, left
the old Saxon mart of Ceapen-Northtown
behind, and plunged into the woody glades
that yet interposed between him and the
object of his desires. After a toilsome march
of five hours, he came to a steep ascent,
where the corn grows now, but which
then was a desert waste. Laboriously his
followers climbed the hill, nor rested until
the crest of the ridge was nearly gained.
Here they paused, and the five knights stood
some distance apart, while their eager leader
spurred towards a slight eminence, which,
from that point, was all that impeded the
view into the broad valley beyond, the haven
of his expectations. Suddenly, a female
figure appeared on the rising summit of the
knoll, and, in the clear morning light, the
five knights, who watched the motions of
their chief, recognised the unearthly lineaments
of Ursula Shipton. The events of
the previous night came back to their memories,
and they whispered among each other.
For an instant, the bold adventurer was lost
to their view, but presently he re-appeared;
and, as he breasted the last ascent, they
heard his voice: " Out of my way, Hag!" he
cried—

"If Long Compton I may see,
Then king of England I shall be!"

But another voice—the voice of Ursula
Shipton— exclaimed:

"Rise up hill! Stand fast, Stone!
King of England thou shalt be none!"

She waved her arm as she spoke; the
earth swelled; and the ambitious chief, the
five whispering knights, and the whole of
the warrior's mesnie, were at once
transformed to stone!

Six paces further, and the village of Long
Compton had been distinctly seen; but, where
the king's stone buries its base in the ground
nothing is visible but the hill-side.

There is yet another tradition connected
with Rollrich Stones.

A certain man of wealth, the lord of the
manor of Little Rollewright, Humphrey
Boffin by name, resolved to remove the King's
Stone to the courtyard of his own dwelling,
about a mile distant, at the foot of the hill.
The country people dissuaded him from
making the attempt, telling him that no good
would come of it; but he, being an intemperate,
violent man, would not be thwarted of
his headstrong will, and commenced the
attempt. He thought to accomplish his
purpose with a wagon and four horses, but,
though the latter were of a famous breed and
remarkably strong, they could not stir the
stone a single inch. He then yoked other
four to the team, but still without success;
again and again he made the same addition,
nor was it until four-and-twenty horses had
been attached to the load, that he was able
to effect its removal. At length Humphrey
Boffin triumphed, and the King's Stone stood
in the centre of his own courtyard. But his
triumph was of short-lived duration, for no
sooner had the shades of night appeared,
than an indescribable tumult appeared to
surround his house, waxing louder and fiercer
as the night drew on; nothing was heard
but groans and shrieks, the clash of weapons,
and the direful din of battle, which noises
lasted till the morning, when all again was
still. Humphrey Boffin was greatly frightened;
but, for all that, his heart was not
changed, and in spite of omens he swore he
would keep the stone. The second night was
worse than the first; on the third, the
uproar of the two were combined, and then
Humphrey Boffin gave in. Adopting his wife's
counsel (for she, clever woman, saw at once
where the shoe pinched), he agreed to restore
the King's Stone to the place where Mother
Shipton had commanded it to stand. But, the
difficulty was how to accomplish the task. It
had taken four-aud-twenty horses to drag the
stone down hill. How many must there be
to carry it up again? A single pair settled
the question: they were no sooner in the
shafts than they drew the wagon with
perfect ease; nor did they stop to breathe nor
did they turn a hair on their up-hill journey!
The country people, however, were right. The
attempt did Humphrey Boffin "no good;"
the civil war breaking out shortly afterwards,
his homestead was burnt and his
house ransacked by Cromwell's troopers, and
he himself, endeavouring to escape without
Mrs. Boffin tumbled into a well and was
drowned. The lady, it is added, eventually
consoled herself by marrying the captain of
the troop, who, when the wars were over,
became a thriving farmer and leader of the
conventicle at Banbury.