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 LI B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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 The person charging this material is re 
 spons,ble tor ,ts return to the libra y from 
 lnt«.n T' ^'^hdrawn on or before th^ 
 latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books 
 
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 L161 — O-1096
 
 
 SHAKSPERE; 
 
 THE POET, THE LOVEE, THE ACTOR, THE MAN. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 By HENEY curling, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " JOHN OF ENGLAND." &c. 
 
 ' I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, 
 Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
 With amplest entertainment."— TiMON of Athens. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 X
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland-street.
 
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HON. LORD LEIGH, 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 My Lord_, 
 
 I cannot better dedicate the following Work, 
 illustrative of tlie career of the immortal Shakspere, 
 than to your Lordship, identified as jom are with 
 the County which gave birth to this ^^ foremost 
 man of all the World/' and yourself also being 
 distinguished as a man of letters. 
 
 I have the honour to be. 
 My Lord, 
 With great respect. 
 Your Lordship's obedient humble servant, 
 
 Henry Curling. 
 
 WOODMANSTONE, 
 MAY 29, 1848.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A FOREST SCENE. 
 
 It was one morning during the reign of 
 Elizabeth, that a joiith clad in the gray cloth 
 doublet and hose, (the usual costume of the 
 respectable country tradesman, or apprentice in 
 England,) took his early morning stroll in the 
 vicinity of a small town in Warwickshire. 
 
 Lovely as is the scenery in almost every 
 part of this beautiful county, which exhibits, 
 perhaps, the most park-like and truly English 
 picture in our island, it was (at the period of 
 our story) far more beautiful than in its present 
 state of cultivated improvement. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Tlie thick and massive foliage of its woods, 
 in Elizabeth's daj, were to be seen in all the 
 luxuriance of their native wildness, unpruned, 
 unthinned, untouched bj the hand of man, 
 representing in their bowerj beauty the wild 
 uncontrolled woodlands of Britain, when waste, 
 and wold, and swamp, and thicket, consti- 
 tuted all. 
 
 The fern-clad undulations and forest glades 
 around too, at this period, were peopled by the 
 wild and herded deer — those "poor, dappled 
 fools — the native burghers of the desert city," 
 — which couched in their own confines, their 
 antlered heads alone seen in some sequestered 
 spot, amongst the long grass, gave an addi- 
 tional charm to the locality they haunted in 
 all the freedom of unmolested range, from park 
 to forest, and from glade to thicket. 
 
 In these bosky bournes and sylvan retreats, 
 unmolested then by the axe of an encroaching 
 population; nay, almost untrodden, save by 
 the occasional forester or the fierce outlaw; 
 the gnarled oaks threw their broad arms over 
 the mossy carpet, giving so deep a shade in 
 many parts, that the rays of the mid-day sun 
 were almost intercepted, and the silent forest
 
 SHAKSPERE. 3 
 
 seemed dark, shadowy, and massiye, as when 
 the stately tramp of the soldiery of Rome 
 sounded beneath its boughs. 
 
 As the youth cleared the enclosures in the 
 immediate vicinity of the town, and brushed 
 the dew from the bladed grass on nearing the 
 more sylvan scene, the deep tones of the clocks 
 from the old dark tower of the church, struck 
 the third hour. The sound arrested him; he 
 paused, and turning, gazed for some moments 
 upon the buildings now seen emerging from 
 the mist of early morning. At this hour no 
 sign of life, no stir was to be observed in the 
 town. 
 
 " The cricket sang, and man's o'erlabour'd sense 
 Repaired itself by rest." 
 
 Although the youth looked upon a scene 
 familiar to his eye, (for it was the place of his 
 bii'th, and from whence as yet his truant steps 
 had scarcely measured a score of miles), his 
 capable eye marked every point of interest 
 and beauty in the surrounding picture. Each 
 locality was known to him, for the hom^ of re- 
 creation and the school-boy diversion had ren- 
 dered it familiar ; yet he was arrived at a period 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 of life in which we begin to look upon things 
 with a somewhat different eje to that with 
 which we have before regarded them. The 
 feelings and frivolities of boyhood were be- 
 ginning to give place to the hopes and aspira- 
 tions of the man. 
 
 He had reached the age when the poetry of 
 life begins to be felt ; when an incipient longing 
 for society of the softer sex, and an anxiety 
 to look well in the eyes of the fair; to de- 
 serve well of woman, and to be thought a 
 sort of soldier- servant and defender of beauty; 
 is mixed up with the sterner ambitions of 
 manhood. 
 
 Perhaps few forms would have been more 
 likely to captivate the fancy of the other sex, 
 than the figure and face of this youth, as he 
 stood at gaze in the clear morning air, and 
 contemplated the landscape around. In 
 shape, he was slightly but elegantly formed, 
 and his well-knit limbs were seen to ad- 
 vantage in the close-fitting, but homely suit 
 he wore. Added to this figure of a youthful 
 Apollo, was a countenance of genius, intelli- 
 gence, and beauty, peculiarly indicative of the 
 mind of the owner. His costume, we have
 
 SHAKSPERE. 5 
 
 already said, was homely ; it was indeed but 
 one remove from tlie dress of the common 
 man of the period in which he lived. A gray 
 doublet of coarse cloth edged or guarded with 
 black, and tight-fitting, trunks and hose of the 
 same material ; to these were added a common 
 felt hat with steeple crown, and shoes without 
 rosettes. He was weaponless, excepting a short 
 dagger fastened to the belt around his waist; 
 and in his hand he carried a stout quarter- 
 stafij shod with iron at either end. No cos- 
 tume, however, could disguise or alter the 
 nobility of look and gallant bearing of that 
 youth. After regarding the view presented to 
 him in the clear morning air for some moments, 
 he turned, leaped the last enclosure which per- 
 tained to the suburbs of the town, and pursued 
 his way through a wild chase or park, avoiding 
 the more thick woods on his right. 
 
 How slight and trivial are sometimes the 
 accidents which control the fate of man! A 
 thought, a moment's deliberation, the instan- 
 taneous change of an intention previously 
 formed, often leads either to destruction or to 
 safety. 
 
 On setting out from his own home, the strip-
 
 6 SHAKSPERB. 
 
 ling had intended to traverse the woodlands 
 which lay between his native town and War- 
 wick, in order to keep an appointment he had 
 made with some youthful associates of the 
 latter place: some wild and reckless young 
 men with whom he had lately become ac- 
 quainted. The church clock, however, whilst 
 it informed him he had anticipated the hour, 
 determined him to change his intention of 
 going straight to the trysting-place, and he 
 turned his steps in a different direction. He 
 therefore left the deep woodlands on his 
 right, and sought the enclosures of Clopton 
 Hall. 
 
 This change of purpose, in all probability, 
 saved the life of the handsome lad. As he 
 turned from the woodlands on his right and 
 sought the fern-clad chase and plantations in 
 which Clopton Hall is embosomed, a tall, 
 fierce-looking man, clad in the well-worn suit 
 of a ranger or forester, stepped from the thick 
 cover. As he did so, the forester lowered a 
 cross-bow with which he had been taking a 
 steady aim at the stripling, from his shoulder, 
 and stood and watched him till he disappeared. 
 
 " Now the red pestilence strike him,'' said
 
 SHAKSPERE. 7 
 
 the man. " He has again escaped me. But 
 an I give him not the death of a fat buck ere 
 many days are oyer his head, may my bow- 
 string be the halter that hangs me." 
 
 " Nay, comrade,'' said a second forester, at 
 that moment coming forward, "believe me, 
 'tis better as it is ; thou must e'en drop this 
 business and satisfy thy revenge by a less 
 matter than murder ; I half suspected thy in- 
 tent, and therefore have I followed thee. 
 Come," he continued, " thou must, I say, for- 
 give the aflfront this lad has put upon thee." 
 
 " May the foul fiend take me then !" re- 
 turned the ruffian. 
 
 " Nay, thou art most likely the property of 
 St. Nicholas methinks. Whatsoever thou 
 dost," said the other, " certainly he will catch 
 thee by the back if thou should harm this 
 youngster." 
 
 " Why, look ye," said his fellow. " Have I 
 not reason for what I do ^ The varlet (who I 
 shrewdly suspect hath an eye upon the deer) 
 constantly haunts our woods. Not a nook, 
 not a secluded corner, not a thicket but he 
 knows of, and explores. At all hours of the 
 day, and even at night, have I caught sight of him
 
 8 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 wandering alone. Sometimes I have seen him, 
 lying along, book in hand, under a huge oak, 
 in FuUbrook Wood; at other times I have 
 watched him as he stood in the twilight beside 
 the brook, which flows through Charlecote 
 Park. As often as I have tried to gain speech 
 with and warn him from our haunts, he has 
 been ware of me; plunging into the covert, 
 (nimble as a stag) so escaped. 
 
 " Once, however, I came warily behind him 
 while he stood watching the deer as they 
 swept along a glade in FuUbrook; and heard 
 him repeating words which rivetted me to the 
 spot, nay almost took from me the power of 
 accosting him. Not, however, to be out- 
 worded by a boy, I pounced upon him.'' 
 
 " Go to !'' said the other, laughing, " then 
 you collared him, I suppose, and took him off 
 to the head-ranger to give an account of his 
 trespass. Was't not so ! Eh V 
 
 " You shall hear,'' returned the ranger. 
 "At first I felt too much respect to rebuke 
 him. There was something in his look I 
 could not away with. He seemed somewhat 
 angered too at being molested and caught by 
 surprise ; and there was that in his eye which
 
 SHAKSPERE. 9 
 
 could look down a lion, methonght. After 
 awhile, however, I gave him some of mj mind, 
 threatened to report his trespass to the Knight 
 our master, and to give him a taste of the 
 stocks, or the cage/' 
 
 " Good," said his fellow, laughing. " You 
 said well !'' 
 
 "Naj, 'twas not so good either, as it 
 turned out," said the ranger. 
 
 " How so V enquired his comrade. 
 " Why, he took my rebuke mildly at first, 
 merely saying he sought not to molest the 
 game, but only to enjoy the liberty, freedom, 
 and leisure of the wild woods." 
 
 "Well," interupted the other, "between our- 
 selves, that seems natural enough. But, an all 
 the lads in the country were to do the same, 
 they would soon drive the deer from their 
 haunts, and render our trade a poor one." 
 
 " So I told him ; and that I should not be so 
 easy the next tune I caught him straying in 
 our woods. Nay, that I would then, indeed, 
 cudgel him like a dog." 
 
 "Ha! ha! and how took he that threat 1" 
 " Mass! I would you could have seen how he 
 took it," said the irate ranger, "for I shall 
 
 B 3
 
 10 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 never forget the change it wrought. He looked 
 at me with an eje of fire, reared himself up 
 like a startled steed, and railed on me in such 
 terms as I think never man either heard or 
 spoke before. Naj, an I had not known he 
 was the son of a trader here in Stratford, I 
 had taken him for the heir of some grandee, 
 for never heard I before such a tongue, or such 
 words of fire." 
 
 "Go tor said the other; "and how an- 
 swered je that T 
 
 " At first I felt awed ; but, when he dared 
 me but to raise a finger in the way of assault, 
 and stirred my wrath so, that I laid hands on 
 him, he struck me to the earth; when I rose, 
 and again attacked him, despite my skill at 
 quarter-stafi", he cudgelled me to his heart's 
 content." 
 
 "What, yonder lad'? " 
 
 "Ay, yonder boy! His strength and skill 
 were so great, that, had I not cried peccavi I 
 had died under his blows." 
 
 "And for this you are resolved to shoot 
 him!" 
 
 "I am! I cannot forget the disgrace of his 
 quarter-staff My very bones ache now at the 
 bare remembrance."
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 11 
 
 " Aye, but thou must forget it, comrade,'' 
 said the other; ^'for to shoot him, look ye, 
 might get the rangers all into trouble. He 
 hath, you see, gone out of our bounds this morn- 
 ing ; but let us follow, and if we find him we 
 will both beat him. As far as that goes, I am 
 your man. 'Tis allowable, and in the way of 
 business. But for shooting the lad — fie on't! 
 'tis cowardly and dangerous. Ever while you 
 live, forbear your bullet on a defenceless per- 
 son." 
 
 " Well, be it so!" said his fellow. ^^I agree. 
 He hath had the best of me, for once in his 
 life. But, at least, will I be revenged : — ^blow 
 for blow." 
 
 " Hath he good friends, said jeV 
 
 " None of note." 
 
 " What then is his father r' 
 
 " The wool-comber who dwells in Henley 
 Street." 
 
 " Enough ! Now let us but catch him, and, 
 by'r lady, we'll beat him so that he shall scarce 
 disport his curiosity amongst our woods again." 
 
 "Nay, but if we kill himl" said the other, 
 with a sneer. 
 
 " Then must our master bear us out; we are
 
 12 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 hired to keep off all lurking knaves. By fair 
 means or foul, it must be done. An we kill 
 Mm, well e'en knock over a buck, and laj it 
 to's charge. Swear we caught him red-handed 
 in the fact, and there an end."
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE. 
 
 About a couple of hours after the above 
 conversation between the two rangers, the 
 subject of it might have been seen lying along, 
 " like a dropt acorn," book in hand, under 
 cover of the thick belt of plantation skirting 
 the grounds of Clopton Hall. Occasionally, 
 as he seemed busied in consideration of the 
 subject of his studies, his gaze would turn 
 upon the huge twisted chimneys and case- 
 ments of the building, just now beginning to 
 show symptoms of life. The thin blue smoke 
 mounted into the clear air, and the diamond 
 panes of the windows glittered in the morning 
 sun, as the shutters and defences were with- 
 drawn. At this period, the sports of the field 
 formed the almost daily avocation of the
 
 14 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 country gentleman in England. Men rose 
 almost witli tlie sun, and with liawk and 
 hound and steed commenced the day at once. 
 Scarce was the substantial breakfast even 
 thought of, till it had been earned in the 
 free air, amidst the woods and glades, the 
 meadows and marshes. Accordingly, as our 
 student lay perdue in the covert, he heard 
 the preparation of the household of Clopton 
 for the sport which usually commenced the 
 day. He beheld the falconer with the ready 
 hawk^ the grooms with the caparisoned steeds, 
 the coupled hounds, and all the paraphernalia 
 of the field which, in those days, as we have 
 said, not only formed the chief thought and 
 conversation of men of condition in the dif- 
 ferent counties in England, but was indeed 
 the chief business of their lives. 
 
 The morning sport furnished the table con- 
 versation; the preparation for the next day, 
 and repair of weapon, implement, and har- 
 ness, formed the evening's employment; and 
 the management of the stable, the falconry, 
 and the kennel, made up the score of amuse- 
 ment for the intervening leisure hours. 
 
 The family of the Cloptons were not alto-
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 15 
 
 gether unknown to tlie youth. The respecta- 
 bility of his father made him well thought of 
 by most of the gentry around, and the Hall 
 being only a mile from the town, Sir Hugh 
 was a sort of patron of Stratford, and in con- 
 stant intercourse with the inhabitants. 
 
 As his party had ofttimes ridden through 
 the streets of Stratford, our hero had scarce 
 failed to remark amongst the cayalcade a 
 beautiful female of some seventeen years of 
 age. This fair vision, who with hawk on 
 hand, as she gracefully backed her steed, 
 looked some nymph or goddess of the chase, 
 was indeed the only daughter of Sir Hugh 
 Clopton. 
 
 To one of the ardent and poetic soul of our 
 young friend, the mere passing glance of so 
 exquisite a creature as Charlotte Clopton had 
 suggested more than one sonnet descriptive 
 of her beauty; yes, the glance of the lowly 
 poet from beneath the pent-house which 
 constituted the shop of his father, had 
 called forth verses which (even at this early 
 period of his life) surpassed all that ever had 
 been penned, and Charlotte Clopton first 
 caused him to write a stanza in praise of
 
 16 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 beauty. At tliis early period of liis life too, 
 his fine mind teemed with the germs of those 
 thoughts which in after-days brought forth 
 so many lovely flowers. The impression of 
 his own passionate feelings in youth, furnished 
 him with the ideas from which to pourtray 
 the exquisitely tender scenes of his after-life. 
 
 To a youth of spirit the sight of preparation 
 for the sports of the field was full of excite- 
 ment. Most men love the chase, but mostly 
 those of a bold determined courage. 
 
 Participation in the sports of people of con- 
 dition was, however, denied to the lad, as his 
 condition in life barred him from aught beside 
 the sight of others so engaged. His capacious 
 mind conceived, however, at a glance, all the 
 mysteries of w^ood-craft, and his truant dis- 
 position leading him to become a frequent tres- 
 passer, the haunts and habits of the wild de- 
 nizens of the woods were familiar to him. 
 
 If, therefore, he was debarred from follow- 
 ing the chase himself, he loved to see the hunt 
 sweep by — 
 
 " When the skies, the fountains, every region near. 
 Seemed all one mutual cry." 
 
 In addition to this there was an insatiable
 
 SH AKSPERE. 1 7 
 
 craving after information of every kind. He 
 had been educated at the Free School of 
 his native town, and had far outstripped 
 all competitors in such lore as the academy 
 afforded, and he now perused every book 
 he could procure, making himself master of 
 the subjects they treated of with wonderful 
 facility. He was drinking in knowledge (if we 
 may so term it) wherever it could be reached ; 
 whilst, in his truant hours, no shrub, no herb, 
 no plant in nature, escaped his piercing ken. 
 
 His exquisite imagination, unfettered and 
 free as the air he breathed in the lovely scenery 
 of his native country, created worlds of fancy, 
 and peopled them with beings which only him- 
 self could have conceived. In the solitude of 
 the deep woods he loved to dream away the 
 hours. 
 
 " On hill or dale, forest or mead. 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook;" 
 
 it was his wont to imagine the elfin crew, as 
 they "danced their ringlets to the whistling 
 wind.^' 
 
 It was observed, too, amongst his youthful 
 associates that he seemed to know things by 
 intuition. Those who were brought up to the
 
 18 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 different mechanical trades in the town or 
 neighbourhood found in him a master of the 
 craft at which they had worked. "Whence 
 comes this knowledge/^ thej inquired of each 
 other, " and where hath he found time to pick 
 it up T " Body o' me/' his father would oft- 
 times saj, " but where hath our William learnt 
 all this lore'? Thus worded too! Master 
 Oramboj of the Free School, albeit he comes 
 here continually to supper, and uses monstrous 
 learned words in his discourse, never tells us 
 of such things as this lad discourses to us." 
 Neither was all this superfluous knowledge, 
 " ill inhabited like Joye in a thatched house." 
 He was already a poet, turned things to shape, 
 and gave to airy nothing 
 
 "A local habitation and a name."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CHARLOTTE CLOPTON". 
 
 Olopton Hall was situated in a sort of wild 
 chase or park, in whicli hundreds of broad, 
 short-stemmed oaks grew at distant intervals; 
 and through this chase a deep trench had 
 been cut in former days hj the legions of 
 Rome, the thick plantation which formed the 
 belt immediately around the house being just 
 in rear of the Roman ditch. 
 
 The hawking party, on this morning as they 
 gradually assembled, and mounted their steeds 
 in the court of the mansion, rode through the 
 gate-house, along the avenue and into the 
 chase. Here they breathed their coursers and 
 careered about till Sir Hugh had mustered 
 the different servitors and attendants apper- 
 taining to a matter of so much moment as
 
 20 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 his morning diversion, and was ready to go 
 forth. 
 
 As they did so the youth noticed the lady 
 he had before seen, and whose exquisite form 
 had made some slight impression upon his 
 imagination. Nothing could be more skilful 
 than the way in which she managed her horse, 
 he thought, — nothing more lovely and graceful 
 than she altogether appeared. The steed she 
 rode was a magnificent animal, and one which 
 none but a most perfect horsewoman could 
 have backed; and as he plunged, reared, and 
 " yerked out his armed lieels,^' he showed his 
 delight at being in the free air, and proved 
 " the mettle of his pasture.'' 
 
 It was a fair sight to behold one so deli- 
 cately formed as that lady, restrain the fero- 
 city, and, by her noble horsemanship, reduce 
 to subjection the wild spirit of that courser; 
 and so thought the studious boy in the grey 
 jerkin whilst glancing at the party in the dis- 
 tance, and as, " with hark and whoop, and wild 
 halloo,^' they careered about. 
 
 Well, however, as she had hitherto managed 
 the powerful animal, now that it was growing 
 even more excited by the number of horses
 
 SHAKSPERE. 21 
 
 around, it seemed every instant becoming 
 more and more unruly. It was in vain that 
 a tall handsome cavalier who had kept an 
 anxious eye for some time upon the move- 
 ments of her horse, now spurred his own 
 steed beside the lady and kept near her bridle- 
 rein. 
 
 The mad brute reared straight up and 
 stood for a few minutes, striking wildly with 
 his fore feet in the air, looking fearful in his 
 mad rage. 
 
 After a while, however, and whilst all sat 
 in helpless alarm, the lady still keeping her 
 seat, the steed recovered himself, plunged for- 
 wards, and bolted like the wind from the 
 party. 
 
 Few situations could be more perilous than 
 that which Charlotte Olopton now found her- 
 self in ; few more distressing to the spectators 
 to witness ; since to attempt aid is ofttimes to 
 hasten the catastrophe. 
 
 To follow a runaway steed in the hope of 
 overtaking it, is perhaps one of the very worst 
 plans that can be adopted, as the very com- 
 panionship of the pursuing horse is sure to 
 urge on and accelerate the pace of the flyer.
 
 22 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Yet this course the tall dark cayalier (who 
 seemed Charlotte Olopton's principal attending 
 esquire) unhappily adopted. 
 
 As he beheld the maddened horse tearing 
 across the park, swerving amongst the oak- 
 trees, and threatening every instant to dash 
 out the brains of the fair rider amongst the 
 branches, he set spurs to his courser, and with 
 might and main galloped after her. It was 
 in vain that Sir Hugh shouted to him to return 
 and perhaps his daughter would then be able 
 to stop her horse. In vain he roared and 
 railed at him for a stupid dolt, and called to 
 him that he would murder his child by such 
 folly. 
 
 The lady, however, kept her seat, like one 
 not for the first time exposed to so fearful a 
 situation. She managed even to guide her 
 steed into the more open part of the chase, 
 and where the trees stood at some distance 
 apart. For (like the mariner in the storm) 
 she well knew that whilst the tempest roars 
 loudest, the open sea gives the vessel the better 
 chance. 
 
 The sound of the horse following, however, 
 totally ruined her plan, and rendered her own
 
 SHAKSPERE. 23 
 
 steed more determined. The headstrong brute 
 set liis head and neck like iron. He no longer 
 yielded to her guiding hand. His eye of fire 
 was behind him as he dashed on like a meteor; 
 lashing out wildly with his heels, he flung 
 aside, turned from the direction his rider had 
 coaxed him into, and making a straight 
 cut oyer the park across the most difficult 
 gi'ound, came bounding over the yarious im- 
 pediments towards the spot where oui- hero 
 was standing, amidst the trees. It was by no 
 means difficult to conjecture that destruction 
 to the beautiful creature, thus borne along as 
 if on one of the "couriers of the air," was 
 almost ineyitable. 
 
 The horse now tearing his way amidst the 
 trees, which in this part grew more thickly, 
 approached the belt of oaks. 
 
 The next minute, as the youth of the gi'ey 
 doublet, in a state of breathless anxiety, stood 
 and watched this race, himself concealed in 
 the thick foliage, the horse (like some wild 
 deer seeking coyer,) plunged headlong into the 
 Roman ditch. 
 
 The entrenchment was of considerable depth, 
 so that both steed and rider, for the moment,
 
 24 SHAKSPEKE. 
 
 disappeared below the grassy ridge, and were 
 lost to sight. It was, however, but for a 
 moment: the next, the maddened steed, and 
 who had fallen from the steepness and depth 
 of the descent, recovered himself, and sprung 
 up the opposite bank. 
 
 The rider was, however, no longer on his 
 back: she had been cast headlong from the 
 saddle when the horse fell, and as the brute 
 reappeared, our hero saw with terror, that her 
 riding-gear was entangled on the saddle, and 
 that she was being dragged aloug the ground 
 bj its side. 
 
 But few minutes of exposure to such a 
 situation, and that sweet face had been spurned 
 out of the form of humanity and her delicate 
 limbs broken, torn, and lacerated. But the 
 youth (although he saw at once that it would be 
 vain to attempt to catch or arrest the powerful 
 brute by seizing the bridle), in a moment 
 resolved upon a bolder measure. As the 
 horse neared him, he rushed from his conceal- 
 ment and, (ere it passed or could swerve from 
 his reach), with the full swing of his heavy 
 quarter-staff, and with tremendous force, struck 
 the animal full upon its forehead, and with
 
 SHAKSPERE. 25 
 
 the iron at the extremity of his weapon, frac- 
 tured its skull. 
 
 So truly and well was the blow delivered, 
 that the steed fell floundering forward as if 
 struck by a butcher's pole-axe, and the next 
 instant was a quivering carcase upon the 
 grass. 
 
 In another moment the achiever of tliis 
 gallant deed had unsheathed the sharp dagger 
 he wore at his waist-belt, cut away the en- 
 tangled garment of the lady from the saddle 
 and was kneeling beside her prostrate and in- 
 sensible form. As he did so, he felt that he 
 could have spent hours in gazing upon those 
 lovely features. 
 
 " If, with eyes closed, she be so wondrous 
 fair," he said to himself (as he gazed, whilst 
 supporting her form in his arms), " what must 
 she be when those heavenly lights beam out in 
 all their lustre r' 
 
 Meanwhile, the cavalier who had followed 
 (but who reined up his horse when he observed 
 the steed of the lady dash down the slope, 
 and then remained gazing on all that followed 
 in a state of utter helplessness), so soon as he 
 beheld the extraordinary manner in which she 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 had been succoured, again set spurs to liis 
 liorse. 
 
 Dashing recklessly across the Roman trench' 
 he galloped to the spot, and throwing himself 
 from the saddle, snatched the lady from the 
 supporting arms of her rescuer. 
 
 There was a retiring diffidence, an innate 
 modesty about the youth who had aided the 
 lady, which at all times kept him from in- 
 trusion. 
 
 Neverthess, he felt in something angered, 
 and hurt at the manner in which the hand- 
 some cavalier had snatched her from his arms. 
 
 He drew back with folded arms, and, as he 
 gazed upon her, felt that he would fain claim 
 the right of tending upon one he had saved. 
 His indomitable spirit prompted him aluiost 
 to thrust back that officious friend, and like 
 Valentine, exclaim — 
 
 " Tliurio, give place, or else embrace tliy death : 
 I dare thee but to look upon my love !" 
 
 The next moment, however, remembrance 
 of his own condition, and the station in life 
 of her he had saved, flashed across his brain. 
 He drew a pace or two back, and recollected
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 27 
 
 how far remoyed lie was from her he had so 
 promptly succoured. As for the attendant 
 cavalier, he seemed to see nothing but the still 
 insensible form he hung over. " Oh hearen ! 
 she breathes," he said wildly, " she is not dead : 
 - — speak to me, Charlotte, — speak but one 
 word to your poor servant, if but to assure 
 him of your safety/' 
 
 " I think she is recovering, fair sir," said the 
 youth, again approaching. " You see the faint 
 blush of returning animation upon her cheek. 
 See, she opens her eyes.'' 
 
 "She does — she does!" said the cavalier, as 
 he raised her in his arms. " I would we had 
 but a few drops of water to sprinkle in her 
 face ; 'twould do much towards hastening her 
 recovery." 
 
 " That shall she soon have," said the youth ; 
 and darting off, he hastened towards a rivulet, 
 which, brawling along on the other side the 
 plantation, ran through the marsh land beyond, 
 and emptied itself into the Avon. 
 
 Taking off his high-crowned hat, he dipped 
 it in the stream, and returned as speedily. As 
 he did so he observed that Sir Hugh Olopton, 
 and such of his party as were mounted, had. 
 
 C 2
 
 28 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 now readied the spot ; whilst the fair Charlotte 
 having regained her senses, was clasped in her 
 fond father's arms. 
 
 Handing therefore the water to one of the 
 attendants, he again drew back, and leaning 
 upon his quarter-staff, stood regarding the 
 party unnoticed. 
 
 *' Now praise be to Heaven for this mercy," 
 said Sir Hugh, as he assisted to refresh his 
 daughter by dipping her hands in the water, 
 and then sprinkling her cheek. " In my pride 
 and joy of thee, my Charlotte, I bred yonder 
 steed for thy especial use. I thought to see 
 thee mounted as no other damsel in Warwick- 
 shire, and see the result. Ha, by my hali- 
 dame, I swear to thee, that had not the brute 
 perished in his own wilfulness I had killed 
 him with this hand." 
 
 '' Nay, blame me not, my poor Fairy," said 
 the lady as she looked piteously upon the 
 dead horse, " he did but follow the bent of his 
 joyous spirit, when he found himself in the 
 fresh pasture. 'Twas my own bad horse- 
 manship that failed in bringing him round 
 when he first broke away. Twas thy timely 
 succour, coz," she said, turning to the tall
 
 SHAKSPERE. 29 
 
 cayalier beside her, " which I suspect saved me 
 when I fell." 
 
 " Bj my troth then, nephew," said the old 
 Knight, grasping the youth's hand, " 'twas well 
 done of thee, and thou hast redeemed thy first 
 fault in following the runaway horse, in gal- 
 lant style. How you managed it, knowl not; 
 for I beheld nothing after the brute plunged 
 into Caesar's trench here : sight and sense left 
 me, I think." 
 
 " Alas, uncle," said the Cayalier, " I fear me 
 I have redeemed no fault, neither deserve I 
 any praise. I saw my fair cousin cast head- 
 long to the earth, and then dragged beneath 
 the heels of yonder horse. A few moments 
 and it seemed to me she would be killed, nay, 
 almost torn limb from limb — no mortal help, 
 it appeared could avail her — my very heart 
 ceased to beat — I felt the blood rush to my 
 brain, and I was about to fall from my saddle, 
 when lo, a lad stepped from beside the huge 
 trunk of yonder oak, I heard a heavy crashing 
 blow, I saw Fairy fall as if pierced by a 
 bullet in the brain, and I found thee, Char- 
 lotte, saved. And that reminds me," con- 
 tinued the cavalier, looking round, "he who
 
 30 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 did this gallant deed was this moment by mj 
 side." 
 
 " Ha, saj'st thou, Walter," said the burly 
 knight, Sir Hugh, "where then be this lad 
 whom we have not even thanked for this 
 service 1 Stand back my masters all." 
 
 As Sir Hugh spoke the attendants fell back, 
 and discovered to the principal personages 
 assembled the graceful figure of the youth, in 
 the grey doublet, as he leant unconsciously 
 beside the tree. The old Knight, (who was a 
 good specimen of the free and open-hearted 
 country squire of his day,) immediately stept 
 up, and grasping the youth by the hand 
 led him into the circle, whilst the young 
 cavalier was more fully describing to the lady 
 the bold and instantaneous manner in which 
 she had been rescued. 
 
 The youth with infinite grace sank on one 
 knee, and taking the lady's hand pressed it to 
 his lips, "Believe me, lady," he said, "the 
 delight I experience in serving one so fair 
 and exquisite, a thousand times o'erpays the 
 duty. For blessed are they who breathe but 
 in the influence of thy radiance." 
 
 " AVhy, gad a mercy," said the old Knight,
 
 SHAKSPERE. 31 
 
 " thou art a high flown champion of distressed 
 damsels, methinks. Nevertheless, lad, we are 
 indebted to thee in more than we can either 
 dilate on, or thou listen to with patience 
 fasting. Let us return to the house, mj mas- 
 ters all. By mj halidame, I have no stomach 
 for sport, nay, methinks, I shall scarce recover 
 the fright I have this morning gotten, till I 
 have swallowed a whole beaker of ale and 
 discussed a pasty of the doe." 
 
 " Come, Sir Knight of the quarter-staff," he 
 continued, "'fore gad but well not part with 
 thee, till we have learnt how to do thee good 
 for this service." 
 
 " Yet stay," he said, as he was preparing to 
 mount, and whilst steadily regarding the youth, 
 " art thou not of the town here 1 Have I 
 not seen thy goodly visage somewhere not a 
 week back in Stratford 1 Troth have I, in 
 sooth. Why, man, thou art the son of my 
 respected neighbour, the wool-comber in Hen- 
 ley Street. — John Shakspere." 
 
 " His eldest son, an it so please ye," said 
 the youth, blushing. 
 
 " Tore Heaven, and so thou art ! " said Sir
 
 32 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Hugh. "And \Yliat, good Philip. — Is not thy 
 name Philip'?" 
 
 " William/' said the youth. 
 " And what good wind then, good William 
 Shakspere, hath blown thee so opportunely 
 this morning to our neighbourhood hereV^ 
 
 " Marry, the same wind, good Sir Hugh," 
 said a tall, dark-looking man, dressed in the 
 worn habiliments of a forester, and accom- 
 panied by a companion quite as ill-favoured 
 as himself, and who at this moment thrust 
 himself into the circle; "the same ill wind, 
 Sir Hugh, that makes him haunt every wood 
 and dell in the county." 
 
 The interruption of the ill-looking forester 
 somewhat startled the party ; Sir Hugh turned 
 and looked at him with surprise, whilst the 
 object of the remark of the forester, suddenly 
 changing in his demeanour from gentleness to 
 the aspect of an insulted tiger, firmly grasped his 
 quarter-staff, and in an instant confronted the 
 man. " Thou art an insolent caitiff," he said, 
 " thus to speak of one of whom thou knowest 
 nothing, and before this fair company, too." 
 "An I know nothing of thee," said the
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 33 
 
 forester, contemptuouslj, "'tis more than my 
 comrade here can testify. By the same token, 
 thou hast stolen upon his forest-walk, *will 
 he, nill he,' and beaten him on his own beat, 
 as it were, and so put him to shame." 
 
 " And I am as like to do the same by thee 
 with the like provocation,'' returned young 
 Shakspere. " Thy comrade there, who seems 
 backward at showing his sheep-biting visage, 
 railed on me with most injurious epithets; 
 nay, he laid hands upon me too, and dis- 
 honoured me by a blow. For the which," he 
 continued, significantly, " / heat him!^ 
 
 " And for which," returned the forester, 
 " we have followed thee hither ; and time and 
 opportunity serving, will return the beating 
 with interest. ^Thou art warned, so look to 
 thyself, and keep from our woods in future." 
 
 "Gramercy," said Sir Hugh, now inter- 
 rupting the dispute, " but what saucy com- 
 panions are these 1" 
 
 "We are outlying keepers of Sir Thomas 
 Lucy of ' Charlecote, Sir Hugh," said the 
 man, doffing his hat, and making a leg. 
 
 " Outlyiug, I think, by 'r Lady," said Sir 
 Hugh, "in every sense of the word. Thou 
 
 c 3
 
 34 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 hast railed on tliyself, sir Ranger, in accusing 
 this youth of the offence of trespass, since thou 
 art even now thyself trespassing upon my park 
 here, and putting an affront upon a youth 
 whom it is our pleasure to hold in good es- 
 teem. Begone, lest I give my people a hint 
 to cudgel thee for thy presumption." 
 
 " JSFay, then our master shall hear of it,'^ 
 said the keeper ; " an thou encouragest those 
 •who lurch upon his grounds, the sword must 
 settle it/' 
 
 " 'Tis with thy master I luill settle it, thou 
 arrant knave,'' said Sir Hugh ; " I talk not 
 with such caitiffs/' 
 
 " And yet dost thou take up with yonder 
 son of a trader in Stratford town," said the 
 fellow, with a sneer. "^Want of company,' 
 saith the proverb. Ehf 
 
 " Hark ye, sirrah ! " said young Shakspere, 
 (like lightning seizing the keeper by the green 
 frock, and forcing him up to the dead horse) 
 "Trader or noble, I warn thee to put no 
 further affront upon me before this fair com- 
 pany; for, by the hand that brained yon 
 steed, I can as easily teach thee as awful 
 a lesson. Begone!" he continued, "I am
 
 SHAKSPEPvE. 35 
 
 alike readj to meet thee on thine own or 
 other grounds, singly or together, with quarter- 
 staff, or rapier and target, — to-day, to-morrow 
 ' — any time, only hence, and leave me now/' 
 
 The man looked cowed, he glanced towards 
 his comrade, gave Shakspere a savage scowl, 
 and both disappeared.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FAMILY OF THE CLOPTONS. 
 
 To Charlotte Clopton the introduction of 
 the stranger youth, the relation her cousin 
 gave of his opportune appearance, and the 
 ready manner in which he had rescued her, 
 seemed like some dream ; and (as he knelt at 
 her feet, and she gazed upon his inteUigent 
 countenance) he appeared to her a perfect 
 cavalier. 
 
 Indeed, under circumstances such as she 
 now for the first time beheld the youthful 
 poet, he was scarcely to be regarded, we 
 opine, by a lady's eye with impunity. 
 
 Rendered insensible, as we have seen, by 
 her severe fall, on recovery she found herself 
 almost miraculously saved from a dreadful 
 death. Whilst he who had rescued her,
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 37 
 
 appeared to haye come to lier assistance 
 " like some descended god," for sucli were the 
 feelings of her grateful heart, and such the 
 exceeding beautj of the youth, presented him 
 to her eyes. 
 
 To one so gentle in disposition as Charlotte 
 Olopton, the peasant garb young Shakspere 
 wore was no bar to the noble gratitude which 
 filled her heart ; and as the expression of his 
 countenance betrayed his admiration, whilst 
 kneeling at her feet, she felt that she could 
 have "paid him with herself;" and whilst she 
 also remarked the noble bearing of the youth 
 during his short controversy with the ill- 
 favoured foresters, she saw additional cause 
 to give her assurance that he was no common 
 person. 
 
 "Who ever loved, that loved not at first 
 sight 1'' The heart of Charlotte Clopton was 
 from that moment hopelessly, irrecoverably, 
 lost. 
 
 The family of the Cloptons was of ancient 
 descent in the country. Sir Hugh, their pre- 
 sent representative, was a widower, having no 
 other living offspring but the daughter we 
 have already introduced to our readers. She
 
 38 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 was consequently his heir. Of suitors doubt- 
 less the fair Charlotte might have had plenty 
 and to spare, for when broad lands are coupled 
 with exceeding beauty 
 
 " From the four corners of tlie earth thej come 
 To kiss the shrine." 
 
 Sir Hugh had, however, made election for 
 his daughter, of one who had been her com- 
 panion from childhood, a cousin of her own, 
 Walter Arderne, whose parents being deceased, 
 himself had been consigned to the guardian- 
 ship of Sir Hugh. This young man, who was 
 now about two and twenty years of age, 
 absolutely doated on his affianced bride. His 
 fortune was ample, and the woods of Arderne 
 could be seen from the grounds of Olopton. 
 Added to this he was extremely handsome, 
 of a most amiable and generous disposition, 
 brave as the steel he wore, and " complete in 
 all good grace to grace a gentleman." 
 
 And yet withal, although Charlotte loved 
 him as a brother, esteemed him as a friend, 
 and had been taught to regard him as her 
 future husband, to entertain any more tender 
 feelino;s towards him she found impossible.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 39. 
 
 Still, Walter Arderne being thus the con- 
 stant companion, the affianced husband of 
 Charlotte, although numerous other cavaliers 
 saw, and seeing, admired, their brief bow was 
 soon made. Thej saw — thej were smitten by 
 the blind bow-boy — but they felt that the 
 prize was appropriated worthily and withdrew. 
 
 Few men indeed were more worthy of a 
 lady's eye than Walter Arderne. Gentle, 
 generous, and frank, as we have before des- 
 cribed him — rich and handsome withal — it 
 seemed scarcely possible that his fair cousin 
 could fail in retiu'ning the strong love he felt 
 for her. Yet so it was, and whether this love 
 " chosen by another's eye '' was distasteful to 
 her, or that she thought the near relationship 
 any bar to a more tender feeling, it is certain 
 the very thought of her betrothment was dis- 
 agreeable. Still Walter had been her friend, 
 her companion, and her champion from child- 
 hood's hour, and under his fostering care and 
 tuition she had become a sort of Dian of the 
 woods and gi'oves. Dearly did she love the 
 bounding steed and the chase: the wild, the 
 wold, the hawk, and the free air. 
 
 Her father's wishes also were law to her,
 
 40 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 and as she found it would be a terrible dis- 
 appointment to him were she to own her 
 dislike to a marriage with her cousin she 
 had suffered the engagement to remain un- 
 challenged. 
 
 For centuries the Cloptons had seemed a 
 doomed race ; as if some ban was upon them 
 thej had been strangely unlucky by flood and 
 field. Gentle by birth, noble in spirit and in 
 the enjoyment of all the world could give, 
 they seemed doomed to be unfortunate. There 
 was even a melancholy about the old hall itself 
 consequent upon the mishaps and disasters that 
 appeared the hereditary portion of the family. 
 The sons were braye, their banner ever in 
 the van, but they fell early in the fight. 
 The daughters were chaste as they were 
 beautiful, but an early grave had almost al- 
 ways closed over them. Nay, the villagers 
 called the old manor-house the house of 
 mourning, so invariably had most of its 
 numerous occupants been swept off. An old 
 legend (they afiirmed) proclaimed this near 
 extinction of the line of Clopton, and that the 
 hall would be unlucky whilst their race con- 
 tinued its owners.
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 41 
 
 The brave old kniglit, gentle and even- 
 tempered as he was, and whom on ordinary 
 provocation it was difficult to anger, was 
 peculiarly sensitive on this subject. Any 
 allusion to the wild legend fi'om a servitor, 
 or rustic on his estate, would be sure to be 
 followed by displeasure or dismissal, whilst 
 mention of it from one in his own rank would 
 have been considered equivalent to an invita- 
 tion to the dark walk at the end of the plea- 
 sance armed with rapier and dagger. 
 
 Sir Hugh had beheld his children fade 
 away apparently of hereditary disease one 
 after another in their early youth ; all 
 except the beautiful Charlotte, the pledge 
 of a second marriage, and whose mother had 
 died soon after giving birth to this their 
 only child, and he was in consequence trem- 
 blingly alive to the sHghtest alarm of accident 
 or illness. It was imder such circumstances 
 that Sir Hugh, in accepting the guardianship 
 of his nephew, had learned to look upon the 
 well-favoured Walter almost with the eye of a 
 parent, and had set his heart upon a marriage 
 between him and his lovely child. 
 
 Under such circumstances, too, had young
 
 42 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Sliakspere performed the piece of service we 
 have described, — a service beyond reward, (as 
 the old knight worded it,) beyond aught he 
 had to bestow; and it was under such circum- 
 stances that the youth became an occasional 
 visitor at Olopton Hall, where he was admitted 
 on an equality with the inmates, and received 
 in a manner perhaps no other circumstances 
 would have been likely to lead to. 
 
 The line drawn between persons of different 
 condition in life was then more strictly kept, 
 and more accurately defined than in our own 
 day. But the good sense of Sir Hugh led 
 him to appreciate superior attainments wher- 
 ever they were to be found. The ignorance of 
 youth proceeded, he thought, from idleness ; 
 the continuance of ignorance in manhood from 
 pride, — the pride which is less ashamed of 
 being ignorant than of seeking instruction. 
 At Olopton, therefore, men of worth were 
 received, even though of low estate. 
 
 If we were to say that Sir Hugh lost not 
 some of his so-called friends amongst the 
 wealthy families of Warwickshire by this, we 
 should say that which was untrue. He did 
 forfeit the acquaintance of many, but then he
 
 SHAKSPERE. 43 
 
 had the satisfaction of knowing that his gene- 
 rosity of sentiment had weeded from his circle 
 of intimates only the narrow-minded, the 
 starched and formal, the ignorant and shallow- 
 pated.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A DOMESTIC PAETY IN ELIZABETH'S DAY. 
 
 On the evening of the day in which the acci- 
 dent had happened to Charlotte Clopton, that 
 lady, together with her fatlier, her cousin 
 Yf alter, and joimg Shakspere, were assembled 
 in an ample apartment at Clopton Hall, situate 
 on the ground floor, the windows looking out 
 upon the lovely pleasure-grounds in the rear of 
 the building. The youth had spent the entire 
 day at the hall, and in the society of those to 
 whom he had rendered so great a service. 
 
 Indeed any person (albeit he might not so 
 well deserve consideration by this good family) 
 would still have been a cherished guest ; nay, 
 even an " unmannered churl,'^ under the same 
 circumstances, would have been tolerated and 
 made much of; but in this lad. Sir Hugh and
 
 SHAKSPERE. 45 
 
 his family found something so extraordinary, 
 so superior, and of so amiable a disposition, 
 that it appeared a blessing and an honour to 
 have liim as an associate beneath their roof 
 
 Those who can associate with persons above 
 them in rank, it has been said, and yet neither 
 disgust or affront them by over-familiarity, or 
 disgrace themselves by servility, prove that 
 they are as much gentlemen by nature as their 
 companions are by rank and station. If our 
 readers wish to picture the youthful Shakspere's 
 first introduction into "worshipful society,'' and 
 amongst people of condition of his day, and 
 where he received those first impressions from 
 which some of his delicious scenes have been 
 drawn, they must imagine to themselves a 
 large and somewhat gloomy oak-pannelled 
 room, whose principal ornament is the huge 
 elaborately carved chimney-piece, which, in 
 truth, seems to occupy one entire side of the 
 apartment, and appears inclined also to march 
 into the very centre thereof The apartment 
 (albeit it was, as we have said, by no means 
 stinted to space, and had an exceeding quiet, 
 retired, and comfortable look withal) was by 
 no means constructed or fashioned after the
 
 46 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 more approred style of modern architecture. 
 The ceiling was somewhat low, traversed by 
 an enormous beam, and cut and carved elabo- 
 rately, displaying fruits and flowers, heraldic 
 devices of the brave, and all those extraordi- 
 nary and grotesque figm*es which the cunning 
 architects of old were so fond of inventing. 
 On the side of the apartment opposite the 
 huge chimney-piece, and on which side hung 
 several scowling and bearded portraits, stood a 
 sort of spinnet or harpsichord, and beside that 
 leant an instrument, fashioned somewhat hke a 
 bass viol of the present day, but of more curious 
 form, and elaborately inlaid with ivory, a viol 
 de gamba, an instrument then much in vogue. 
 Two ample casements, which opened inwards, 
 and which were festooned by creeping plants, 
 the eglantine and sweet jessamine, and which 
 casements, as we have before said, looked 
 into the green and bowery garden, and 
 through which the soft evening breeze of May 
 breathed the most exquisite perfume, gave a 
 sort of green and fairy light to the interior. 
 A heavy oaken table with enormous legs was 
 placed near the window. Upon it were to be 
 seen a silver salver, with several bottles of
 
 SHAKSPERE. 47 
 
 antique and most exquisite pattern, containing 
 liquors of comfortable appearance and delicious 
 flavour. These were flanked bj high glasses 
 of Venetian workmanship. In addition to 
 these articles, several high-backed cane-bot- 
 tomed chairs and one or two stools formed 
 the remaining furniture of the room, and which, 
 in comparison with our own overcrowded style, 
 would perhaps have been termed only half 
 furnished. 
 
 Nic-nacs there were few or none. Two or 
 three dull-faced miniature mirrors, looking all 
 frame, hung heavily against the pannelling, 
 and even a cross-bow, several rapiers, one or 
 two matchlocks, and other weapons of ancient 
 fashion, were to be observed; whilst, to com- 
 plete the picture, on the ample hearth (although 
 the room constituted what in the present day 
 would have been called the withdraw ing-room 
 of the mansion), sprawled several of the 
 smaller dogs then used in field sports, and an 
 enormous hound, sufficiently large and power- 
 ful to pull down a stag; and in the enjoyment 
 of the sight and flavour of the good wines 
 placed before him, sat the portly form of the 
 master of the house. Beside the open window
 
 48 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 stood the youthful cavalier Walter Arderne, 
 and on one of the oaken lockers or benches 
 in the embrazure of the casement, ^Yas seated 
 Charlotte Clopton. As she leant her cheek 
 upon her hand, one moment she gazed ab- 
 stractedly into the bowery garden, the next 
 her eyes wandered into the softened light of 
 the interior of the apartment, and rested upon 
 the features of her deliverer, young Shakspere. 
 This youth stood beside the spinnet, and (un- 
 conscious of the sensation his narrative pro- 
 duced upon the ears and hearts of his hearers, 
 and of the beauty of the description) was 
 giving them the plot of a tale in verse which 
 he had that morning been perusing, when the 
 lady's danger interrupted him. 
 
 He related the story briefly, but in such 
 language that his listeners were wrapt by the 
 recital. He even accompanied his description 
 by some action, and where he wished to im- 
 press his hearers more especially he endea- 
 voured to recollect and repeat tlie lines of the 
 poem, piecing out the story, when memory 
 failed him, with such verses as he made for 
 the nonce. 
 
 In addition to these, the principal person-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 4d 
 
 ages of our chapter, there ^as one other indi- 
 vidual in the room, who (albeit he occupied 
 the back-ground of the scene, being crouched 
 up in a corner.) is also deserving of de- 
 scription. 
 
 This was a sort of hanger-on, or appendage 
 to the establishments of the old families of 
 condition in England not then quite extinct — 
 a sort of good familiar creature, attached to 
 the master of the house principalis, and in- 
 differently familiar with all and sundry, in 
 doors and out — a sort of humorist — a privi- 
 leged, seeming half idiotic, though in reality 
 extremely shrewd and clever companion, who 
 used his foUv ''like a stalking-horse, under 
 cover of which, he shot his wit ;' but who was 
 indeed more the friend than the fool of the 
 family, and oft-times consulted on matters of 
 moment by the good knight. 
 
 This individual, clad in somewhat fantastic 
 costimie, fashioned by himself, be it under- 
 stood, and which it was his especial pleasure 
 to wear; for Sir Hugh would by no means 
 have forced any one in his establishment to 
 wear motley, was seated in a huge high-backed 
 arm-chair, in a comer of the apartment, where, 
 
 TOL. I. D
 
 50 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 •with his legs drawn up under him on the 
 cushion, his hands clasped together over his 
 breast, and his thumbs in his mouth, he kept 
 a shrewd eye upon the other occupants. The 
 long ears of his cap every now^ and then, as 
 they shook with a sort of nervous twitch of 
 the head, alone proclaiming that he was not 
 some stuffed ornament, occupying the position 
 it was his wont usually to choose in the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The story Shakspere had related seemed to 
 have made an impression on his own youthful 
 mind. It professed to pourtray that baneful 
 passion jealousy — a passion which, when once 
 indulged, is the inevitable destroyer of con- 
 jugal happiness. It formed one of the old 
 romances then in vogue amongst such as de- 
 lighted in reading of the sort; for in those 
 days of leisure, sobriety, and lack of excite- 
 ment amongst females in the country, reading, 
 spinning, embroidery, and other ornamental 
 needle-work, principally occupied the hours of 
 the elder, and out-door amusements and music 
 the younger. Those females who were given 
 to literature, however, would, in our times,
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 51 
 
 have indeed been considered learned, since 
 many (albeit tliej eschewed light reading) 
 understood both the Greek and Latin tongues 
 to perfection, and many were no less skilful in 
 the Spanish, Italian, and French. 
 
 In the narration of this story, and whilst (as 
 we have said) young Shakspere gave his own 
 version, might have been observed gleams of 
 that mighty genius which was in after-times to 
 astonish the world. 
 
 His relation had indeed much of the fire 
 and descriptive beauty which he afterwards 
 threw into every line of his writings. He 
 called up before his hearers the fiery openness 
 of the injured husband ; boundless in confidence, 
 ardent in affection. He touched upon the soft 
 and gentle simplicity of the victim ; her con- 
 sciousness of innocence; and her slowness to 
 suspect she could be suspected. And, lastly, 
 he described the clever devil, the fiend- 
 like and malignant accuser, with matchless 
 power. 
 
 Indeed the enormity of the crime of adul- 
 tery, and upon which this story touched so 
 forcibly, was in after-days (as our readers 
 doubtless recollect) made by the great drama- 
 
 D 2
 
 52 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 tic moralist the subject of not less than four of 
 his finished productions. 
 
 Another thing remarkable, and which struck 
 all present, was the facility w^ith which, by a 
 touch as it were, he ever and anon (and as if 
 by some incomprehensible magic of descrip- 
 tion) impressed the climate and country, the 
 manners and customs of the actors in this 
 romance, upon the hearers. 
 
 The relation had indeed seemed to the 
 auditors like a dramatic performance. The 
 melody of the speaker's voice and the lines he 
 uttered left his audience as we sometimes feel 
 after the scenic hour. There was a want of 
 some soother of the excitement produced. 
 
 The old knight felt this. He took his viol de 
 gamba and drew his bow lightly across the 
 strings, producing that silver and somewhat 
 solemn sound w^hicli those who have heard the 
 instrument so well remember — sounds suited 
 to the hour, age, and scene, and which give 
 their own impressions of days long passed 
 away. 
 
 "Come, Charlotte," said Sir Hugh, after 
 executing one. of the pieces of music then in 
 vogue, "dow a madrigal in which all can
 
 SHAKSPERE. 53 
 
 join. This youth hath put a spell upon us 
 with his sad storj. Come, a madrigal; and 
 after that our evening meal in the garden, 
 beneath the midberrv-tree. Do thou take the 
 first, whilst I and Walter chime in second and 
 third, and Martin shall e'en do his best to 
 help us." 
 
 "JSTaj, uncle,'' said Martin, jerking out his 
 legs straight before him, then putting them to 
 the ground gentlr, and then lightly executing 
 a sort of somerset and coming forward, "I 
 pr'ythee hold me excused. I shall but spoil 
 your music: my voice is rugged. I am not 
 gifted to sing squealingly with a lady. A 
 psalm or so at church, or a quaver after sup- 
 per, I can execute ; but my voice is like the 
 howl of an Irish wolf when I sing a part with 
 the lady Charlotte: blessings on her celestial 
 throat." 
 
 " Nay, Martin," said Charlotte, as she seated 
 herself; "thou wilt not refuse when I tell thee 
 it is to pleasure our new friend, to whom we 
 owe so much." 
 
 Martin glanced quickly upon Shakspere, as 
 she said this, and then slowly turned his eye 
 upon the young lady.
 
 54 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 He stroked his chin knowingly and seemed 
 to be considering them both very curiously. 
 " Truly so" he said, " we do indeed owe much 
 to this lad. May God requite the debt." So 
 saying the familiar walked to the window, and, 
 looking affectionately in the handsome face of 
 Walter, as he stood leaning against the case- 
 ment and regarding Charlotte, he put his arm 
 through that of the young cayalier, and re- 
 mained beside him whilst the madris^al was 
 sung; his own fine bass voice coming in with 
 singular effect, and belying his modest asser- 
 tion of incompetency. 
 
 To say that the voice of the lovely Char- 
 lotte delighted Shakspere would be to say 
 little; he felt ravished and enchanted, and it 
 left an impression upon the young poet which 
 he never forgot from that hour! 
 
 And oh how calmly, how contentedly, and 
 how quietly flowed the hours of private life 
 even during such a reign of glory as that 
 of the great and good Queen Bess. 
 
 In those days the whirl of events, the 
 increasing villany of the world, the petty 
 doings of the actors in this vale of tears, 
 the very minutiae of crime and sin, the most
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 65 
 
 paltrj acts " committed on this ball of earth/' 
 in town, citj, Tillage, and hamlet, were not as 
 now, printed and published and blown into 
 eyerj comer of the kingdom, a few hours after 
 commission. Eyen the leading events of the 
 da J, the acts of the great amongst the nations 
 of the earth, and all the stirring deeds going 
 on in the world, and which shook and over- 
 turned thrones; even these travelled slowlj, 
 and though posts "came tiring on," still rumour 
 full of tongues, made oft-times many slanderous 
 reports 'ere the true one was manifest. 
 
 To the country gentleman his domain was 
 his little world, his court, wherein he received 
 the homage of his neighbouring dependents 
 and tenants. 
 
 The charm of life consisted in these pur- 
 suits, those associations — naj even those super- 
 stitions, and those -antiquated customs which 
 modern utilitarianism has driven from the 
 world. Whilst, as we have said, mighty events 
 shook the nation, men continued to pursue 
 their even w^ay in that station of life in which 
 it had pleased Heaven to call them. 
 
 After the madrigal, the old knight with the 
 viol de gamba clutched between his legs fell
 
 56 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 fast asleep, his wonted custom in the evening ; 
 and having gently relieved him from all care 
 of the instrmnent by withdrawing it from his 
 custody, Charlotte invited the trio to a stroll 
 in the garden, where they held converse upon 
 various matters, occasionally interrupted in 
 their discourse by the quaint sayings and 
 witticisms of the shrewd Martin.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A DISAGREEABLE YISITOE. 
 
 ^TwAS a pleasing picture, that old kniglit 
 taking his eyening nap in his oak pannelled 
 room, so quiet and so retired, so undisturbed, 
 except by the cooing of the wood-pigeon, or 
 the distant bay of the hound in the kennel. 
 
 The eyening breeze sighed drearily through 
 the branches of the gigantic cedar-tree in the 
 garden, and whispered softly through the lux- 
 uriant plants and shrubs which hung about the 
 diamond-paned windows. 
 
 'Tis a sweet time that eyening hour, in an 
 old mansion far remoyed from the bustle of 
 the world. The oak floor, too, in the centre of 
 the apartment, was coloured faintly by the many 
 tints reflected through the stained glass in the 
 
 D 3
 
 58 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 upper compartments of the wiuclows, and where 
 the arms and crest of the Cloptons were 
 variously multiplied and emblazoned. The 
 dark polished oak of the huge chimnej-piece 
 as the shadows of evening descended, seemed 
 framed of iron or ebony, the grotesque figures, 
 here and there ornamenting the higher parts, 
 with their demoniac faces, and satyr-like bo- 
 dies, seeming ready to pounce upon w^hoever 
 came within their reach. 
 
 Whilst the old knight enjoyed his siesta, 
 every now and then giving a sort of start in 
 his deep sleep, or a prolonged snore, and then 
 twitching his muscular face and changing his 
 position, the door of the apartment was 
 gently opened and a tall shadowy figure, after 
 hesitating for a few moments at the threshold, 
 and looking round, entered cautiously and 
 approaching the sleeper stood and gazed long 
 and fixedly at his countenance. 
 
 What a contrast might a looker-on have 
 observed in those two faces, the one round, 
 ruddy, redolent of health, and shewing no 
 traces of guilt or care, the other worn, pale, 
 anxious, and cadaverous-looking. The broad 
 brim of the stranger's hat was drawn down and
 
 SHAKSPERE. 59 
 
 pulled low over his forehead, his dark and 
 grizzled hair looked thin and perished, match- 
 ing well with the iron gray of his complexion, 
 and his forked beard, presenting altogether a 
 worn and haggard appearance, a man of dark 
 passions, eyil thoughts and sinister disposition. 
 
 After gazing for some time at Sir Hugh, 
 the stranger laid his heavy gauntlet upon 
 his shoulder and suddenly awoke him. 
 
 The knight opened his eyes, stared at the 
 dark countenance so suddenly presented to 
 him for a few moments, and then starting up, 
 stepped a pace or two back and laid liis hand 
 upon the hilt of his rapier. 
 
 The grim stranger smiled at the startled 
 look of the old knight, "Fear me not, Sir 
 Hugh,'' he said. " I come not with intent to 
 do thee harm.'' 
 
 " Fear thee," said Sir Hugh contemptuously, 
 "wherefore should I fear? But thou comest 
 upon me in my secure hour here — and I know 
 thee not — Stand off lest I smite thee." 
 
 "That would be a poor reception for an 
 old friend," said the other, smiling a grim 
 smile. 
 
 "An old friend!" said Sir Hugh, in tones
 
 60 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 of surprise; "truly then tliou art an old 
 friend with a new face. May the foul fiend 
 take me if ever I looked upon that white- 
 livered visage of thine before/' 
 
 "Art thou quite sure of that, Sir Hugh 
 Cloptonr' said the stranger. "Look again; 
 time and care and climate have written, I 
 dare be sworn, strange defeatures in my 
 face, but yet methinks twenty j^ears ago the 
 name of Parry was not altogether unknown at 
 Olopton." 
 
 "Parry!'' said Sir Hugh, starting; "art 
 thou Gilbert Parry'? and what doth the ban- 
 ished traitor Parry within my walls? Hence 
 sirrah; I wish for the companionship of no 
 man polluted with crimes such as thine." 
 
 " Nay, soft. Sir Hugh," said the visitor, " I 
 come with credentials from one thou darest 
 not slight. Look ye, I am bearer of a letter 
 from the Nuncio Oampeggio, and I demand 
 speech with Father Eustace, who dwells in 
 thy house here." 
 
 Sir Hugh again started; he took the letter 
 from the hand of his visitor, and read it 
 attentively. 
 
 "Truly," he said, "the letter is as thou
 
 SHAKSPERE. 61 
 
 sajst. In it I find I am ordered to give thee 
 shelter here for the space of one week ; afford- 
 ing thee and those with whom thou consortest 
 such secresj and seclusion as thou majst 
 desire. I dare not deny the hospitality so 
 enjoined, but in good sooth I had as lief thou 
 hadst sought it elsewhere, Gilbert Parry." 
 
 "'Tis well," said Parry, taking his riding- 
 cloak from his shoulders ; " Clopton hath 
 secret chambers, I know, as well as that de- 
 voted servants of the Catholic Church dwell 
 beneath its roof" 
 
 " May I not know," inquired Sir Hugh, " of 
 the business which employs the talents of 
 Gilbert Parry, and makes the Pope's Nuncio 
 his introducer within my walls V' 
 
 "At more fitting opportunity perchance 
 thou mayest," returned Parry, whose manner 
 had become more assured after he observed the 
 impression the letter he had delivered had 
 made ; " at the present moment I require 
 rest and refreshment." 
 
 Sir Hugh said no more; he stepped to a 
 concealed panel beside the huge chimney- 
 piece, and drawing it aside, ushered his guest 
 into a small closet-like apartment, and then
 
 62 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 carefully closed the panel again. A narrow 
 "winding staircase ascended from this small 
 room into the chamber above, and which was 
 onlj known or nsed bj Sir Hugh himself, 
 together with Martin and the priest, who 
 occasionally visited at the Hall. 
 
 After entering, Sir Hugh signed to his 
 guest to ascend the staircase. 
 
 " Thou wilt find every accommodation here 
 in this chamber," he said, "and refreshment 
 shall be served to thee by one I can trust. 
 Father Eustace is at present absent from 
 Olopton, but to-morrow I expect he will re- 
 turn." 
 
 "I would confer with him without delay/' 
 said Parry, " so soon as he returns." 
 
 "Bg it so," said Sir Hugh, retiring from 
 the apartment, and descending the stairs ; 
 seeming, as he did so, by his manner, not 
 sorry to withdraw from the companionship of 
 his new guest. 
 
 As soon as he had descended into the small 
 apartment we have before described, he paused 
 for a few moments, and then unlocked and 
 opened a low postern door, which admitted 
 into the garden, and, guided by the voices of
 
 SHAKSPERE. 63 
 
 his daughter and her party in the distance, 
 immediately sought them. 
 
 It was bj no means uncommon for the 
 Catholics, during this reign, to hold secret 
 intercourse with each other after the fashion 
 we haye just described, and by which means 
 they carried on their intrigues so craftily, that 
 it was ofttimes impossible to detect them, 
 going from house to house with the utmost 
 care ; the more violent and remorseless making 
 it their practice to seek refuge ofttimes amongst 
 the quieter gentry, and under cover of their 
 respectability, carrying on their designs with 
 greater security. 
 
 In pursuance of such custom, Sir Hughes 
 new visitor had now sought shelter at Olopton. 
 He had, on that same evening, arrived at 
 Stratford in company with others, and imme- 
 diately on dismounting from his horse had 
 walked across the meadows, entered the 
 grounds, and being well acquainted with the 
 localities, introduced himself into the house 
 without being seen by any one. 
 
 Such men, gloomy, bloody in purpose, and 
 half insane with misdirected devotion, tra- 
 versed the country like birds of evil omen, in
 
 64 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 the dark hours of night, or stole toward their 
 design through unfrequented patlis and deep 
 woods bj day. 
 
 When Sir Hugh joined his daughter and 
 her party, there was a something of anxiety 
 upon liis brow which was not usual with 
 him. But so deeply interested were Charlotte 
 and Walter Arderne with the conversation of 
 their new formed acquaintance, that they 
 observed it not. The quick eye, however, of 
 the shrewd Martin (who so well knew his old 
 master's habits) saw at a glance that some- 
 thing had puddled the clear spirit of the 
 knight ; and advancing towards him, they 
 w^alked apart and held converse together. 
 
 "Is there ill news toward?' said Martin. 
 " Something I perceive hath disturbed you, 
 and broken in upon your slumbers." 
 
 "I have had a visitor, Martin," said Sir 
 Hugh; "one with whom I had long closed the 
 accounts of acquaintanceship as a dangerous 
 companion." 
 
 "Know I the man?" inquired Martin. 
 
 " Like myself you did so," returned Sir 
 Hugh ; " but evil courses drove him from the
 
 SHAKSPERE. 65 
 
 country some years back. You remember Gil- 
 bert Parry r 
 
 " What," said Martin, " be who was con- 
 demned to death as a traitor some ^Ye years 
 ago, and to whom the Queen graciously granted 
 a free pardon?" 
 
 " The same. He hath been with me but 
 now." 
 
 " He was ever a restless dangerous knaye/' 
 said Martin ; " his visit might well haye been 
 spared. I trast it yras a short one.''' 
 
 "Nay," said Sir Hugh, "he hath claimed 
 the hospitality of Olopton on matters of mo- 
 ment connected with holy mother Church, and 
 hath shewn me letters from the Nuncio Cam- 
 peggio, and from Ragazoni at Paris." 
 
 "He comes from abroad, then, I dare be 
 sworn," said Martin, '' and on no good errand 
 depend on't, and he makes Olopton his place 
 of residence on his first arrival, in order to be 
 in security whilst he spies into the localities, 
 and sounds his instruments; ah, and by my 
 fay, 'tis a crafty and a dangerous companion, 
 whose designs may get us all into trouble. But 
 an I dive not into his contrivances I would I 
 might never taste hippocras again."
 
 66 . SHAKSPERE. 
 
 " I would haye tliee do so, Martin, if it be 
 possible," said Sir lliigli, " for I like not such, 
 guests ; albeit, tbeir visits are sanctioned and 
 enjoined bj the mighty in our Church. Naj, 
 it was but last week I had a yisit from Ralph 
 Somerville, of Warwick, who held me in dan- 
 gerous converse a whole hour, upon the 
 necessity of smiting all heretics and persecu- 
 tors. His discourses on religious matters 
 showed a distempered brain. Troth, I was 
 glad to be rid of him.'' 
 
 " 'Tis strange," said Martin, " to behold the 
 spirit which everywhere actuates those who 
 profess more religion than their neighbours, 
 both Protestants and Catholics. By my faith, 
 men will dispute upon the subject, cut a throat 
 for religion, indite most learned matter apper- 
 taining, — anything but live for it." 
 
 "'Tis even so, Martin," said Sir Hugh with 
 a sigh, " and therefore doth it behove us, and 
 all those who are not of this bigoted and 
 intolerant spirit, to guard our hearths from 
 the danger of such association. A presen- 
 timent of evil is upon my mind since this 
 man's coming, which I cannot shake off. Be 
 it thy business to look to his wants this even-
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 67 
 
 ing. To-morrow Father Eustace returns, and 
 we shall then know more about his designs." 
 
 "Ah, that Eustace!" muttered Martin to 
 himself. '^Hath he ever seen this man'?" he 
 inquired aloud. 
 
 " I think not," said Sir Hugh ; " they haye 
 never met to my knowledge." 
 
 " Enough," said Martin ; " leave him to me. 
 Now break we off, and let us join our party. 
 See where the Lady Charlotte leads her two 
 attendant swains toward the house yonder. 
 This new-found friend, Sir Hugh," continued 
 Martin, " this youth, whose merits seem so far 
 beyond his fortunes, is he likely to remain long 
 at Cloptonl" 
 
 " He tarries here to-night, Martin," said Sir 
 Hugh, " and shall be ever welcome. We are 
 deeply his debtor." 
 
 " Humph," said Martin significantly, '^ I 
 supposed as much, and I suppose it must even 
 be so, — hut "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS. 
 
 England, up to the period of Elizabeth's 
 reign at which our storj has now arrived, had 
 been blessed in the enjoyment of the most 
 absolute security. 
 
 The scene, however, was now beginning to 
 change, and multiplied dangers to threaten 
 the maiden Queen from various quarters. 
 
 Scotland and its affairs gave Elizabeth con- 
 tinued uneasiness, and every new revolution 
 amongst the wild and turbulent nobles of that 
 rude land, caused her fresh anxiety, because 
 that country alone being not separated from 
 England by sea, and bordering on all tlie 
 Catholic and malcontent countries, afforded her 
 enemies an easy mode of annoying her. 
 
 Nothing could be more romantic, wild and
 
 SHAKSPERE. 69 
 
 extrayagant than the stories which those of 
 the English who had penetrated far north, 
 brought back of the state of the nation, and 
 the manners and disposition of the inhabit- 
 ants ; and which, if thej were to be believed, 
 described the chieftains in the hill countries, 
 as living amidst their wild and savage re- 
 tainers in a singular style of feudal grandeur 
 and semi-barbarism. 
 
 Naj, such was, in reality, the nature of the 
 rude savage Highlanders in the remoter dis- 
 tricts of Scotland, that, for an Englishman to 
 attempt to penetrate into their fastnesses, 
 would have been attended with the same diffi- 
 culty and danger, as at the present time a 
 journey into the centre of Africa is exposed 
 to. So that to the generality of the English 
 nation the interior of Scotland was a terra 
 incognita; whilst the dark and ominous ru- 
 mours continually floating about pictured the 
 very court itself of that distracted country in 
 a most strange and unnatural light. Murders, 
 conspiracies, rebellions, and every sort of con- 
 sequence upon misrule and headstrong passion, 
 seemed the every-day occurrence there. 
 
 In Ireland, too (where the inhabitants were
 
 70 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 equally wild, reckless, and opposite to Eng- 
 land), every invader found ready auxiliaries. 
 
 Alienated by religious prejudices, that na- 
 tion liated the English with a peculiar and 
 deadly animosity; an animosity which has 
 rankled in their breasts up to the present 
 time, and caused the shedding of rivulets of 
 blood. 
 
 The anxiety of the queen, on account of the 
 attempts of the English Catholics, never ceased 
 during the course of her reign, and was at this 
 period greater than ever; whilst the continued 
 revolutions happening to all the neighbouring 
 kingdoms were the source of her continued 
 apprehension. Plots after plots were con- 
 cocted in all quarters against her life, and 
 which were being as constantly brought to 
 light by one extraordinary chance or other. 
 The Jesuits, in particular, were unwearied in 
 endeavouring to urge some fanatic of their 
 order to assassinate her, persuading their 
 miserable tools that the most meritorious ac- 
 tion of the day, would be the cutting off (by 
 any means possible) the iron-hearted heretic 
 of England, as they termed Elizabeth. 
 
 The Cloptons, as we have seen, were mem-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 7l 
 
 bers of the Cliurcli of Rome, tlioiigh they were 
 of tlie milder sort of Catholics, steering clear 
 of all those intrigues and conspiracies which 
 the more bigoted of their persuasion were so 
 continually engaged in. 
 
 They were indeed well thought of and re- 
 garded by the government and the queen, and 
 the good Sir Hugh was beloved and respected 
 by all parties. Still the iron rule of the 
 Church of Rome was upon him and his house- 
 hold, and the priestcraft inseparable from his 
 creed, held him under subjection. Many, 
 therefore, were the narrow escapes he had 
 experienced from being drawn into the violent 
 and bloody plots and conspiracies the more 
 dangerous and bigoted members of his creed 
 had already been engaged in. 
 
 In a former chapter our readers have seen 
 a person of this latter sort, arrive stealthily at 
 the Hall, and fasten himself upon the secret 
 hospitality of Sir Hugh, in virtue of the 
 powerful letters he produced. 
 
 What the designs of this man might be it 
 was impossible to fathom, and Sir Hugh well 
 knew that from the circumstance of his being 
 himself considered but a mild and lukewarm
 
 72 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Catholic by the more zealous and yiolent 
 party, (although he might be made use of,) 
 he would scarcely be initiated by them into 
 their secrets. 
 
 Under such circumstances, the faithful Mar- 
 tin (whose devotion towards the family of his 
 old friend and patron amounted to a species 
 of w^orship), in taking upon himself the office 
 of attendant upon the unwelcome guest, re- 
 solved to play the spy upon him at the same 
 time, and, if possible, pluck out the heart of 
 his mystery. The absence of the priest (who 
 frequently resided at the Hall) favoured this 
 design; and (on leaving Sir Hugh) Martin 
 ascended to the apartment usually occupied by 
 Father Eustace, where he doffed his motley 
 coat, and induing the garments of the priest, 
 suddenly presented himself before Parry. 
 
 The talent for humour possessed by this 
 singular being made his design peculiarly 
 agreeable to him, for to play a part (even 
 under dangerous circumstances) was quite in 
 accordance with his disposition. 
 
 On entering he found the object of his visit 
 seated upon the small truckle bed with which 
 the room was accommodated, and which (except
 
 SHAKSPERE. 73 
 
 two chairs) was all the furniture in it — the 
 bed standing in a recess. 
 
 The room itself was one of those small, 
 curious, chambers peculiar to the buildings of 
 the Catholic gentry during this and the sub- 
 sequent reign. It seemed evidently to have 
 been contrired for purposes of seclusion and 
 concealment, and was more like the cell of a 
 monastery than a chamber in a private dwell- 
 ing. Cribbed, as it seemed to have been, out 
 of some corner of the edifice, where an apart- 
 ment would never have been thought of. The 
 only light by which this closet-like room was 
 illuminated in the day-time being from a small 
 concealed window, so contrived as not to be 
 visible from the grounds without. 
 
 So deep in his own contemplations was the 
 occupant of this chamber that, at first, he did 
 not observe the entrance of the disguised 
 Martin. When he did so, however, he quickly 
 started to his feet, and the riding cloak which 
 he had unfastened slipping from his shoulders 
 shewed that he was armed (as the phrase goes) 
 to the very teeth. Rapier and dagger were 
 by his side, a pair of the huge, ill-contrived, 
 petronels of the period at his waist, and in 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 place of a shirt it was eviclcnt tliat lie wore a 
 sort of hauberk of linked steel beneath his 
 upper garments; in fjict, a more dangerous- 
 looking and dishevelled companion the shrewd 
 Martin had seldom beheld. 
 
 " The peace of Heaven be upon thee, my 
 son," said Martin as the visitor confronted 
 him. 
 
 " Such peace as Heaven wills," returned the 
 other. 
 
 "Those who have to do the work are not 
 permitted peace of mind or body in this world. 
 Art thou him to whom I am secretly com- 
 mended at Clopton, the good Father Eustace V 
 
 "Such is the name men usually give the 
 wearer of these garments of the Church, my 
 son," returned Martin. " I would they clove 
 to the body of a more worthy representative." 
 
 " The business I have with thee, good father," 
 said Parry, " is of that dangerous and immi- 
 nent nature that I may not trust to thy word 
 alone. I must be furnished with proof of thy 
 identity. Sir Hugh Clopton affirmed but now 
 that Father Eustace was at present absent from 
 the Hall." 
 
 "I have but now returned," said Martin,
 
 SHAKSPERE. 75 
 
 " and immediately liaye songlit thee out by Sir 
 Hugh's desire. What you have to communicate 
 can either be withheld or given freely, I seek 
 not to know the secret of others. Letters of 
 import, as I learn, have procured thee a secret 
 asylum here, without which, as thou art aware, 
 thou could'st not have been received, neither 
 can I hold converse with thee, unless thou 
 canst shew such documents or explain the 
 reasons of thy coming hither." 
 
 " Enough said, father," returned Parry, 
 thrown off his guard, "those documents thou 
 shalt have; meantime hear the reasons which 
 have moved me to this visit, and my intent in 
 seeking thee." 
 
 "Proceed," said Martin, seating himself, 
 whilst the other walked restlessly up and down 
 the small room apparently carried away by 
 the violence of his own thoughts. 
 
 " Thou knowest my early history," he said, 
 " and how that after being an undutiful son, a 
 sabbath breaker, and a blasphemer, the devil 
 lured me to the commission of crimes by which 
 my life was forfeit to the laws V 
 
 "I have heard these things," said Martin, 
 "and such part of the story needs no repetition. 
 
 E 2
 
 76 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 The Queen granted you a free pardon, for 
 whicli you are doubtless grateful, and resolved 
 in making amends T 
 
 " I had resolved on doing so," said Parry, 
 "and hoped for days of repentance and happi- 
 ness, but none came, as you shall hear. The 
 fiend still held possession. I wandered about 
 in woods and solitary places, for the sight of 
 my fellow creatures was horrible to me. Nay, 
 I thought every one seemed happy but myself, 
 and the evil one constantly whispered that 
 there was no mercy for Gilbert Parry. Again, 
 therefore, I sought society, gave the reins to 
 my evil desires, and myself up to evil ways, 
 and again conscience troubled me. I had rest 
 neither by night nor day. I feared the night 
 lest the enemy took me before morning. I tried 
 to pray but could not. I passed whole days 
 as if my body had been pricked down irre- 
 coverably, persuaded the foul fiend was in my 
 apartment. Nay, my very body was in flames. 
 To cry for help was vain, no relief came, and 
 I was ever filled with evil thoughts. Such, 
 holy father, were the torments I endured for 
 five years. At length it appeared to me that 
 this state of persecution arose from some cause
 
 SHAKSPERE. 77 
 
 in which I was called upon to exert myself- 
 Then considered I of the persecuted state of 
 our religion, and that I was called upon to 
 strike a blow for its welfare. In short, I 
 resolved to do a deed which (by destroying 
 the gi'eat enemy of our Church) should obtain 
 for me the crown of martyrdom." 
 
 " Proceed, my son,'^ said Martin, who seated 
 with his chin upon his doubled fists was listen- 
 ing to and contemplating the excited Parry 
 with the utmost attention. "Proceed, my 
 son, wherefore dost thou stop V 
 
 The narrator of his own troubled thoughts 
 regarded Martin with a deep and searching 
 look. " Methought I saw a devilish smile upon 
 thy face,'' he said sternly. " Is the relation of 
 such things subject of ridicule V 
 
 " Rather of pity," said ^lartin : " I smiled to 
 think that a whip and a dark room might 
 have dispelled such phantoms. The most 
 absurd doctrines are not without such evidence 
 as martyrdom can produce." 
 
 " You think then," said Parry, " that penance 
 and flagellation were required V 
 
 " Call it so, an if you will," said Martin, 
 "fasting is good for digestion, and real pain
 
 78 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 for imaginary siifFering. Doubtless you lived 
 well whilst this frenzy lasted. You was, you 
 say, leading a wild life, perhaps drunk one-half 
 of the twenty four hours, and mad the other. 
 A bad state of the stomach produces fumes 
 upon the brain. I would have exorcised the 
 fiend by blood-letting, blisters, purgation, and 
 purification: but proceed, you was about to 
 say what this continued spiritual ague wrought 
 you to." 
 
 " The cutting off of one who is the bitter 
 enemy of our creed, the usurper of the throne 
 of these realms/^ said Parry, "the putting to 
 death of Elizabeth Tudor/' 
 
 " Ah, ah,'' said Martin, " methought 'twould 
 tend that way. She to whom you are in- 
 debted for a life, is to pay the forfeit of life 
 for her clemency.'^ 
 
 "And you disapprove of my project then?'' 
 inquired Parry. 
 
 " Nay, I said not so much, did I V returned 
 the shrewd Martin. 
 
 "But you inferred so much, did you not?' 
 again inquired Parry. 
 
 "Mayhap I did, mayhap I did not," said 
 Martin, who saw by the eye of Parry that his
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 79 
 
 own situation, thus shut up with such a man, 
 and under false colours, was somewhat peri- 
 lous, especially as Parry in his excited state 
 began to fumble with the poniard at his waist. 
 Martin in short now saw that his companion 
 was mad. Under such circumstances to shew 
 fear or distrust is to perish. 
 
 " In trusting Father Eustace," said Parry, 
 placing himself between Martin and the door, 
 "I was led to expect I should find one ready 
 in every way to forward and aid, so great a 
 design. Such was the assurance I received 
 from Ragazoni. I brook no prevarication, 
 priest; neither will I run the risk of be- 
 trayal." So saying. Parry drew his dagger 
 from the sheath, looking at Martin at the 
 same time with the ferocity of a tiger ready to 
 spring. 
 
 " 'Tis not often that ministers of the Holy 
 Mother Church are threatened thus," said 
 Martin coolly, and without altering his posi- 
 tion. 
 
 "I will drive my dagger to the heart of 
 every member of this household," said Parry, 
 "rather than endanger the success of my 
 project."
 
 80 SHAKSPEKE. 
 
 "That in itself would ruin the project, as 
 far as jou are its executor/' returned Martin, 
 " since you would be likely to be apprehended 
 and suffer for your violence." 
 
 "Swear upon the hilt of my poniard not 
 to divulge what I have just related," said 
 Parry, becoming somewhat less excited, and 
 thrusting his dagger close to the mouth of 
 Martin, " Swear." 
 
 " I am ready to do so," said Martin, quietly 
 moving the steel from its close proximity 
 to his lips, "with one reservation however, 
 that Sir Hugh Olopton is to be informed 
 of it." 
 
 " Ha," said Parry, seeming to reflect, and as 
 suddenly changing from his excited state to 
 comparative calmness, "was I not told to 
 take the advice of Father Eustace, as to the 
 propriety of making Sir Hugh Clop ton ac- 
 quainted with this design 1 And you advise 
 such measure do you, father 1" 
 
 "Most assuredly; for what other purpose 
 have you sought his roof?" 
 
 "For the purpose," said Parry, "of being 
 in the vicinity of others cognizant of my 
 design in this country, and of conferring with
 
 SHAKSPERE. 81 
 
 yourself in security, since my steps and mo- 
 tions, until I took refuge in Warwicksliire, 
 haye been closely watched/^ 
 
 " Good," returned Martin. " Now, wilt fol- 
 low my advice since you have been sent to 
 seek it r 
 
 " I will," said Parry. 
 
 "Thus it is," said Martin; "dismiss all 
 further thoughts connected with your design 
 to-night : partake of the refreshments I have 
 brought with me, and then seek the repose 
 you so much need. To-morrow we will talk 
 further, taking Sir Hugh into our counsels; 
 and so I take my leave." As he said this 
 Martin rose, and was about to pass Parry, 
 carefully making a circuit so as to get between 
 him and the door, the latter following him as 
 he did so with a doubtful eye. 
 
 "You are a different man from the per- 
 son I was led to expect in Father Eustace," 
 said Parry, still dallying with his drawn 
 dagger. 
 
 " I am as you see me," said Martin, " true 
 to my word and to the master I serve." 
 
 "And you swear not to divulged" said 
 Parry. 
 
 E 3
 
 82 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 ''Except to Sir Hugh — I swear/' said 
 Martin. 
 
 " Be it so," said Parry, slieathing Ms dag- 
 ger and stepping aside. " Good niglit, father.'' 
 
 "To-morrow earlj I will again be with 
 you/' said Martin. "Good night," and the 
 next moment he was outside the small apart- 
 ment.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 STKATFOED-UPON-AYON. 
 
 On the skirts of the county of Warwick 
 (saith a modern author), situated on the low 
 meadowy hanks of a riyer, there is a little 
 quiet country town, boasting nothing to attract 
 the attention of the traveller but a fine church 
 and one or two antique buildings, with elabo- 
 rately carved fronts of wood or stone, in the 
 peaceful streets. There would seem to be 
 little traffic in that place, and the passing 
 traveller, ignorant of the locality, would scarcely 
 cast a second look around. But whisper its 
 name into his ear, and, hand in hand with his 
 ignorance his apathy will straightway depart. 
 He will stop his horse; he will descend from 
 the saddle; he will explore those quiet streets; 
 he will enter more than one of the houses in
 
 84 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 that little town; he will visit that old church, 
 he will pause reverentially before its monu- 
 ments; he will carry away with him some 
 notes — perhaps some sketches; and remember- 
 what he saw and vdiat he felt that day to the 
 very close of his life. Indeed you will seldom 
 fail to see, even in that quiet little town, small 
 groups of people on whose faces and in whose 
 demeanour you will recognise the stranger 
 stamp. There is something to see in those 
 unfrequented streets; and they have come a 
 long way to see it. What wonder! The 
 town is Stratford-upon-Avon. 
 
 Such is indeed Stratford-upon-Avon at the 
 present time. But in the sixteenth century it 
 presented a somewhat different aspect. 
 
 The different towns in England, at this 
 latter period, were just beginning to emerge 
 from their state of primitive rudeness and irre- 
 gularity, and the houses to be distinguished 
 for a style of architectural beauty and com- 
 fort as dwellings, which has not since been 
 improved or exceeded. 
 
 The various contentions and intestine jars 
 which had, almost up to the reign of Elizabeth, 
 drained the population, and kept men from all
 
 SHAKSPERE. 85 
 
 peaceful occupations and improvements, and in 
 consequence of ^vhicli the squalor of tlieir 
 dwellings and tenements were but one degree 
 improved from tlie rudeness of the Norman 
 period, was now to give place to a style which, 
 if but one tenement remain to us in a town of 
 the present age, we look at it with delight and 
 admiration. Stratford-upon-Avon then, in the 
 year 1584, might be said to partake largely of 
 both these styles. In some parts were to be 
 seen those irregular ill-built wooden tenements, 
 little removed from the hut of the JSTorman 
 citizen. These standing apart, and without 
 regard to streets, formed the abode of the 
 poorer sort of inhabitants, and chiefly consti- 
 tuted the suburbs ; whilst several regular streets 
 were to be found composed of handsome, 
 strong-built, heavily-timbered, and substantial 
 dwellings, having their shops encroaching into 
 the streets; their beetling storeys above; their 
 long passages running backwards, with ample 
 yards and gardens in rear; and their low- 
 roofed, wide-chimnied, secluded, and comfort- 
 able rooms, secured by massive iron-studded 
 doors, and accommodated with heavy cum- 
 brous articles of furniture.
 
 86 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Here and there too, in the midst, were to be 
 seen the mouldering remains of some dark 
 monastic building of a former daj. The walls 
 of edifices, built in the dark ages of monkish 
 intolerance, whose grated windows and low- 
 arched doors told of the Saxon and the Dane 
 when, save the splendour of religious architec- 
 ture, there was nothing between the hut and 
 the castle. 
 
 Nothing could be more rural and picturesque 
 than Stratford-upon-Avon on a bright sum- 
 mer's day. Its streets, as we have before 
 partially described, and (as was mostly the case 
 in unwalled towns at this period) were, except 
 in the yery centre of the town, composed of 
 houses detached at irregular intervals, many 
 of the edifices being partially screened by the 
 luxuriant trees which shadowed their fronts, 
 and grew in the gardens in rear: added to 
 this, in the suburban thoroughfares of this 
 town, it was not uncommon to find a clump of 
 tall elms or oaks growing in the very centre of 
 the road, beneath whose boughs the rude 
 bench, the horse-trough, and the creaking sign 
 proclaimed the immediate vicinity of the 
 smaller hostel.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 87 
 
 If the trayeller looked from the town, he 
 beheld the high road he T^as to traverse on 
 leaving it, o'er-canopied by the forest scene 
 without, whilst on entering the suburbs, the 
 sloping-roof, gable ends, and heavy chimnies 
 were only here and there to be caught sight of 
 amongst the living verdure in which they were 
 embosomed. 
 
 Besides this, as he proceeded, the picture was 
 added to by the various signs of the several 
 trades, which proclaimed the occupation of the 
 indwellers, and before many of the houses were 
 placed long benches, on which, in fine weather, 
 the townfolks were to be found seated, convers- 
 ing Cozily together in their quaint cut doublets 
 and steeple-crowned hats. Large tubs of water 
 also, by order of the chief magistrate, were 
 placed beside each dwelling, — a precautionary 
 preventative against the spread of fire amongst 
 these stout-timbered edifices. The highways, 
 however, even in the outskirts of the town, were 
 by no means so well-cared for as in our own 
 times, and in foul weather, in place of a well- 
 paved or Macadamized thoroughfare, the road 
 was knee-deep in mud, and cut up fearfully 
 with cart-wheels and other traflSc of the time.
 
 88 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 In Avliat would now bo called a small and 
 somewhat mean-looking dwelling, but which 
 in the reiirn of Elizabeth constituted the habi- 
 tation of a good substantial citizen, resided 
 John Shakspere, a dealer in wool in Stratford- 
 npon-Avon. The house itself had nothing in 
 its outward appearance to recommend it, ex- 
 cept the strength of its build and the stout- 
 ness of its timbers. 
 
 It was neither '' a goodly dwelling or a 
 rich." Its rooms were both stinted to space 
 and somewhat low in roof. But little did its 
 inmates suspect that from the mere legend of 
 one of its indwellers having first drawn breath 
 beneath its roof, that house would create more 
 interest in the world than the most magnificent 
 palace the world contained, and that in after- 
 ages the four corners of the earth would send 
 forth votaries to see, to worship, and to offer 
 adoration at its shrine. And still less did its 
 occupants imagine that in the person of one of 
 their own children they possessed a treasure 
 whose very name, unthought of and slightly 
 regarded as he then was, would prove dearer 
 than Pluto's mine, more rich than gold. 
 
 Let us for a moment take a glance at the
 
 SHAKSPERE. 89 
 
 interior of this hallowed residence, and view it 
 at the precise period of time to which the 
 minds of those who now yisit it, are wont to 
 revert; and when he who was in after-times 
 to throw so great an interest over every cup- 
 board, corner, and cranny of its stout-timbered 
 walls, was in life, and dwelling idly in its 
 apartments. 
 
 In an inner apartment of the ground-floor 
 was seated upon a high-backed oaken chair, a 
 female of some thirty years of age. If the 
 reader has ever bestowed his attention upon 
 the portrait Rubens has left us of his first wife, 
 it will save much trouble in the description, 
 since both in feature and figure-tfiis very hand- 
 some middle-aged female was the counterpart 
 presentment of that portrait. 
 
 Opposite to her, and apparently engaged 
 with books and accounts pertaining to his 
 business, pen in hand, and inditing what, in 
 the present day would be called a cramped 
 piece of penmanship, sits a very comely and 
 respectable-looking man. Nay, if we look 
 closely at him we shall pronounce him to be a 
 splendid specimen of an Englishman, both in 
 countenance and figm^e. His face is exceed-
 
 9Q SHAKSPERE. 
 
 inglj handsome, the complexion of a rich 
 brown, the features high and aquiUne, hair of a 
 dark auburn, slightly tinged with gray, whilst 
 a close-clipped curlj beard worn round the 
 chin, and a thick moustachio on the upper lip, 
 complete the picture of one of those true-bom 
 English yeomen whose ancestors drew their 
 arrows to the ear in the fields of Oressey, Poic- 
 tiers, and Agincourt. If our readers then look 
 upon this pair they will behold the father and 
 mother of England's pride and glory, John 
 and Joan Shakspere. 
 
 In the female there is a dignity of look and 
 manner which seems somewhat out of keeping 
 with so lowly a home as the one we find her 
 in. She looks one whose presence would have 
 better suited the hall than the cottage. One 
 come of gentle blood, and born to fortune in- 
 stead of being the wife of a tradesman in a 
 country town, handsome and genteel-looking 
 as nature hath made that husband. — Such is 
 in truth the case, as John Shakspere married 
 one of the daughters and heirs of Arden of 
 Wellingcote, in the county of Warwick. 
 
 This pair, howeyer, were not the only occu- 
 pants of the small inner apartment in which
 
 SHAKSPERE. 91 
 
 we hare found tliem, as some half a dozen 
 curlj-lieaded raiiets, male and female, of ra- 
 rioiis ages, from three to ten, were sitting and 
 sjDrawling about the floor, clambering upon 
 chairs, exercising their lungs in concert, and 
 ever and anon calling forth a short reproof or 
 a caress from their handsome parents. 
 
 After a while, the wool-comber shuts up 
 his books, places his pen in the inkstand, and 
 folding his arms, remains wrapt in deep me- 
 ditation. 
 
 There is something of care and anxiety in 
 his countenance. His thoughts and cogita- 
 tions, as he occasionally glances upon his 
 good-looking spouse, and then watches the 
 young fry upon the floor, become more trou- 
 bled; and, apparently to hide the growing 
 heaviness of his brow, he rises, walks into the 
 shop in front, reaches down his steeple-crowned 
 hat, and looks forth into the street. The 
 little curly brood, breaking cover as he opens 
 the door, and bounding joyously into the 
 sunshine in the streets. 
 
 As they do so, they are met, caught up, and 
 kissed, (at least the younger ones,) by their 
 elder brother, just now returning to his home.
 
 92 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 "Ah, Will, good Will," cries one, "where 
 have you been tarrying so long ? " " Naughty 
 truant Willy," cries another, "you've been 
 rambling over to Warwick with Dick, the 
 tanner's wild son, duck-hunting, I dare be 
 sworn." "Nay," cries a third, "I know he 
 has been otter-hunting all night in the river; 
 see, his staff is red with blood. You have 
 brought us some skins, good William, hast 
 thou notr' 
 
 " Nay, in good sooth, you varlets," said the 
 elder brother, entering the door with the 
 whole fry clinging round him, " I have 
 neither wild fowl from the marshes, nor otters 
 from the river ; for none have I been in search 
 of. I come home empty-handed this after- 
 noon, for which you must forgive me." 
 
 "And where then hast thou been, William'?" 
 said his father, somewhat gravely. " This 
 idle wandering life of thine will, I fear me, 
 lead to nothing. Master Pouncet Grasp has 
 fairly given me warning that he will have 
 no more to do with thee. He complains 
 that you keep no regular hours ; you heed no 
 orders or directions he gives; that you set 
 him at nought, in sooth, and make his other
 
 SHAKSPERE. 93 
 
 lads more idle than yourself. Naj, he says 
 you spoil his parchments, spill his ink in 
 waste, and that, in truth, he must either be 
 ruined or be rid of thee." 
 
 "Out upon the miserable scrivener," returned 
 William, laughing. " I did but pen a stanza 
 in place of drawing a lease, and lo! he has 
 never forgotten it. But, in good sooth, dear 
 father," (continued the youth,) I fear me I 
 shall never thrive in the office of Pouncet 
 Grasp. I find the dry work of a copying-clerk 
 but an idle waste of the life Heaven hath 
 blessed me with. I was not formed to draw 
 leases, wills, and other tenures and tricks of 
 lawcraft." 
 
 " Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch, 
 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth. 
 Between two girls, which hath the merrier eye — 
 I have, perchance, some shallow spirit of judgment; 
 But in the nice sharp quillets of the law. 
 Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw." 
 
 " Thou canst rhapsodize at a good rate, my 
 son," said the father, " that I well know. But 
 in good truth thou must turn over a new leaf 
 with Lawyer Grasp, or he will turn thee off, 
 William!"
 
 04 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 "Nay;' urged tlie youth, "since Ave have 
 entered upon this matter, I must tell thee, 
 father, that never since the pupil age of Adam 
 was there poor devil more unfitted for a lawyer 
 than myself ; my pen runs riot when I put it 
 upon parchment ; I cannot indite the undoing 
 of the widow and the orphan, even when the 
 foul copy lies before my nose. I turn a writ 
 into a love-song, and when I should copy out 
 an ejectment, lo, by my troth, I find I have 
 penned the words of a madrigal/' 
 
 " The more the pity, William,'' said the 
 father, "for to speak sooth to thee, I find 
 myself by no means in so thriving a condition 
 as I could wish. There be a many of us now 
 in family, great and small. Business slackens 
 with me, and by the Lord, lad, an I do not 
 better in the next three months than I have 
 done the last, I may e'en close my books, shut 
 the house, and stick up bills to let the pre- 
 mises. Ruin, William, stares me in the face, 
 if matters mend not anon. A bad time such 
 for you to be thinking of changing from the 
 vocation I have placed you in. 
 
 " Neither would I think of changing, father," 
 returned the son, "did I think that, by re-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 95 
 
 maining in the law, I could help joii or ad- 
 vance myself. But believe me, so opposite is 
 the dull routine of the desk, so abhori-ent to 
 my soul is the craft of a lawyer, that rather 
 than follow such a calling I would take the 
 sword my gi-andsire won at Bosworth, and 
 seek a livelihood in any place where men cut 
 throats in the way of profession. Those were 
 sad times, father, but they were stirring times, 
 those days of York and Lancaster, when — 
 
 " Trenching war clmnnell'd our fields^ 
 And bruised our flowrets with the armed hoofs 
 Of hostile paces." 
 
 As the youth uttered this with something 
 of ^a theatrical air, and giving the words great 
 force by his utterance, his father looked at him 
 with considerable curiosity. "Now, by my 
 halidame," he said, "I cannot half fathom 
 thee, William. Truly thou art a riddle to 
 make out. Seeming fit for nothing and yet 
 good at all things. I would I knew, in good 
 sooth, what to put thee to." 
 
 The lad smiled. " Nay," he said, " I must 
 not be undutiful towards one so good. I will 
 then continue to try and please this godless
 
 96 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 lawyer till something better turns up. And 
 now I must tell thee I have made a friend of 
 one well known to thee, and who is willing to 
 serve us in requital for some little service he 
 hath received at my hands." 
 
 "Of whom dost thou speak, William 1" in- 
 quired the father. 
 
 " Of Sir Hugh Olopton," returned the youth. 
 
 "Nay, and thou hast made friends of Sir 
 Hugh and his family," said John Shakspere, 
 "thou hast done thyself good service, and, 
 mayhap, he may advance thee in life : though 
 what he will find thee fit for, William, I wot 
 not." 
 
 "Truly, father," said William, "I confess 
 myself but a tattered prodigal, only fitted* to 
 eat draff and husks. Nevertheless, an thou 
 wilt but admit me, I would fain join these 
 hungry varlets at their evening meal, and beg 
 a blessing of my honoured mother, whose 
 sweet face I have scarce looked at these two 
 days past." 
 
 " Well, come thy ways in, thou scoff^er," said 
 John Shakspere, good-naturedly. " I defy the 
 foul fiend to be angry with such a madcap as 
 thou art."
 
 SHAKSPERE. 97 
 
 So saying, Master John Shakspere turned 
 and entered the house, his eldest son following 
 with all his little brothers and sisters clinging 
 to him — one upon his back, another in his 
 arms, and the remainder pulling at the skirts 
 of his coarse gray doublet. 
 
 To picture the private hours of the great is 
 a difficult, as well as a thankless, task we opine, 
 since oft-times more is expected than is in 
 reality to be found, and our readers will scarce 
 be contented to find the youthful Shakspere — 
 in all the freedom, amiability, and kindness of 
 his disposition — the great, the illustrious, the 
 unmatchable — the mere playmate of his little 
 brothers and sisters, and, whilst sitting beneath 
 the huge chimney in that small dark room, as 
 he watches the preparation for the evening 
 meal, engaged in a joyous game of romps. 
 
 Yet such is the case. The gentle William, 
 despite the greatness of his spirit and the 
 waywardness of his disposition, which seems 
 inclined to settle to nothing, is the darling of 
 that home circle, the joy of his brothers and 
 sisters, and, when at home, entering into all 
 their little amusements and pastimes with 
 heart and hand, — nay, their nurse when sick, 
 
 yoL. I. * p
 
 98 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 and even assisting his mother oft-times in her 
 little attentions towards them, — ere he himself, 
 in all "the un joked humour of his idleness,'^ 
 sallies out to join his youthful associates of the 
 town. 
 
 Our readers will, therefore, not be surprised 
 to find that great mind, which in a single line 
 could send a thrill through the soul of his 
 readers, intent upon an infantine game in the 
 ingle neuk. 
 
 The pecuniary difficulties John Shakspere 
 had hinted at to his son were consequent upon 
 his having maintained a somewhat " more 
 swelling port, than his faint means would 
 grant continuance/' No man in Stratford was 
 better thought of or more respected than 
 neighbour Shakspere. There was something 
 about him so well bred and so superior to his 
 station in life that he bore with him a degree 
 of influence seldom granted except to rank 
 and fortune. 
 
 The chief magistrate of the body corporate 
 of Stratford was in the early charters called 
 high bailiff. This office Master John Shakspere 
 had filled some few years previous to the date 
 of our story, and the execution of such office
 
 SHAKgPERE. 99 
 
 had led him into expenses which he had since 
 in Tain tried to abridge. " To some men, their 
 virtues stand them but as enemies," and thus 
 the good and companionable qualities of Master 
 Shakspere, notwithstanding his domestic habits, 
 were so gi-eatlj esteemed that his hospitality 
 was taxed accordingly, and his hearth seldom 
 unhonoured by guests after business hours. 
 Nay, at no houi^ was the little back parlour 
 of his house entirely free from the gossipping 
 neighbour who came to talk over the politics 
 of the town, or discuss the latest floating 
 rumour of the stirring events of Elizabeth's 
 reign. 
 
 Newspaper intelligence, we have said, there 
 was none at this period, and in the absence 
 of such a vehicle for information men s mouths 
 were filled with any stirring tidings, and they 
 donned their castors and hurried about in a 
 country town, stuffing each other's ears with 
 false reports, and frightening the place from 
 its propriety when any event of particular 
 import happened. 
 
 " From Rumour's tongues 
 They brought smooth comforts false, worse than true 
 wrongs." 
 
 P 2
 
 100 SHAKSIPERE. 
 
 " Heard ye the uews, neighbour Shakspere V' 
 said Master Doiibletongue the mercer, (enter- 
 ing the small parlour we have attempted to 
 describe) and joining the family circle. " Heard 
 ye the news to-night V 
 
 '' Good or bad be it V said John Shakspere 
 smiling, " it would have been curious news an 
 it had trayelled hither before you brought it, 
 neighbour Doubletongue. Come, sit, man, sit, 
 fill your cup and give us your news. What 
 hath Dame lUwill been brought to bed of 
 twins, or how goes the story T 
 
 "Nay, neighbour," returned Doubletongue, 
 who was one of the veriest scandal -mongers in 
 Stratford, "Dame lUwill hath not produced 
 twins, neither do I think she will produce the 
 half of twins. By the same token, I heard the 
 Leech say, 'twas after all but a dropsy that 
 had caused all this scandal in her disfavour. 
 But body o' me, heard ye not the news just 
 now brought to town V 
 
 " That Dame IllwilFs affair is likely to end 
 in a bottle of smoke'? why, man, thou hast just 
 told us as much.'' 
 
 "Ah," said Doubletongue, taking off his cup 
 like one who found he had in him wherewithal
 
 SHAKSPERE. 101 
 
 to interest his auditor, " then I see you have 
 not heard the news. Ergo, the news is mine 
 to give/^ 
 
 "Then, I take it, neighbour," said John 
 Shakspere, " there are but two ways, either to 
 give or to retain it. Come, another cup will 
 perhaps help its deliverance." 
 
 "Nay," said Doubletongue, w^ho but half 
 relished the lack of excitement his intended 
 communication seemed to make, "you will 
 scarce keep the native colour in your cheek, 
 neighbour, when I do tell ye what^s afloat to- 
 night. The affair, then, gossips, is thus " 
 
 "Whose affair'?" interrupted John Shak- 
 spere, "not the one you just now spoke of ?'' 
 
 " Did I hint anything '?" inquired Double- 
 tongue. 
 
 "About a certain female you did," said 
 John Shakspere. 
 
 " Of illustrious rank '?" said Doubletongue. 
 "Why, then you have heard?" 
 
 "We have heard what you have just told 
 us," said John Shakspere. 
 
 " The news 1" 
 
 " The news." 
 
 " What of Queen Elizabeth 1"
 
 102 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 " Naj, Heaven forbid we should sit to hear 
 such words uttered about our gracious Queen/' 
 said John Shakspere with much solemnitj. 
 " Tis even dangerous to breathe such a scandal 
 in such a quarter/^ 
 
 "Then of whoui were we speaking?' said 
 Doubletongue. "I gave no news. I have 
 none to give but concerning our gracious " 
 
 " Of Dame lUwill, I thought jou spoke V 
 said John Shakspere. 
 
 "Dame Ill-will," said Doubletongue, con- 
 temptuously, " who cares about Dame Illwill ! 
 and who, think ye, neighbour, would trouble 
 themselves to stab her V 
 
 "Stab her!" said John Shakspere, "who 
 talked of stabbing V 
 
 " I do," said Doubletongue ; " it's my news, 
 man. It's what I am come to propound, to 
 expound, and to promulgate. Only you will 
 not bear with me. The Queen is stabbed, 
 killed, and murdered; our good and gracious 
 Queen hath been murdered, I say ; now, there 
 is my news." 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" said John Shakspere, 
 starting to his feet. "That would bode ill- 
 luck to England at this moment. Heard you
 
 SHAKSPERE. 103 
 
 tliis report, Master Oramboy?" lie continued, 
 addressing another of the townsmen who en- 
 tered at the moment. 
 
 " Which report, and whence deriyed, neigh- 
 bour V said Oramboy (who was master of the 
 free-school at Stratford) ;■ " for there be many 
 rumours just now come into town; the diffi- 
 culty is to get the true one." 
 
 " That relating to the death of the Queen 
 by the hand of an assassin,'^ returned John 
 Shakspere, " and just now given us by neigh- 
 bour Doubletongue here." 
 
 " Where gott'st tliou that news, goodman 
 Doubletongue V said the Schoolmaster, with 
 considerable asperity in his manner, " and how 
 came you to take upon yourself to promulgate, 
 disseminate, and divulge such a fable V 
 
 " Nay," said Doubletongue, who stood some- 
 w^hat in awe of the pedant, " I know no harm 
 in relating what I have just heard from neigh- 
 bour Suddle of our town." 
 
 " Out upon the barbarmonger," said Cram- 
 boy, "he is ever inventing one lie or other; I 
 advise thee to shut thy ears against all his 
 monstrous conceptions, and thy door against 
 his visits. Know'st thou not, simple mercer
 
 104 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 as thou art, that to imagine the Queen's death 
 is treasonable as to attempt hei' life. Ergo, 
 thou hast committed, or rather aided in 
 spreading the contagion of matter containing 
 treason, and art particeps criminis with that 
 lying knave Suddle, who goeth about seeking 
 whom he may deceive." 
 
 " Nay," said Doublet ongue, " if such be the 
 case, I will myself go about to retrace my 
 steps, and gainsay all I have said." , 
 
 "'Twere best you did so," said Oramboy, 
 " with the addition, Master Doubletongue, that 
 for the future the good folks are never to be- 
 lieve any rumours either you or Suddle may 
 bring them. And harkee, neighbour, when 
 you are asked the real state of the case, you 
 can tell your friends that it is not the Queen 
 who has been stabbed but the Prince of 
 Orange. For that is the actual verity." 
 
 ''Body o' mo, but that is it, then, is if?" 
 said Doubletongue ; " well then, there has been 
 a royal personage murdered, after all. Grant 
 that, my veracity; grant that, and God be 
 praised, therefore, I am not then altogether a 
 liar. But stay, an I obey your first injunc- 
 tions, good Master Oramboy, who will believe
 
 SHAKSPERE. 105 
 
 this second report at mj hands? I shall scarce 
 be credited, metbinks." 
 
 " So much the better, neighbour,'^ said 
 Orambo J ; " the less men credit in these days 
 of trouble, always excepting holy writ, and 
 the more they keep to their own affairs, the 
 better for them. And therefore go not about 
 at all; but sit ye down and fill your tankard, 
 whilst I expound what really hath happened/' 
 
 " One way or other, we shall at last learn 
 the rights of this matter," said John Shak- 
 spere, laughing ; " you said but now, Master 
 Cramboy, that the Prince of Orange hath been 
 murdered V 
 
 "At Delft, by the hands of a damnable 
 papist, such is the awful story, John Shak- 
 spere. For what saith the book 1 Villanj 
 that is yigilant will be an overmatch for vir- 
 tue, if she slumbereth. One Balthazar Gerard, 
 a Burgundian, it seems, has long entertained 
 this design against the Prince of Orange, and 
 in order to destroy that famous restorer of 
 religious liberty, has, at the same time, sacri- 
 ficed his own life. On my word,'' continued 
 the pedant, "these Jesuits are fearful devils, 
 and will murder us all in the end. Nay, it is 
 
 F 3
 
 106 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 affirmed the Spanish arms are making rapid 
 progress in the Netherlands, and that Antwerp 
 is ta'en. Truly, the Prince of Parma carries 
 all before him in those parts. Nay, 'tis fur- 
 ther said the States are reduced to such ex- 
 tremity, that they have sent an ambassador to 
 London to offer to acknowledge our blessed 
 Queen for their soyereign, providing always 
 she will grant them her protection and assist- 
 ance/' 
 
 "And there it is," said Master Double- 
 tongue, " there hath not been so bloody a wild 
 beast seen ravening, burning, and destroying 
 us poor Protestants, as that terrible Spaniard 
 Philip since the world began. Heaven keep 
 us from his hot pincers, his thumb-screws, his 
 iron boots, his hostile intrigues, and cruel 
 enterprises 1" 
 
 " Amen, neighbour, say I," returned Master 
 Cramboy, " though I marvel much you will 
 allow your tongue so much liberty, neighbour, 
 seeing that as I firmly believe, Philip of Spain, 
 hath a paid spy and intelligencer in every town 
 of the kingdom. Nay, his bloody designs are 
 said to be fully directed against England at 
 this moment."
 
 SHAKSPERE. 107 
 
 ''I trust no paid spy is to be found within 
 mj bouse, neighbour Cramboj/' said John 
 Shakspere laughing, " so that mj worthy 
 friend Doubletongue is quite at liberty to 
 rail upon the Spaniard to his heart's content 
 here." 
 
 " I meant nothing but in the way of caution 
 to our good neighbour," said the pedant, 
 " and whose tongue would be much the better 
 for an occasional bridle, whilst the unrighteous 
 are in sight. By the same token there are at 
 this moment some half dozen strangers staying 
 at the hostel of the Checquers, whom none of 
 us can fathom. Master Mumble, the head- 
 borough, talks of paying them a visit, and 
 putting them to their purgation. Truly, we 
 are in a dangerous condition, neighbour, and it 
 behoves every one to look well to the main 
 chance." 
 
 "I think with you," said John Shakspere, 
 " that our prospects seem not so fair as 
 hitherto they have seemed. There is no 
 question but that Philip of Spain, with all 
 the power of his united empire, will fall upon 
 England anon. His sole aim is the entire 
 subjection of the Protestants. But come, since
 
 108 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 your news hath driven off mj wife and all her 
 children, let us even walk down to the Falcon 
 and discuss these matters further. ^Tis now 
 eight o'clock, and I dare be sworn the Dolphin 
 parlour is well filled with guests. Heaven 
 keep our blessed Queen in its own safety, for 
 an these paid spies, papists, and Jesuitical 
 villains, should hit her life, I fear me we 
 shall be devoured by the wolf of Spain. 
 
 So saying Master Shakspere rose and, 
 accompanied by his son and two fellow- 
 townsmen, took their hats and sallied forth. 
 
 During the foregoing discussion so many 
 bumpers had been tossed off by the two news- 
 mongers, that Master Doubletongue was be- 
 coming a trifle double sighted, whilst the 
 pedant, who was sufficiently domineering over 
 his neighbours on most occasions, was now 
 rendered doubly important and overbearing. 
 
 " Methinks, Will/' whispered the elder Shak- 
 spere to his son, " you had better give Master 
 Doubletongue the aid of your guidance, lest he 
 measure his length in the gutter. He seems 
 somewhat flustered, and inclined to quarrel 
 with the road for not being of sufficient 
 width.''
 
 SHAKSPERE. 109 
 
 " Thank je, good William, tliauk je/' said 
 the mercer, as he availed himself of the youth's 
 assistance, "the causeway seems progressive 
 to-night, the stones wherewith it is paved, ever 
 and anon, do rise up to salute my nostrils, and 
 there they come again/' 
 
 "Now that's what I call a circumstance, '^ 
 said Cramboy, "neighbour Doubletongue has 
 been fuddled every night before curfew, for 
 for the last twenty years of his life, and has 
 not yet learnt to carry his liquor seemly. An 
 the watch pass us they will be scandalized at 
 his condition, and take us all up, for being 
 drunk at unseasonable hours in the streets. 
 I pr'ythee, good William, convey him to his 
 own door, and deposit him in safety there."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE TAYERN. 
 
 When the pair reached the Falcon, they 
 found a goodly assemblage in the " Dolphin" 
 parlour of that hostel. This apartment was 
 appropriated to a certain clique of jolly com- 
 panions in the town, who often met together 
 after business hours, — a sapient and most self- 
 important fraternity, which in our own times 
 would have been designated a sort of club. 
 They were indifferentl}^ ignorant upon all sub- 
 jects unconnected with their respective trades 
 and callings, and according to their ignorance 
 was their importance and self-conceit. 
 
 Matters connected with their own town and 
 county it was their especial privilege, they 
 thought, to discuss, but affairs in general, and 
 the politics of the world, were also brought
 
 SHAKSPERE. Ill 
 
 under consideration. Their oracle, or as we 
 should at present term him, president, was one 
 Master Michael Teazle, the clothier, who, in 
 his wisdom and his care, sought in his various 
 harangues to "dress the threadbare state of 
 the commonweal and turn it, and set a new nap 
 upon it/' — generally concluding, like Cade, 
 that the Queen's council were no good work- 
 men, and that he himself being a working- 
 man could best understand the management of 
 the State. 
 
 This man was, in fact, a somewhat extra- 
 ordinary indiyidual, and in possession of con- 
 siderable talent; one who in our own times 
 would have most likely been either a popular 
 sectarian preacher, or a violent demagogue. 
 But in Elizabeth's day, there being no proper 
 vent for the effusion of such a spirt, he was 
 merely the oracle of the gossipping society of 
 his own town. Too indolent for real and 
 useful work, he neglected his own business to 
 spy into the affairs of his neighbours, and too 
 dissipated for any profitable employment; 
 except that he was kept from utter ruin by an 
 industrious wife, he would, with all his wise 
 saws, have starved.
 
 112 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 The piece of news which liacl in the present 
 instance reached Stratford, had called forth 
 from Master Teazle a considerable harangue 
 upon the state of the country, and the immi- 
 nent danger Her Majesty's government, her 
 own life, and the safety of themselves indi- 
 vidually, were exposed to from the intrigues 
 of the Catholics; and in taking upon him to 
 expound what had already been done, he took 
 upon him also to say what should be done. 
 
 " I maintain, my masters all,'' said he, 
 " that these Jesuits should be pistolled like 
 mad dogs wherever one can light upon them ; 
 for look ye, are they not educated, and brought 
 up, and fed, and nourished, in superstition and 
 bigotry'? Are they not infused with a bitter 
 hatred against our Queen, whom they treat as 
 an usurper, a schismatic, a heretic, a persecutor 
 of the orthodox, and one excommunicated and 
 made horrible by the ridiculous Pope." Here 
 he stopped and looked around with great im- 
 portance. "Nay," he resumed, "look but 
 upon this affair of the Prince of Orange'? Se- 
 dition, rebellion, and assassination are the 
 expedients by which they eifect their pur- 
 poses."
 
 SHAKSPERE. 113 
 
 'i For mine own part/' said Master Lambe, 
 the glorer, "I know not precisely in what 
 consists a Jesuit." 
 
 " Why, then, lament therefore/' said Teazle, 
 " since not to know in what consists a Jesuit, 
 is not to know the danger to be apprehended 
 from a Jesuit/' 
 
 "Expound unto us, neighbour," said good- 
 man Hyde, the tanner, " what is your version 
 of such a wild beast V 
 
 " Wild beast is a bad term to apply to a 
 Jesuit," said Teazle, " as you will see by the 
 story. To propound what is a Jesuit, we 
 must e'en go back to the order of Jesuits 
 founded at Douay by Philip of Spain, whom 
 God confound, and thus it is : — he erected a 
 seminary for Catholics to send their children 
 to, in order that they might be brought up, 
 and educated with a view to the crown of 
 martyrdom. Neither to be deterred by danger 
 nor fatigue from maintaining their principles. 
 And into the breasts of these pupils is in- 
 stilled the most inveterate hatred against 
 Protestant England in general, and Stratford 
 town in particular; and to our blessed Queen 
 nothing but poison, steel, and perdition. Ahem !"
 
 114 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 "There art tliou wrong, brother/' said 
 Master Oramboj. " The Order of Jesuits was 
 erected when the Pope perceived that his lazy 
 monks and beggarly friars sufficed no longer 
 to defend the Church, and that the unquiet 
 sjiirit of the age required something more 
 keen, active, and erudite to defend it/' 
 
 " Well, neighbour, well,'' said Teazle, (who 
 was generally somewhat in awe of the learn- 
 ing of the pedant,) "I sit corrected. Be 
 it, however, as it may, you will bear with 
 me in holding that prevarication, perjury, 
 and every crime which serves their ghostly 
 purposes, are the especial privileges of the 
 Order." 
 
 "Thereafter, as maybe," said Oramboy; "we 
 will discuss that point anon. Meanwhile, thou 
 art right, insomuch that the seminary you have 
 mentioned, and which the Cardinal of Lorraine 
 has imitated at Rheims, and the Pope has 
 also followed the example of at Rome, are all 
 under the direction of Jesuits — violent, intol- 
 erant, desperate, and dangerous. And, there- 
 fore, may Heaven bless our glorious Queen, 
 who put that caitiff Campion to the rack so 
 lately, and broke his bones under the very
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 115 
 
 nose of the Duke of Alencon, whilst he Tvas 
 makiDg suit for her hand in marriage/' 
 
 " A decent hint to him of the sort of mar- 
 tyrdom he might expect in case his suit was 
 a successful one/' said John Shakspere, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "A grievous martyrdom had all England 
 suffered, an the French duke had prospered/' 
 said Teazle. 
 
 "Twere best not to pursue that theme, 
 neighbour/' said Master Lambe, " lest we mn 
 into dangerous ground, like Charles Arundel 
 Stubbs, of Lincoln's Inn, who wrote a book, 
 and called it 'The Gulph in whicii England 
 was to be swallowed by the French Marriage/ 
 and lost his right hand, as a libeller, for his 
 pains." 
 
 "A severe sentence upon a loyal subject," 
 said Oramboy " for look ye how Stubbs bore 
 his punishment! I was there, and saw him 
 suffer. He took his hat off with his left hand, 
 and waving it over his head, cried ' God save 
 good Queen Elizabeth!' Methinks the right 
 hand of such a man would have been better 
 unlopped. It might have done good service 
 hereafter."
 
 .116 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 '* Go to, mj masters, ' enough said is soonest 
 mended/ as the old saw goes. An I were the 
 Queen, after what has liappened, I would take 
 Spain bj the beard,'' said Teazle ; " for look 
 ye, my masters all, how that king of red-hot 
 ploughshares and burning pincers groweth 
 more powerful daily. Already hath he made 
 himself lord of Portugal, and gained settle- 
 ments in the Indies; not only arrogating to 
 himself the commerce of those regions, but 
 all the princes of Italy, and even the Pope 
 of Rome, are reduced to subjection beneath 
 his sway. Austria and Germany, too, are 
 connected with, and ready to supply him 
 with troops at his beck. See, too, how the 
 bloated toad sitteth upon his throne, swelling 
 and sweltering in wealth as well as bigotry; 
 with all the treasures of the Western Ind in 
 his diadem.'' 
 
 "0' my word, neighbour," said Master 
 Lambe, "an such be the case, I should be 
 chary, an I were the Queen, of chafing such a 
 swollen reptile, lest he spit poison upon me, 
 and burnt me up with the breath of his 
 powerful nostrils ; methinks, an I were Her 
 Majesty, I should be careful how I gave my
 
 SHAKSPERE. 117 
 
 crown to the chance of battle with such an 
 enemy/' 
 
 " Go to, neighbour/' returned Teazle, " thou 
 lookest but along thy nose, and no farther. 
 See'st thou not that what must come will 
 come ; and luill come, may come when most 
 unwelcome. Now, an I were the Queen, I 
 would take Philip of Spain by the nose at 
 once, ere the Netherlands relapse again into 
 servitude, assailed as they are by those ve- 
 teran armies employed against them. By my 
 manhood, I say Elizabeth should at once trust 
 to her people, and assault the whole force of 
 the Catholic monarch ere it grow so great that 
 it will swallow up the world. Nay, an I were 
 appointed general-in-chief, I would conduct 
 an army over to Holland, and deliver the 
 country from the danger at once." 
 
 " Perhaps, neighbour," said John Shakspere, 
 " you have heard a rumour that some such 
 measure has in truth been thought of. A 
 power of dauntless spirits are, it is said, at 
 this moment assembling under the Earl of 
 Leicester.'' 
 
 "A fico for the Earl of Leicester," said 
 -Teazle ; " pr'ythee what sort of a soldier is he
 
 118 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 to oppose against the experienced captains 
 and sturdy infantry of Spain ? Now, an I 
 had been called to name the man fit for such 
 command I should have named '' 
 
 "Thyself/' said Cramboy. "Ah, ah! a 
 very pretty piece of soldiership we should 
 have in thee/' 
 
 " Thou hast said, it, not I, neighbour,'' re- 
 turned Teazle. ''But, an I had said myself, 
 I had at least named one quite as equal to the 
 emergency of the case as the man of rings 
 and carcanets, of broaches and feathers thou 
 hast just named/' 
 
 "Methinks 'twere wise not to pursue such 
 comparison further," said Master Lambe; 
 " 'twere best for those to speak civilly of the 
 bear who are such near neighbours to his hold, 
 lest the ragged staff reach our coxcombs." 
 
 "What gentlemen of note are engaged in 
 this expedition 1" inquired Cramboy. 
 
 "I hear," said John Shakspere, "that he 
 carries with him a glorious retinue, being 
 accompanied by the young Earl of Essex, 
 Lords Audley and North, Sir William Russel, 
 Sir Thomas Shirly, Sir Arthur Basset, Sir 
 Walter Waller, and Sir Gervaise OHfton, added
 
 SHAKSPERE. 119 
 
 to which ^ye hundred gentlemen ride in his 
 select troop." 
 
 "Still do I maintain/' said Teazle, "that 
 the selection of mj Lord of Leicester is not a 
 good one; he possesses neither courage nor 
 capacity equal to the task, and were I in 
 presence of the Queen, with the Earl leaning 
 at the back of her chair, I would say the 
 same." 
 
 " And how would you speak of those in 
 commission with him V inquired Oramboy. 
 "To begin with Essex, what think you of 
 himr 
 
 " As of one better to be led than to lead. 
 Essex is a brave boy doubtless, and a cleyer, 
 but then he is rash, headstrong, and unweigh- 
 ing. Curb him never so little and he flings 
 up in your teeth. Give him his head and he 
 knocks out his own brains." 
 
 " What of Lords AucUey and North V 
 
 "Put into the scale against the other one 
 and their weight will about weigh against his 
 lightness. Ergo, the three together are as 
 naught." 
 
 " And how say ye to Sir William Russel V 
 
 " But so so. Marry a good blade and a
 
 120 SHAKSPERB. 
 
 stout man, a proper fellow of his hands. But 
 for brains the accompt is yerj minute indeed/^ 
 
 " How of Sir Arthur Basset T 
 
 '^ As of one fitter to feat it in a couranto, at 
 court, than trail a pike in the Low Countries." 
 
 "Naj, then, ^tis vain to saj more,'' said 
 Crambo J, " since of the whole five hundred in 
 my Lord of Leicester's troops I dare be sworn, 
 in thy opinion, there is not one fit to wield a 
 rapier or poise a caliver." 
 
 " Thou hast again said it, neighbour, and 
 not I," returned Teazle. " Though in sooth, 
 an I had, I had not been far out." 
 
 "Tis well then," said Cramboj, "that in 
 maritime affairs a better selection hath been 
 made. Heard ye, mj masters all, that Sir 
 Francis Drake hath been appointed Admiral, 
 with a fleet of twenty sail and two thousand 
 three hundred volunteers, besides seamen to 
 serve in it '? They have already sailed for the 
 West Indies against the Spaniards. How like 
 ye that piece of news V 
 
 "That likes me somewhat better," said 
 Teazle, "and I can venture to predict some 
 good to accrue therefrom. Drake is the man 
 to make the settlements smoke for it. He will
 
 SHAKSPERE. 121 
 
 burn, sack, and destroy all along the Spanish 
 main, whilst the other will but make a sort of 
 harnessed masque through the Low Countries. 
 Such is mj poor opinion, and time will prove 
 in how much it is correct. So fill a cup to Sir 
 Francis Drake, another for our gracious Queen, 
 and one more for Stratford town. Huzza! 
 huzza! huzza!" 
 
 After this loyal outbreak there was a short 
 pause. This was at last broken by neighbour 
 Dismal, who (albeit he drank his quantum at 
 these meetings) seldom spoke much, and when 
 he did so generally threw a gloom over the 
 whole assemblage. He always had, however, 
 his one say, which was a sort of concentration 
 of the worst piece of news he could collect for 
 the nonce. And as he was a man of un- 
 doubled veracity, unless he was pretty well 
 assured of the truth of what he uttered he 
 never uttered it at all. 
 
 This usually gave his one wisdom a most 
 startling air of gloom and horror, and when he 
 rose to speak or even coughed his preliminary 
 ahem, he was honoured by the most startling 
 silence. On the present occasion he prepared 
 to broach the subject matter with peculiar 
 
 yoL. I. G
 
 122 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 solemnity. Actually rising from his seat and, 
 as lie steadied himself with both hands upon 
 the table, deliyering himself, somewhat after 
 the following lively fashion. 
 
 " Neighbours all/' he said, " I have listened 
 to the discussion bf the foregoing matter with 
 considerable interest. Our good neighbour. 
 Teazle, hath handled the subject of the pro- 
 posed expedition in very able style. He hath 
 been replied to quite as cleverly by my learned 
 and worthy fellow-townsman, Cramboy. Such 
 discussions are, however, at the present moment, 
 methinks better left to those whom they most 
 concern, inasmuch as subjects of nearer inte- 
 rest to ourselves, it doth appear to me, more 
 nearly concern ourselves. Neighbours, I know 
 I have been accused of being a kill joy, a 
 melancholy man. Some call me Goodman 
 Death : and the little boys hoot at me, as I 
 walk at night, and say, ' There goeth Goodman 
 Bones.' Nevertheless, I have been merry twice 
 or once ere now. I was merry on the day I 
 married Mistress Dismal, and I was merry the 
 day I buried her. I was also merry when my 
 father died, and left me in possession of his 
 business. But I cannot say I am merry just
 
 SHAKSPERE. 123 
 
 at this time. Neighbours and jovial friends, I 
 will conclude my speech briefly and heartily. 
 By the same token, I wish you all your healths, 
 and, at the same time, hope we may some of 
 us meet here again next week well and happy. 
 How far we are likely to do so is another 
 matter, and of that you will be better able to 
 judge when I tell you that ®5^ J^Iagtie is in 
 Stratford-upon-Avon at the present moment 1" 
 
 G 2
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE CHTJECHYARD OF STRATFORD-UPON-AYOK. 
 
 After joung Shakspere had safelj deposited 
 Ooodman Doiibletongue at his own door, and 
 left him in charge of the good housewife, he 
 turned his steps towards the Falcon, with the 
 intent of rejoining his father there, and hearing 
 the news of the town; for the son and sire 
 i^ere upon the delightful terms we sometimes, 
 though not often, may observe between parent 
 and child. 
 
 In both the elements of high character were 
 so mixed that there could be no drawback to 
 their love : they were more like companions of 
 the same age than father and son. The same 
 tastes, the same pursuits, the same high spirit 
 and honourable feelings pervaded both. 
 
 Certes, the mind of one was of a far more
 
 SHAKSPERE. 125 
 
 extraordinary character than that of the other, 
 but that in no degree lessened the feeling of 
 respect and love young Shakspere felt for his 
 father, and that father's example and influence 
 helped to form the man. 
 
 Always the creature of impulse, the youth, 
 after conveying Master Doubletongue home, 
 as he neared the Falcon, suddenly resolved to 
 turn his steps in another direction; and, in 
 place of listening, in the hot sanded parlour of 
 the hostel, to the discussions of the Stratford 
 wiseacres, whilst he felt the influence of the 
 balmy breeze of night upon his cheek, he passed 
 the hostel and strolled towards the outskirts 
 of the town. He felt indeed that the hour 
 was more fitted for communion with his own 
 thoughts than listening to the ridiculous dogmas 
 and politics of the goodly fellowship of the 
 Falcon. 
 
 Since his visit to Olopton a new scene had 
 opened to him, and his feelings had become 
 somewhat changed. He had beheld, nay, be- 
 come intimately acquainted with a being of a 
 superior order to any he had yet met with, 
 and in the lovely and amiable Charlotte Clop-
 
 126 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 ton he had found that perfect specimen of 
 female excellence which his imagination had, 
 even at this early period of his life, loved to 
 picture. Nay, perhaps, had he not in youth 
 thus beheld some such bright excellence — some 
 such reality of his conceptions — we might have 
 wanted those delineations of grace and purity 
 those fairest flowers of perfect excellence — the 
 Viola, Miranda, Desdemona, Juliet, and the 
 sweetest Imogene of his maturer years. 
 
 To see and to feel the influence of com- 
 panionship even for a couple of days with the 
 fair Charlotte, so soft in manner, so fair in 
 form and feature, so anxious to express her 
 feelings of gratitude for service rendered, and 
 not to love her was impossible. And during 
 his visit the bright face of the young lad might 
 have been observed beaming with admiration 
 and afi'ectionate regard upon Charlotte as she 
 sang and accompanied herself upon the spinnet, 
 and which, had it been noticed by her be- 
 trothed, might have perhaps caused some 
 sparks of jealousy and uneasiness. 
 
 It was lucky, however, in young Shakspere's 
 case that the great mind of the youth came to 
 his aid in this situation, and whilst in com-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 127 
 
 pany with her of whom eyen a preyious glance 
 had called forth his admiration. Dm-ing his 
 visit he had also comprehended the politics of 
 the family he was introduced amongst. He 
 beheld the thorough gentleman, the confiding 
 honourable old cayalier, the knight sans peur 
 et sans reproche in Sir Hugh Clopton. He 
 saw the youthful esquire, the lusty bachelor, 
 the free open-hearted, braye, and deyoted ser- 
 vant, the lover whose whole soul, and every 
 thought were upon his fair mistress in Walter 
 Arderne, whilst in that cunningest pattern of 
 excelling nature, the lovely Charlotte, he saw 
 one far removed from his own sphere of life. 
 So much so, indeed, that "It were all one, 
 that he should love some bright particular 
 star,^^ " and think to wed it,^' she was so much 
 above him. So thought the modest youth. 
 And yet again it was easy for him also to 
 observe that the strong affection of the lady's 
 suitor was unrequited, and his feelings unre- 
 turned, save by those of esteem and friendship. 
 Under these circumstances, we say, the strong 
 sense of the youth came to his aid, and, if it 
 did not hinder him from falling desperately in
 
 128 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 loYe, it somewliat curbed bis feeHngs, and 
 hindered bim from discovering tbem to tbe 
 object of bis admiration. He felt tbe barb of 
 tbe arrow rankle in bis beart ; but bis pride 
 and proper feeling belped bim to subdue, and 
 conceal tbe smart. So true it is tbat — 
 
 " As in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all." 
 
 We fear it must be acknowledged tbat tbe 
 youtbful poet, at tbis period of bis life was 
 of a most untamed and wandering disposition ; 
 tbat bis life and bis employments were ratber 
 desultory, and tbat wben once bis steps turned 
 towards tbe wild scenery wbicb so abounded 
 around bis native town, all was forgotten of 
 home duties, and engagements pertaining 
 thereto. 
 
 Tbis must, however, be excused in one whose 
 mind was of so extraordinary a character. 
 
 Amongst other haunts wbicb young Shak- 
 spere loved to frequent at times, and even 
 when tbe shadows of night gave a more solemn
 
 SHAKSPERE. 129 
 
 feeling to its precincts, was the churchyard of 
 his native town. And perhaps those who have 
 lingered, and looked upon that sweet scene 
 during night's silent reign, whilst the moon has 
 silvered the tops of the surrounding trees, and 
 the waters of the Avon mirrored the beautiful 
 structure on its banks, will better understand 
 the feelings of young Shakspere in such a 
 place. Things more than mortal seem to steal 
 upon the heart, and thoughts of early and 
 shadowy recollection to haunt the mind. 
 
 Let those who have not visited this locality 
 at " the witching hour," take a stroll into the 
 ancient churchyard of Stratford. Let them 
 feel the influence of the man everywhere around 
 them, and imagine him at such a time. Let 
 them look up at those demoniac heads which 
 the cunning architects of the Norman period 
 have carved on every coign of vantage, together 
 with the shadowy grandeur of the walls and 
 buttresses. 
 
 Let them glance over the verdant mounds 
 and the mossy tombstones of the silent tenants 
 around, and then ask themselves what were 
 the thoughts engendered in such locality '? Have 
 they not some dark and shadowy conceptions 
 
 G 3
 
 130 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 of Elsineur'? Dotli not the postern of the old 
 churchyard wall open to admit the Monkish 
 procession for the obsequies of the fair Ophelia, 
 with all the pomp and circumstance of the 
 times'? Do they not see before them the 
 whole scene, and hear the words of the dis- 
 tracted Laertes as he stands beside the open 
 grave of his sister : — 
 
 " Lay her 'i tlie earth 
 And from her fair and unpolluted flesh — 
 May violets spring ! I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 A ministring angel shall my sister be. 
 When thou liest howling." 
 
 Or, in that moonlit scene of beauty, and 
 whilst the reyerential awe it engenders steals 
 upon the heart, doth not some remembrance of 
 Juliet's tomb, the hour, and the deeds therein 
 performed, float over the mind, and the words 
 of him who sleeps so near recur 1 
 
 Those, we say, who can feel this impression, 
 can best imagine the influence, the hour, and 
 the hallowed spot, had upon the youthful mind 
 of him who in after-life was to draw upon 
 such feelings in order to produce the scenes 
 we have mentioned. At the present time,
 
 SHAKSPERE. 131 
 
 and whilst joung Shakspere took his way 
 through the churchyard, the feeling of awe 
 which is sure to pervade the mind, more or 
 less, in such a place, was peculiarly impressed 
 upon him. It seemed a presentiment of some 
 evil to come, which he could not shake off. 
 He stopped and gazed around, and a chaos of 
 wild thoughts and imaginings coursed one 
 another through his brain as he did so. Within 
 that sacred pile the knightly and the noble, 
 the soldier of the cross, the fierce Norman, 
 and the proud Churchman were entombed, 
 " hearsed in death/' — the very men who had 
 lived in the days he was so fond of dwelling 
 on ; those fierce times of contention and civil 
 butchery. 
 
 The associations connected with such a 
 scene are indeed peculiar; the beings of a 
 former age in all the panoply of war reappear, 
 and (as we gaze upon the architectural beauty 
 of the holy edifices they have left behind 
 them,) we love to imagine their steel-clad 
 forms, — their deep devotion; whilst remem- 
 brance of their heroic acts in the field 13 
 mixed up with the superstition and feelings of 
 their day.
 
 132 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Whilst the youthful Shakspere gazed upon 
 the mounds, and the mossy tombstones, and 
 the soft flowing river; as he listened to the 
 dreary whisper of the breeze through the 
 trees, a feeling of awe crept over him and 
 his imagination reverted to the world of 
 spirits — 
 
 " When churchyards yawned and graves stood tenant- 
 less." 
 
 The living stood alone amongst the dead. 
 Slowly he took his way, that extraordinary 
 youth : his thoughts and conceptions seemed a 
 a wonder to himself; at one moment he gazed 
 upwards at the overhanging firmament, "that 
 majestical roof, fretted with golden fire," then he 
 stood upon the margin of the flowing river, and 
 watched its waves, as they passed onwards and 
 were lost in the distance, like the hours passing 
 into eternity, and mingling with those before the 
 flood. What were those thoughts at that hour 
 and period of his life *? who could write them, 
 or could he himself have described them % We 
 thinJc not — perhaps he may have himself given 
 us something nearly akin. He may have then 
 thought with his own Prospero,
 
 SHAKSPERE. 133 
 
 "The cloud capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; 
 And like this unsubstantial pageant faded. 
 Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep." 
 
 Man holds strange communion with himself 
 in such a sanctuary. " The present horror of 
 the time suits with it." There is even a sort 
 of fascination to the spot, and a longing, 
 a yearning after something supernatural. 
 Even the hoot of the owl, or the cloistered 
 flight of the bat hath a charm in character. 
 
 Such perhaps were the thoughts of this 
 youth, for he lingered long in the churchyard 
 wrapt in his own imaginings. At length, as 
 he heard an approaching footstep along the 
 path, he slowly turned from the sacred edifice, 
 leaped the wall, and sought the woods of 
 Charlecote. 
 
 As young Shakspere left the churchyard 
 the person whose approach had interrupted 
 his meditations slowly walked up to the porch 
 of the church. 
 
 As the new comer turned on reaching the
 
 134 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 porcli, the clock from the tower sounded the 
 first hour after midnight; a deep and clank- 
 ing note, which swam over the adjoining 
 fields and was lost in fainter replications. 
 " Tis the hour/' said he, " and now for the 
 man." 
 
 The midnight visitor was apparently a tall 
 figure, wearing the long riding cloak of the 
 period, and which completely enveloped his 
 form, whilst his broad brimmed hat, and 
 the sable plumes with which it was orna- 
 mented, as efi'ectually shadowed his features. 
 
 " 'Tis the hour," he said, as the iron tongue 
 sounded from the tower. " And now for this 
 unsafe partisan.^' A low whistle (as if from 
 some person lying perdue without the wall 
 of the churchyard,) was almost immediately 
 heard, and in a few minutes another footstep 
 was also to be distinguished as if from the 
 town. 
 
 The figure in the cloak immediately ad- 
 vanced towards the approaching sounds, and 
 as he did so he freed his right ann from 
 his cloak, and, pulling it more completely 
 over the left shoulder, felt that his rapier 
 was easy in the sheath, that his other
 
 SHAKSPERE. 135 
 
 weapons were free to his hand, and also 
 that the dagger in his girdle was handy to 
 his grasp. 
 
 Readiness in the use of the various weapons 
 (at that time a part of the costume of a 
 completely dressed cavalier,) was one of the 
 accomplishments of a gentleman, and the 
 steps and bearing of the person we have 
 described, (although but partially distinguish- 
 able in the shade of the tall trees of the 
 churchyard,) proclaimed that he was a person 
 of some condition. 
 
 He walked slowly and deliberately down 
 the path towards the gate, so that by the time 
 he had traversed half its length, the swinging 
 sound of its opening and closing, proclaimed 
 that the person advancing had passed into the 
 churchyard. The moon at this moment had 
 become hidden behind one of the dark clouds 
 which seemed to threaten a coming storm, so 
 that (in the deepened gloom of the avenue,) 
 the tall cavalier (although the closing gate 
 and approaching footsteps proclaimed the 
 proximity of the new comer,) could not at the 
 moment distinguish him. 
 
 There seemed no desire for concealment on
 
 136 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 the part of either, as thej walked boldlj past 
 each other. Oulj a close observer might have 
 observed in the motions of each considerable 
 caution and distrust. The hand closed over 
 the hilt of the half-drawn dagger, and each 
 gave the other what sailors term a wide berth 
 in passing. 
 
 The gloom of the place, at this moment 
 indeed, completely hindered the features of 
 either party from being distinguished even in 
 passing; nevertheless, as they moved by, each 
 stared the other in the face with a sharp and 
 piercing eye, and after having passed a few 
 paces, both simultaneously wheeled round and 
 retraced their steps. As they did so, the first 
 comer repeated in a low tone a single word, as 
 if to himself, which was immediately answered 
 by the other, and both turned; a sign then 
 passed between them ; some mysterious signal, 
 perhaps, like the words they had uttered, only 
 known to the parties themselves. 
 
 "Gilbert Oharnock!'' said the first comer. 
 *as't nother 
 
 " The same," returned the other ; " and dost 
 not thou answer to-night to the name of Gif- 
 ford r
 
 SHAKSPERE. 137 
 
 " Right," said the first ; " jou have come at 
 the hour named." 
 
 " I am sworn to do so, replied Charnock. 
 
 "And are jou armed to do as sworn to 
 do V^ inquired Gilford. 
 
 " I am, if on trial the object of our meeting 
 here is found to be dangerous to the cause." 
 
 " He has been found so," said Gifford. 
 
 "And jet our friend. One joined heart 
 and hand in that cause. And yet to die by 
 our hands." 
 
 " Either he or ourselves, besides others im- 
 plicated in the plot : nay, the cause itself 
 demands the sacrifice." 
 
 " And he will be here to meet us V inquired 
 Charnock. 
 
 " He has sworn it." 
 
 " Which of us is to deal with him V 
 
 " Why this question ? The lot was drawn 
 by you." 
 
 " I am ready if you fail ; such are my 
 orders." 
 
 " Enough : and he is even now in conceal- 
 ment at Sir Hugh Clopton's. Is't not so V 
 
 " So far I traced him by the mad acts he 
 hath committed since leaving France, and by
 
 138 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 ■which conduct our faction is placed in jeo- 
 pardy.'* 
 
 " But come ; it still wants several minutes 
 of the appointed time. Walk aside here, and 
 I will tell jou in how much the man is unfor- 
 tunate in his position. You know the circum- 
 stance of his coming amongst us, and how he 
 undertook to be the instrument, the steel, the 
 dagger, as it were, by which our arch enemy 
 was to be reached." 
 
 "I do, and how he refused to share the 
 glory of the enterprise with others, and re- 
 solving to take the whole upon himself, sud- 
 denly and secretly set off, without further 
 circumstance." 
 
 " There shone out the dangerous madness of 
 the man," returned the other, " and by-and-by 
 comes a reaction, by which we are all endan- 
 gered, as thus : it appears that on his arrival in 
 England this Parry was as suddenly seized with 
 scruples, and under influence thereof he goes 
 about to certain gentlemen, to advise with them 
 as to the propriety of his undertaking this pious 
 act. Luckily, it seems, he hath, as yet, con- 
 sulted with men who are deemed at least safe|, 
 or we ourselves had scarce been here to-nio^ht.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 139 
 
 By some he was told that the enterprise was 
 criminal and impious; whilst others, again, 
 applauded it. Naj, even Ragazoni, the J^un- 
 cio, and the pope himself (to whom he wrote 
 a letter), desired him to persist in his reso- 
 lution." 
 
 " Methinks that such authority might have 
 satisfied his scruples." 
 
 "Not a whit, as you shall hear; for so 
 deeply did the fiend palter with him in faYOur 
 of the heretic Elizabeth, that even when he 
 had opportunity twice, thrice, nay, a dozen 
 times repeated, he could not strike the blow." 
 
 " The devil surely moimts guard over that 
 iron-hearted woman," said Gifibrd, " or she 
 could never have escaped the many designs 
 set on foot to cut her ofi*." 
 
 "One would think it," returned Charnock, 
 "and in the instance I am speaking of, she 
 seems to have been specially guarded by some 
 familiar; inasmuch as although Parry, albeit 
 he managed matters so well that he gained an 
 introduction and a private audience of the 
 Queen, no sooner did he find himself in the 
 presence, than his scruples returned with so 
 much force, that he commenced an exhortation
 
 140 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 in place of driving his dagger to lier heart ; 
 and after praying of her to tender her life, 
 and grant us Catholics more indulgence in the 
 exercise of our religion, he actually informed 
 her there were numerous conspiracies at that 
 moment formed against her." 
 
 "And how escaped he being apprehended 
 and examined'?" inquired Gilford. 
 
 *'Ah, there consists the marvel," returned 
 Oharnock; "but it seems the Queen looked 
 upon him as a harmless maniac, and took 
 little account of what he uttered. She trusted 
 for safety to God and to her people's love, she 
 said, and so dismissed him." 
 
 "Indeed," continued Oharnock, "it seems 
 then, that the interview for the time com- 
 pletely prostrated all Parry's energies; and 
 lest he should be tempted, as he owned, by 
 the opportunities he found of approaching her 
 ere his words could have effect, he always 
 came to court unprovided with any offensive 
 "^veapon." 
 
 " And then he afterwards relapsed into his 
 former violence ; was't not sol" 
 
 " It was. He returned to France, saw the 
 Nuncio and Ragazoni, became again confirmed
 
 SHAKSPERE. 141 
 
 in his first intent, and has again recrossed to 
 England, where his madness and his extrava- 
 gant conduct are likely to compromise all his 
 friends. Nay, an he is not speedily silenced, 
 we shall assuredly perish by the gibbet/' 
 
 During the foregoing conversation of the 
 conspirators, thus met in the seclusion of the 
 churchyard of Stratford (a trystiug place they 
 had fixed on as more likely than any other to 
 be unmolested by the prying eyes and ears of 
 the curious,) they had slowly traversed round 
 the sacred edifice ; and now, as the taller 
 stranger finished his discourse, they arrived at 
 the north porch, and stood concealed in its 
 shadow. 
 
 "We seek an edifice dedicated to the 
 service of religion for a strange and awful 
 purpose," said Giffbrd, as he gazed along the 
 footpath leading from the church. 
 
 " Since it is to serve the purposes of the 
 true religion," said Charnock, " let us trust to 
 the greatness of the cause to sanctify our 
 doings. Hast thou any scruples'?" 
 
 " None," said Gifford. " But time passes. 
 How, if our man fail '? " 
 
 " That would bode us ill," said Charnock;
 
 142 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 *^ tliougli I tliink it unlikely that lie will do so. 
 Between the hours of one and two was the 
 time I appointed him to be here, and he swore 
 to me that he would not fail/' 
 
 " And how didst thou get opportunity of 
 speech with himl'^ inquired Gifford. 
 
 "By following him to Clopton soon after 
 his arrival; where I gained an interview, and 
 bade him hither in the name of our leader. 
 Hark, the signal; 'tis he! '^ and the two con- 
 spirators advanced along the path, whilst at 
 the same time footsteps were heard.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE STRATFORD LAWYER. 
 
 The arriyal of strangers to take up their 
 abode for anj length of time in such a town 
 as Stratford-upon-Avon, always furnished mat- 
 ter of curiosity and speculation amongst the 
 inhabitants. The neighbours were known to 
 each other so well, and there was compara- 
 tively so little travel, that a certain degree of 
 suspicion attached to all new-comers in those 
 dangerous days. When any of the townsmen 
 had business, even a few miles off, it was usual 
 for them to arrange matters so that two or 
 three might travel in company. Neighbour 
 Fustian, the hosier, having business in War- 
 wick, agreed to travel the road in company 
 with neighbour Lambe, the glover, whose trade 
 made him a visitor to Coventry, whilst the 
 latter stayed the convenience of mine host of
 
 144 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 the Falcon, wlio was, peradventure, bound for 
 the latter town, and all three, mounted and 
 armed, went and returned in company, rather 
 than trust purse and person singly to the 
 chances of the road. 
 
 Robbing on the highway, although by no 
 means so common as in the preceding reign, 
 was still frequent. The woods were thick in 
 this part of Warwickshire, and the gentlemen 
 of the shade found it easy to elude pursuit 
 after a highway robbery. Nay, but a few 
 short years before, and during the York and 
 Lancaster feuds, which had deluged the land 
 with blood; what with disbanded men-at-arms, 
 thieves, and caitiffs of one sort or other, the 
 roads were but cut-throat defiles, and the 
 country round a continued battle-field. 
 
 So that during the troublous reign of Henry 
 VI . it had been especially ordered, that be- 
 tween the towns of Coyentry, Warwick, and 
 Stratford-upon-Avon the highways should be 
 widened, by cutting down trees on either 
 hand, in order that travellers and wayfarers 
 might have more room to defend themselves 
 against the numerous robbers and caitifi*s in- 
 festing those parts.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 145 
 
 On the morning following the transactions 
 we have recorded in the foregoing chapter, 
 there were several subjects of interest com- 
 mented upon and discussed in tlie little back 
 room which constituted the office of one 
 Pouncet Grasp, the head-lawjer of the town. 
 One was the sojourn of several strangers, whom 
 no one knew anything about, at one of the 
 hostels: another was a dark and alarming 
 rumour of a suspicious sort of illness having 
 broken out in the suburbs: and another was 
 the circumstance of a man, having all the ap- 
 pearance of a person of condition, having been 
 found, stabbed in several places, and lying, 
 with the pockets of his doublet rifled, a stiffened 
 and unhandsome corse, in the road leading to 
 the ferry beyond the church. 
 
 Master Pouncet Grasp himself was seated 
 upon a high stool near the window of his 
 office, which looked into a green and bowery 
 garden, having at its further extremity, a most 
 pleasant bowling-green; the river just to be 
 distinguished in the distance beyond, amongst 
 the marshy meadows. 
 
 Some two or three clerks were seated in 
 different parts of the apartment, all busily 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 engaged, pen in hand, scrawling strange hiero- 
 glyphics upon certain sheets of parchment 
 before them, making a dreadful sound of inces- 
 sant scribbling with their pens. 
 
 Master Grasp himself, the monarch of all he 
 surveyed, and an especial tyrant oyer the un- 
 fortunate clerks he presided over, was the only 
 personage in that small apartment who seemed 
 to have freedom of thought and motion, and 
 licence to take his attention from the crackling 
 parchments beneath his nose. 
 
 If our readers have ever taken the trouble 
 to picture to themselves the clerk of Chatham, 
 with his pen and ink-horn hung round his 
 neck, they will have some idea of the figure of 
 our Stratford lawyer in his own office. Only 
 that, whereas, we imagine, the clerk of Chat- 
 ham to have been a sort of dreamy, drawling 
 person, Master Pouncet was rather more swift, 
 sententious, and mercurial. Law had sharpened 
 his wit, irritated his temper, levelled his 
 honesty, and urged his avarice. 
 
 Any one to have watched him when alone 
 in his glory, and only seen by his clerks, would 
 have taken him to be half insane. The mo- 
 ment, however, a client or a stranger appeared,
 
 SHAKSPERE. 147 
 
 he put on a new face and a demeanour suited 
 to the occasion; appearing wise in council, 
 amiable in disposition, and staid and sober 
 in manners, whereas before he had been 
 like a chattering ape irritated with a hot 
 chestnut. 
 
 "Now do I wonder who these strangers 
 mav be," he said, leaving off his writing and 
 jumping round in his seat ; " truly I must run 
 down to goodman Doubletongue and confer with 
 him on the subject. Will Shakspere," he said, 
 
 jumping back again, "get thee down to 
 
 Ah, I forgot that pestilent Shakspere hath not 
 been to the office for a whole week. Ah, the 
 caitiff! Oh, the yillain! See too,'' he said, 
 opening his desk and searching amongst his 
 papers, " the vile rubbish he inditeth when he 
 is here in place of copying what is set before 
 him. What ! jou grin there, do je ? driving 
 devils that je are. Grin, mj masters, whilst ye 
 work, an je list. But, an je leave off to grin, 
 see an I brain je not with this ruler. Shak- 
 spere — ah, a pretty name that, and a precious 
 hounding scamp is the fellow that owns it. 
 Here's goodly stuff toward! Here's loves of 
 the gods and goddesses for you! Here's 
 
 H 2
 
 148 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 Venus, Adonis, Ojtherea, liid in tlie rushes; 
 Proserpina and Pluto, besides half a dozen 
 heathen deities, devils, satyrs, and demigods, 
 all dancing the hajs in a lump!" so saying, 
 Pounce t Grasp turned over the leaves of a sort 
 of manuscript poem, written upon a quantity 
 of backs of letters and dirty sheets of paper, 
 and, after glancing through the contents, sent 
 them fluttering and flying at the head of one 
 of his clerks. 
 
 " There/' said he, " that's the way my ink 
 is spoiled and my documents destroyed. I 
 suppose now, that your friend and crony 
 there," he continued, addressing himself to the 
 young man at whose head he had thrown the. 
 manuscript, " I suppose your unintelligible 
 friend calls that incomprehensible and unac- 
 countable rubbish a sort of rough draft of a 
 poem. Fm not learned in such productions, 
 but methinks he that wa'ote of such lewd 
 doings ought to be whipped at the cart's tail, 
 or put in the stocks at least." 
 
 " I was not aware," said the youth addressed, 
 (and who under cover of his industry had been 
 laughing all the time Master Grasp was read- 
 ing the poem,) "I was not aware William
 
 SHAKSPERE. 149 
 
 Shakspere has ever written a poem about the 
 gods/^ 
 
 "Si — lence" cried Grasp, sticking his pen 
 behind his ear and looking fierce as he 
 wheeled round and faced about, first to one 
 and then to another of his clerks. Si — 
 lence, ye scoundrel scribblers, or by the Lord 
 Harrj " 
 
 The clerk, who knew from experience the 
 irritable nature of his taskmaster, took the 
 hint and redoubled his exertions with the pen 
 and parchment before him, only occasionally, 
 as he stole a furtive glance at his companions 
 and observed the lawyer's attention in another 
 direction, lolling out his tongue or executing a 
 hideous grimace at him. 
 
 " I pr'ythee, sirs, inform me," said Grasp, 
 again interrupting the silence he had com- 
 manded, " when was that mad-headed ape last 
 in this office V 
 
 " Of whom was it your pleasure to speak V 
 inquired the youth who had received the com- 
 pliment of the poem at his head. 
 
 " Of whom should I speak, sinner that I am, 
 but of him of whom I last spoke — that incom- 
 prehensible, uncontrollable, varlet — that scrib-^
 
 150 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 bier of bad verse — that idle companion of 
 thine r' 
 
 " He was here but yesterday/' said the lad. 
 
 " Yesterday T said Grasp, " why, I sav) him 
 not ; I }ieard him not ; neither did he indite a 
 line of that I left for him to work at." 
 
 " He was fetched away almost as soon as he 
 came," said the lad. 
 
 "Fetched away! who should fetch William 
 Shakspere away I trow, and from my house, 
 without leave, licence, and permission granted 
 from and hy me to take the person of the said 
 Shakspere T 
 
 "Master Walter Arderne, from the Hall, 
 called for him, and they went away together," 
 said the lad. 
 
 " Master Arderne, and called for one of my 
 lads here ! why what's in the wind now I trow, 
 and why sent ye not to the Falcon for me, ye 
 sinner T 
 
 "He asked not for you, Sir," returned the 
 lad, " he asked for William Shakspere." 
 
 "Now the foul fiend take ye for a stupid 
 dolt," said Grasp ; " what an if he did ask for 
 William Shakspere, of course it was me he 
 wished to confer with; only, as he found I was
 
 SHAKSPERE. 151 
 
 out, he inquired for the first idiot atIlo had 
 sense enough to take his message, and the 
 chance fell upon the greatest scape-grace and 
 the most consummate ape in the whole lot. 
 
 " Miserable sinner that I am. That varlet 
 hath forgotten to deliver the message he re- 
 ceired from Master Arderne. Who knoweth 
 the import, of such message, so entrusted, and 
 confided, and given, and and — lost perhaps for 
 
 ever ? Ah and Peradventure Sir Hugh 
 
 Clopton hath been seized with a whorson 
 apoplexy, and I have been sent for to confer 
 about his will, or mayhap Master Arderne 
 hath wished for my advice, anent drawing up the 
 articles of marriage betwixt himself and that 
 
 most beatified of young ladies his cousin. 
 
 Or, peradventure the match may have been 
 broken ofi*, and he may wish for my advice on 
 the let and hindrance thereof Nay, it is 
 impossible to say in how much I am dete- 
 riorated and damaged, both in purse, person? 
 and reputation, by the mistakes, misconduct, 
 and mismanagement, of that pestilent con- 
 glomeration of vices, idleness, and villany — 
 that scurvy companion, that ill favoured "
 
 152 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 " William Shakspere, I suppose jou mean/^ 
 said that youth himself, who at the moment 
 entered unperceived, and stood smiling at the 
 door whilst he listened to the scurrility of 
 Grasp. "Nay finish your sentence, and fill 
 up the measure of your abuse, master-mine/' 
 said Shakspere, advancing towards Grasp, who 
 seemed struck all of a heap by his presence. 
 *^ I have heard it is your pleasure to rail upon 
 me behind my back, and, as I well know I 
 deserve some slight portion of your anger, I 
 am as well content to receive it myself, in place 
 of its being put upon these lads, my fellows.'^ 
 
 "Nay, good William," said the lawyer 
 (whose excitement seemed to have vanished in 
 a most unaccountable manner, in the presence 
 of his clerk) ; " I named you not, I meant you 
 not, I spoke not your name, that I am aware 
 of. At least not at that precise moment. 
 Did I name our good William, lads'? Did I 
 couple his name'?" 
 
 " If you did, I care not,^^ said the youth, 
 "since, (as I before said,) I feel myself in 
 some sort deserving of your censure. The 
 law suiteth not my disposition, neither can I
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 153 
 
 give mj mind up to its cirj study. I wrong 
 tliee, Master Grasp, when I attempt to serve 
 thee, and I should use oceans of ink and reams 
 of paper ere I learnt even how to serve a writ 
 properly. It is easier to pretend to be what we 
 are not, than hide what we really are. Master 
 Grasp, and I will be content to be under 
 imputation of those ill names you have given 
 me, provided you add not lawyer to the 
 number; only, inasmuch as you have favoured 
 me with those terms, we must be content to 
 part. I do not heat thee, Master Grasp, because 
 thou art weak in body, and somewhat old; 
 but I do warn thee not to couple my name 
 in future, when you speak of me, with those 
 opprobious epithets you have just used. I am 
 no villain at least, and so farewell for ever, 
 Master Grasp.^^ And Shakspere turned abruptly 
 and left the office. 
 
 " Now that's what I call a circumstance," 
 said the lawyer; "here's a large mouth, 
 here's a goodly gentleman: a stipendiary, 
 a stripling, a mere school-boy, who hath scarce 
 been two months in my office, and to rebel, 
 and take himself off thus. Well, be it so. 
 I am well rid of the rebel, but an I have 
 
 H 3
 
 154 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 him not on the hip ere* long, my name is 
 not Grasp. And now I forgot to demand of 
 him the message sent to me from Clopton 
 Hall. Mj boots! mj boots!" he called to the 
 serying-T^^ench, " and tell Davey to clap saddle 
 upon Sorrel. Troth I will ride to Olopton, 
 and inquire me of the steward what's amiss 
 there." 
 
 When the serving-man brought the law- 
 yer his boots, he announced a client in 
 waiting, " One to advise with your worship," 
 said the man, " upon matters of import, as he 
 saith." 
 
 "Ah," said Grasp, " what manner of man, 
 
 Davey man, and where from, what's his 
 
 name too'?" 
 
 "A would not give his name, but a 
 said he were from Warwick," said Davey. 
 
 '' From Warwick, Davey ? eh ? Right, good 
 Davey. I do expect one from Warwick to-day, 
 — I had forgotten as much — and so you 
 showed him into the front chamber V 
 
 " I did, master," said Davey. 
 
 " And is all in order in that apartment, 
 Davey r 
 
 " It be so," said Davey.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 155 
 
 "Papers, parchments, deeds, and strong 
 boxes, all in their places, Davej'?" inquired 
 Grasp. 
 
 " Yes, master, like nest-eggs. He ! he ! he !" 
 
 " And jou told him I was engaged with 
 another client on business of import. — of im- 
 mense import, — Eh, Dayej'?" 
 
 " Trust I for that !" said Davej. 
 
 "Good, then, take him a cup of wine, 
 Darej. Tell him I will see him the moment 
 I am disengaged, and then bring me hither mj 
 capon and tankard. And d'je hear, — after 
 you have done that, mount Sorrel yourself, and 
 ride over to Clopton; make some excuse to 
 introduce yourself into the servants' hall, and 
 just take a look, and observe if there be any- 
 thing out of the common there. You under- 
 stand f' 
 
 "He! he! hap I do,'' said Davey, with a 
 knowing wink, as he hurried out to execute 
 his several commissions. 
 
 "When the important little lawyer conde- 
 scended to give audience to the particular 
 client his serving-man David had announced, 
 he found himself in company with a tall aris^
 
 156 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 tocratic-looking person, dressed in the some- 
 what faded appointments of a military man of 
 the period : that is to say, he wore the leathern 
 doublet usually covered by the breastplate and 
 backpiece, the stains upon it shewing it had 
 seen much service in the field as well as the 
 table, whilst the scarf and jingling spur still 
 farther denoted the profession of arms. 
 
 " Master Algernon Neville !" said the man 
 of parchment, as soon as the striking figure of 
 the visitor saluted his eye on entering the 
 room. " I would your honour had sent in 
 your name. I should hardly have kept you so 
 long in waiting here. Body o^ me, I had no 
 idea it was your honourable self." 
 
 " Nor much desire so to find it, I dare be 
 sworn. Grasp," said the visitor. " But sooth 
 to say, I am come to thee again, and upon the 
 same errand as when I last was here." 
 
 "Advice, ehV said Grasp; "truly your 
 honour shall have it, — the best I can give." 
 
 " I am bounden to thee, good Grasp," said 
 the visitor, " for thy advice ; but there was, as 
 thou knowest, something else I required of thee 
 besides thy advice, good as it doubtless 
 was."
 
 SHAKSPERE. 157 
 
 " Monies 1" said Grasp. " Truly I am not 
 likely to forget I did also advance certain 
 monies, — monies you required to take you 
 over to Scotland." 
 
 " And now, if I require more monies," said 
 the visitor, " can you accommodate me again V 
 
 " Marry can I," said Grasp ; " what sum 
 does your honour require V 
 
 The visitor hesitated. He looked shrewdly 
 at Grasp, and taking the pen from the ink- 
 stand marked on a piece of paper several 
 figures. 
 
 " I want that," he said, handing the paper 
 to Grasp. 
 
 "Mass, a round sum!" said Grasp; "but 
 upon such security as you can give you shall 
 have it, honoured sir. — Nay, double an you 
 want it." 
 
 "Why, gad a-mercy!" said the visitor, in 
 some surprise, " hast thou been the Virginian 
 voyage since I saw thee last 1 Rich thou hast 
 always been since I knew thee, but so ready 
 to part with thy monies I never knew thee 
 before." 
 
 "Your honour will pardon me for the simile,'' 
 said Grasp ; " but there are a sort of men who
 
 158 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 are fortune's favourites, and wlio like cats ever 
 light upon their legs. Your honour hath surely 
 heard a piece of news which nearlj concerns 
 your' 
 
 " I know of no news likely to affect my 
 fortunes/' said the visitor, " having but lately 
 arrived in England. Hast thou anything of 
 import to communicate?' 
 
 "Body o' me," said Grasp, "why, I con- 
 cluded you had heard, or I had communicated 
 it immediately I saw you! Know you not the 
 Earl of Westmoreland is dead?' 
 
 " Nay, is this true V said Neville, starting. 
 
 " True as that your honour is his next heir," 
 said Grasp. 
 
 " And where died he ?' inquired the visitor. 
 
 " In Italy, where he hath been long in exile, 
 as thou know'st." 
 
 " By Heaven," said Neville, " this is some- 
 what unlucky!" 
 
 " Unlucky 1" said Grasp. " Heard ye ever 
 the like o' that! What can be unlucky that 
 bodes your honour so much good*? You are 
 in fact and in right, de facto et de jure, next 
 heir to the earldom of Westmoreland." 
 c " Would that I had known of this but yes-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 159 
 
 terday !" said Neyille abstractedly ; " 'twould 
 have spared me from participating in this last 
 business/^ 
 
 "Did your honour observe anything?' said 
 Grasp, staring at his visitor, who seemed 
 wrapped in the thought and cogitations conse- 
 quent upon the news he had just heard. 
 
 " Tis no matter/' he muttered at length to 
 himself, "I will betray them all. Harkee, 
 good Grasp," he continued, after a considerable 
 pause. "'Tis quite true, that which thou 
 say'st. I am next heir to the title and estates 
 of Westmoreland. But it follows not, there- 
 fore, that I shall succeed to them, as I am in 
 disgrace and under suspicion. Could I indeed 
 do some acceptable service to the Queen, I 
 might recover those estates and honours for- 
 feited by the rebellion of the earl just now 
 deceased.'' 
 
 " That were, indeed, a way to recover," said 
 Grasp; "but does your honour know of any 
 acceptable service that might do yourself 
 honour and her majesty pleasure T 
 
 " I do," said Neville, " and you can aid me 
 in it ; but I warn you, it is attended with 
 danger."
 
 160 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 " In aiding you I serve tlie Queen, it seems/* 
 said Grasp. " Is't not so V 
 
 *' It is so" said Neville. 
 
 " Ergo, it is profitable," said Grasp. 
 
 " It is so,'' said Neville. 
 
 " Then am I content to encounter the dan- 
 ger," said Grasp, " since I am well aware that 
 titles, honours, and profit, are not to be gained 
 without some sort of risk; and now tell us, 
 honoured sir, what is to be done." 
 
 " To discover a plot and arrest the traitors," 
 said Neville. 
 
 " Ah," said Grasp, with alacrity, " that were 
 indeed a circumstance. An you could find 
 such a matter as a ready-made plot, and 
 ligl>t upon a nest of traitors, I should say 
 you were in luck's way, as usual, good Master 
 Neville." 
 
 " I can do both, good Grasp," said Neville, 
 "and that not a thousand miles from this 
 town; nay, not a thousand yards from this 
 house." 
 
 " Ah, say'st thou," said Grasp, " not a thou- 
 sand yards from this house 1 As sure as my 
 name is Grasp, your words point at the 
 strangers who have been for the last two days
 
 SHAKSPERE. 161 
 
 playing at hide-and-seek at the Checquers. 
 Am I right, good sir V 
 
 " You are," said Neville. 
 
 " Now praise be to mj sagacity,'^ said Grasp, 
 " I all along suspected those mysterious men of 
 being evil-doers. There is treason and concealed 
 villany in their very shadows as they glide 
 about. What is the nature of their designs 
 and their intent good Master Neville, are they 
 emissaries of the Spaniard 1 or are they '^ 
 
 " Let it suffice, their intentions are dan- 
 gerous to the safety of the Queen, and they 
 are secretly drawing into their conspiracy 
 many Catholic gentlemen in this county who 
 are discontented with the present government. 
 Nay, five of them are sworn by the most 
 binding oaths to sacrifice themselves to the 
 service of taking the life of the Queen." 
 
 " Oh, the villains r said Grasp, rubbing his 
 hands with delight at the prospect of being 
 accessory to the discovery of a conspiracy of 
 so much magnitude. " Oh, the caitifi's ! a plot 
 to destroy our blessed Queen, and i-uin the 
 nation! now that's what I call worth living to 
 hear of. Fm a made man, that's clear T' 
 
 " Nay, but,'*' said Neville, " we must go warily
 
 162 SHAKSPEKE. 
 
 to work, good Grasp; and I must damp the 
 exuberance of tlij glee a trifle, inasmuch as 
 this business is likely to implicate and depriye 
 thee perhaps of a client of thine." 
 
 "Ah," said Grasp, his countenance falling a 
 little, " that's rather bad, who is the man T 
 
 " Sir Hugh Clopton." 
 
 " Thou hast taken mj breath away," said 
 Grasp, recoiling a pace or two. " Sir Hugh 
 Clopton, whom men call the good Sir Hugh, 
 engaged in such a bloodthirsty and Jesuitical 
 plot as thisl are you quite sure, honoured sir, 
 of the correctness of what you utter T 
 
 "I am quite sure that some of those engaged 
 and deeply pledged to assassinate the Queen 
 have been in hiding at Olopton Hall within 
 the last two days. Nay, I shall be able to 
 identify several of the best Catholic families 
 in this county, as having been in correspond- 
 ence with emissaries in Scotland. Not only 
 to assassinate Elizabeth, but to set the Queen 
 of Scots at liberty, and place the crown upon 
 her head." 
 
 " Nay, this is glorious," said Grasp ; " the 
 plot does indeed thicken, as the saying is. 
 The devil take the good Sir Hugh; I would
 
 SHAKSPERE. 163 
 
 sacrifice fifty such clients, and see them 
 hanged, drawn, and quartered, into the bar- 
 gain, for such a chance as this. And now let 
 us lay our heads together and consult how to 
 capture these bloody-minded papists and con- 
 spirators with most advantage to our own pro- 
 per selves. How shall we proceed, honoured 
 sir! Shall we rouse the ^hoh posse comitatus, 
 and attack the house in which these mis- 
 creants are engendering, and hatching, and 
 concocting these horrors; or, shall we go in- 
 continent, and give secret intelligence to Sir 
 Thomas Lucy at Charlecote V 
 
 " That I must leave to your discretion, good 
 Grasp,'' said Neville. "Your part must be 
 to secure them ere twenty-four hours have 
 elapsed. Meantime I must ride post haste to 
 London, and give information to the Queen or 
 her ministers of the whole afiair.'' 
 
 " I would your worship would remain here, 
 and capture the caitiffs, whilst I proceed up 
 to town with information,'' said Grasp. " Me- 
 thinks, as you are a man of luaVy and I am a 
 man of law, that would be the most proper 
 arrangement."
 
 164 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 " Bj no means/^ said Neville. " Manage 
 the matter as I have told thee. Do it ^^ell 
 and effectually, and reward is sure to follow to 
 us both. It is essential that I should myself 
 gain favour by the discovery, and if I succeed 
 to the estates and title of Westmoreland, I 
 shall not forget the service you have ren- 
 dered. Be wary, and prosper. Farewell." 
 So saying, the visitor hastily took his leave, 
 and a few minutes afterwards was riding 
 furiously towards Warwick, on his way to 
 London. 
 
 "Now there's a bloody-minded and dan- 
 gerous Jesuit for you,'' said Grasp to himself 
 " He thinks I know not that he's a papist, 
 I suppose, and that I cannot guess he has 
 been as deep in this vile plot as the rest of 
 them. But I do bear a brain, and I can 
 perceive that the death of his relation hath 
 completely turned his conscience, and now, in 
 place of helping to murder the Queen, he's 
 going to hang up all his associates, by turning 
 evidence. A bad world, my masters, and bad 
 folks in it 1 But then it's by the bad I gain 
 and thrive ; bickerings, quarrellings, evil-speak-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 165 
 
 ing, lying, and slander, plots, counterplots, 
 conspiracies, hangings, and headings, are my 
 especial good. So now to consider and con- 
 trive this matter. Let me see — I instantly 
 hasten off to the high bailiff, get together a 
 sufficient body of his men, and then, my 
 masters, look to yourselves! A plot to kill 
 the Queen, subvert the Government, and burn 
 the whole kingdom in an auto-da-fe! By the 
 Lord, the business will not be effected without 
 blood-letting on both sides! Let me see, who 
 have we of approved valour and conduct to 
 aid us in this captured There's Master John 
 Shakspere; he's a good man and a true one 
 that will thrust in, and smite hard. His 
 grandsire did good service at Bosworth Field. 
 Then there's Goodman Rivett, the armourer; 
 he hath an arm of might, and a heart of steel, 
 — him will I also look up, an we need special 
 
 men. Then there's Yet," continued 
 
 Grasp, pausing, and considering the matter, 
 " methinks, after all, it would be better to put 
 the affair at once into the management of 
 Sir Thomas Lucy. Yes, I will incontinently 
 and instantaneously proceed to Oharlecote,
 
 166 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 and do so. Let ine see; 'tis now about one 
 hour after noon. I shall catch the proud 
 knight just before he takes his post-prandium 
 ride.'' 
 
 So saying, Grasp donned his hat, and pre- 
 pared for his visit to Oharlecote.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE SONNET. 
 
 When Sliakspere took leave of liis newlj- 
 found friends at Clopton, he left a deep im- 
 pression behind him. 
 
 There was a feeling amongst the trio which, 
 two of them at least, could not understand; 
 so greatly had the youth's manners struck 
 them, so forcible was the interest he had 
 created; whilst the third and most interesting 
 of the party found that the handsome lad had 
 unconsciously robbed her of her heart. 
 
 " By 'r Lady,'' said the old knight, " yonder 
 stripling is one of the most singular com- 
 panions I ever met; without being in the 
 least forward in manners, he somehow im- 
 presses one with a feeling of inferiority I 
 cannot understand. He's an extraordinary
 
 168 SHAKSPERB. 
 
 joutli, mj masters; and, an he turn not out 
 something bejond the common, I am not a 
 Clopton." 
 
 *' How well he talks on all subjects!'^ said 
 Arderne; "and jet how modest doth he seem!" 
 
 " How beautiful were those verses he wrote 
 this morning!" said Charlotte. 
 
 " If he did write them," said Martin, " ladj 
 mine ; for mark ye, thej may be the offspring 
 of another brain." 
 
 ''If he wrote them! Martin," said Char- 
 lotte: "why, who else could have written 
 them, think ye'?" 
 
 "Why not another as well as he, lady 
 mine "?" said Martin, archly; "what one man 
 can do, another might effect. Methinks one 
 older and more learned must have indited 
 those lines." 
 
 " Nay," said Charlotte, " I know not where- 
 fore, but sure I feel tliat none but he could 
 have penned that sonnet." 
 
 " God a-mercy," said Martin, " this is to 
 have an opinion of merit, indeed!" Doth 
 that stripling, that hero of the quarter-staff, 
 seem to you, Master Walter," he continued, 
 shrewdly glancing at Arderne, "to have so
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 169 
 
 much merit that none other can come up to 
 himr^ 
 
 " I confess the lad hath made a singular 
 impression upon me/' said Arderne, "an 
 impression I cannot shake off or understand. 
 I never vas in company with so amiable a 
 youth before/' 
 
 " Let us hear his verse again/' said Sir Hugh. 
 " Come, Martin, thou hast a voice, thou shalt 
 read it/' 
 
 " Ahem," said Martin. " I am no hand at 
 a stanza ; I shall mar the good verse, I fear 
 me. Nevertheless, I will essay it." 
 
 THE SONNET. 
 
 Who will believe my verse in time to come. 
 
 If it were filled with your most high deserts 1 
 Though yet, Heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
 
 Which hides your life, and shews not half your parts. 
 If I could write the beauty of your eyes, 
 
 And in fresh numbers, number all your graces, 
 The age to come would say, this poet lies. 
 
 Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces. 
 So should my papers, yellow'd with their age. 
 
 Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue ; 
 And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage, 
 
 And stretched metre of an antique song : 
 But were some child of yours alive that time. 
 You should live twice, — in it, and in my rhyme. 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 • Sir Hugh was a man of parts. He was a 
 man, too, of strong sense, and, for the age in 
 which he lived, might have been esteemed and 
 accounted a learned man withal. 
 
 Had he chosen to be more of a courtier and 
 his creed been different, he might have risen to 
 some eminence as a statesman. 
 
 He felt considerable astonishment, and ex- 
 pressed no less admiration, at the beauty of 
 the verses just recited. 
 
 "Now, bj my fay, good Martin," said he, 
 "I do somewhat lean to thy opinion in the 
 matter, inasmuch as it seemetli scarce possible 
 so young a lad could have penned such stanzas. 
 Nay, by our Lady, I know not where to look 
 amongst our old poets in order to find aught to 
 equal those lines." 
 
 "Then where hath the lad gotten them 
 from," said Arderne. " Peradventure he hath 
 fetched them from some recent book of songs 
 and sonnets; they say young Spenser hath 
 lately written." 
 
 " Tis not in Spenser's vein," said Charlotte ; 
 "and since we have so far discussed the matter, 
 I must needs say that I can almost vouch for 
 his having written them."
 
 SHAKSPEKE. l7l 
 
 " Ho ! ho ^ said Martin, witli a shrewd look. 
 "La! jou there now. Come, tell us the when, 
 the where, and the how, Ladj Charlotte '? Let 
 us have the circumstances under which this 
 sonnet was written, since jou confess to so 
 much knowledge of the matter." 
 
 "Nay, Martin," said Charlotte, blushing; "it 
 was by accident I discovered so much. Walter 
 and myself had been walking under the shade 
 of the tall trees at the end of the garden, when 
 1 observed the youth standing, with arms 
 folded, and gazing upon us in the arbour at its 
 extremity. As we leisurely approached him, I 
 saw him tear a leaf from a small book he held 
 in his hand, and write something in it. When 
 we entered the arbour and joined him, in 
 putting up his book, he dropped the stray leaf, 
 upon which he had been writing, and I own I 
 was wicked enough to let it lie, and secure it 
 after he had left us.'' 
 
 "Well,'' said Sir Hugh, "the lad is certainly 
 a youth of merit, and I feel bound to befriend 
 him in what I can. We must bethink us, 
 Walter, in what way we can serve him mate- 
 rially." 
 
 "He is at present, as he tells me," said 
 
 i2
 
 172 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Arderne, "a clerk or writer in the service of 
 Lawyer Grasp ; albeit lie liketli not the 
 drudgery and confinement of such a life/' 
 
 '' I wonder not thereat/' said Sir Hugh. 
 " Since to sentence a lad of so much genius to 
 be a scrivener's clerk, is like putting my best- 
 bred palfrey into a mill or shutting up a 
 soaring falcon in a thrush's cage. We must 
 do something for him, Walter, for we owe 
 much to him." 
 
 Such were the kind intentions of the good 
 Sir Hugh towards one to whom he felt under 
 considerable obligations, and doubtless he who 
 had caused those grateful feelings would have 
 felt the benefit of them from one so well ofi* in 
 -the world. " Wishing well, however, hath not 
 ^ body in it;" and our intents of to-day are 
 oft-times marred by the events of to-morrow. 
 
 The promises of the powerful are oft-times a 
 sort of "satire upon the softness of prosperity ;" 
 and in a few days the good Sir Hugh was 
 himself involved in difficulties which made him 
 oblivious of all save honourable extrication from 
 their labyrinth. 
 
 The conversation which had taken place
 
 SHAKSPERE. 173 
 
 regarding tlie sonnet, occurred on the day fol- 
 lowing tliat on wliicli joung Sliakspere had 
 left the Hall: a day made more memorable 
 to two of the inmates, from the circumstance of 
 the unwelcome visit of Gilbert Parry, and 
 which it is our purpose now again to refer to, 
 in order to explain certain other matters ap- 
 pertaining. 
 
 It will doubtless be remembered by our 
 readers that the shrewd Martin had played the 
 spy upon the insane conspirator, and succeeded 
 in making himself complete master of his 
 horrid and perilous intentions. Intentions, 
 the more dangerous to all who w^ere in the 
 slightest degree implicated, as the bloody de- 
 signs and desperate projects which were sus- 
 pected to be in existence against the Queen on 
 aU sides, had determined Elizabeth's council to 
 make terrible examples of all whom they might 
 discover. To the good Sir Hugh, however, the 
 danger likely to accrue to his own person was 
 the least consideration ; and when the faithful 
 Martin, accordingly, on the following morning, 
 informed him of the intentions of the visitor 
 and his own suspicions of his sanity, the good 
 knight was struck with consternation. It was
 
 174 SHAKSPEllE. 
 
 earlj morning when Martin told his tale to hi9 
 patron, and when the old knight, having just 
 descended, was making the round of his kennel 
 and falconry, and the relation at once filled 
 him with terror, pity, and indignation. 
 
 "I will incontinently yisit this dangerous 
 caitiff,^' he said, " and if I find matters as bad 
 as you say, I will take means to secure him 
 and prevent mischief. If he be indeed mad, it 
 is my duty, as a Christian man, to lay him 
 under restraint ; but if he be sane and resolved 
 on such attempt, I swear to thee I will arrest 
 him with my own hand, and deliver him over 
 to justice." 
 
 " Beware !" said Martin, stopping him as he 
 was hastening off' in search of his visitor. " Be- 
 ware, good master mine, how you introduce 
 yourself alone into the den of a tiger. This 
 fellow is dangerous in the extreme ; and on the 
 slightest hint of your knowledge and disap- 
 proval of his designs, will fly upon you and 
 attempt your life. A madman I have heard 
 say, in his furious fits, hath twice the strength 
 of one in possession of reason." 
 
 "I value not his madness a maravcdi," said 
 Sir Hugh, whose anger was predominant at
 
 SHAKSPERE. 1 75 
 
 the moment. " A murderous caitiff and con- 
 demned felon tlius to introduce himself into 
 mj house ! By our Lady's grace, an he draw 
 weapon or lift hand against me, I will smite 
 him in the teeth with my dagger, and kill him 
 like the reptile at my foot." 
 
 ''At least, let me accompany you," said 
 Martin, who saw that the angry devil so seldom 
 aroused was now predominant, and therefore 
 the more resistless. 
 
 "Follow an ye list,'' said Sir Hugh, "but I 
 tell thee I am quite able to cope with such a 
 fellow, and equal to arrest him if I find his 
 purpose treasonable;" so saying, and followed 
 by the faithful Martin, Sir Hugh re-entered 
 the house, and the pair, introducing themselves 
 into the secret wing of the mansion, imme- 
 diately ascended into the chamber in Avhich. 
 Parry had been shewn the night before. 
 
 Sir Hugh was the first to enter, and, with 
 the angry spot upon his brow, after hastily 
 glancing round the small room advanced to 
 the bed and pulled open the curtains with no 
 very gentle hand. 
 
 The bed, however, was unoccupied, and the 
 room tenantless, although the crumpled state
 
 176 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 of the coverlid of the coiicli and pillows shewed 
 that the occupant had thrown himself upon it 
 during some part of the night at least. 
 
 "There is the form," said Sir Hugh, "but 
 the game is off." 
 
 " There is no saying where such a customer 
 may have crept to," said Martin, peeping 
 under the bed, then getting up in one of the 
 chairs and looking out of the small window 
 upon the roof. "The man I am sure is as 
 mad as a March hare, let us descend and see 
 if he is any where secreted in the small apart- 
 ment below." 
 
 Sir Hugh accordingly descended, and (both 
 together) searched in every closet and hiding 
 hole with which the place was accommodated, 
 but the bird had certainly flown, having, with- 
 out doubt, passed into the garden by the small 
 postern door which opened on the inside. 
 
 Proceeding into the garden they searched 
 through its walks and alleys, but the object of 
 their search was no where to be found, and 
 the small door which opened in the thick 
 high wall at its extremity, and admitted into 
 the thick plantations beyond, being wide open, 
 they naturally concluded their visitor had
 
 SHAKSPERE. 177 
 
 fairlj decamped in his insane mood as uncere- 
 moniously as lie had entered. Sir Hugh, 
 however, (although he could not but feel 
 relieved at the absence of the dangerous 
 intruder) felt considerable annoyance at the 
 whole circumstance. He w^as oppressed with 
 the knowledge of the maniac's treason, and 
 which, notwithstanding the powerful letter 
 brought to him from the Nuncio Oampeggio, 
 he was resolved to divulge to the Queen's 
 council. At the same, he also determined to 
 do nothing rashly. Father Eustace was ex- 
 pected in a few hours, and must be consulted, 
 whilst Martin, meanwhile, undertook to endea- 
 vour to trace the madman and observe his 
 motions if possible. 
 
 In such a case delays are dangerous, as the 
 good Sir Hugh found, for Parry, whose vagaries 
 had alarmed some of those connected with 
 the dangerous plot, having been met with in 
 Stratford, and then followed to Clopton, was 
 lured into a secret appointment and put to 
 silence with at least half a dozen wounds; and 
 the whole affair in a few short hours after was 
 in progress of being fully divulged. Of this, 
 however, Sir Hugh was not likely to become 
 
 I 3
 
 178 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 acquainted, till the neT\^s readied him in an 
 unpleasant shape. The circumstance of a 
 man haying been killed just without the town 
 was by no means an uncommon erent; and as 
 Martin had failed in tracing Parry, and Father 
 Eustace's return was delayed, except that there 
 was a degree of mystery attached to the ap- 
 pearance and disappearance of the visitor, in 
 a few days the circumstance was almost for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Meantime, whilst, with swift passage, events 
 were hastening onwards, and which were to in- 
 volve some of the di^amatis personce of our story 
 in the perils and miseries of life, how calmly 
 and how treacherously flowed on the even tenor 
 of their hours. Mischief, as we have seen, was 
 afoot; a secret society consisting of one or 
 two dangerous fanatics, resident in the county 
 of Warwick, an Irish gentleman of rank and 
 several other desperadoes had met, as we have 
 before hinted, at one of the low hostels in the 
 town of Stratford, and which locality they had 
 chosen for some reason best known to them- 
 selves. 
 
 These men, involved in a desperate enter- 
 prise, and sworn to devote themselves to death
 
 SHAKSPEPtE. 1 79 
 
 one bj one, till thej had achieved it, whilst 
 thej sought to increase the number of their 
 associates, found danger even in the over-zeal, 
 the frenzied enthusiasm of one of their own 
 instruments, whilst another was about to prove 
 false and betray them ; nav, at the very mo- 
 ment when, like the alchemist of old, their 
 toils were to be rewarded with progression, 
 the vessel containing the elixir was to burst, 
 and destroy all within its influence. 
 
 These emissaries were at work in various 
 directions, — secretly, stealthily. They had 
 friends in France, in Spain, in Italy, in Flan- 
 ders even, the day and the hour at which the 
 first attempt was to be made was fixed, the 
 very hoof-treads of the horse which carried the 
 unscrupulous Neville towards his design, in 
 imagination, were counted by them; whilst he 
 who was then, as his associates supposed, has- 
 tening towards this purpose," from a sudden 
 change having taken place in his before des- 
 perate fortunes, was indeed posting to London; 
 not, as he had sworn, in order to make essay 
 upon the life of Elizabeth, but to betray the 
 whole plot to the council, to aggrandize him-
 
 180 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 self, and give to the gibbet and tlie execu- 
 tioner's knife, his sometime friends. 
 
 And such are the inscrutable ways by which 
 Providence works out His ends: such is the 
 wisdom of the Great Director of events, and 
 such are the vain designs of man. Ever driv- 
 ing headlong onwards, hastened by evil pas- 
 sions, obstinacy, wickedness, and pride, to in- 
 evitable destruction; — destroyed by their own 
 villanous devices, thirsting for blood, grasping 
 at riches, feeding absolutely on each other, 
 the wicked perish miserably.
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 Those of our readers who have visited 
 Stratford-upon-Avon, and looked upon the 
 liouse in Henlej Street, that house which has 
 caused so great an interest in the world, will 
 remember the lattice-windowed room in its 
 upper floor, — that room in which (as their 
 ejes have glanced around its walls) their feel- 
 ings have perhaps been excited almost unto 
 the shedding of tears; — that room in which 
 some portion of the early youth of him whose 
 idea is enshrined in the hearts of all who speak 
 our English tongue, was passed. 
 
 It is raid-day, and seated in that room are 
 a mother and an elder son. The mother is 
 employed in some sort of curious work, whilst 
 her baby is cradled, and asleep at her side.
 
 182 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Spinning perhaps, like " the spinsters and the 
 knitters of the sun," — 
 
 " Weaving licr threads with bones," 
 
 lace-making; and as she works, she chants 
 some old dittj, — some song, " that dallies with 
 the innocence of love, like the old age." 
 
 " Come away, come away, death, 
 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
 Fly away, fly away, breath, 
 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid; 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 0, prepare it — 
 My part of death no one so true 
 
 Did share it. 
 Not a flower, not a flower, sweet, 
 
 On my black coffin let there be thrown ; 
 Not a friend, not a friend, greet 
 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown ; 
 A thousand, thousand sighs to save, 
 
 Lay me, 0, where 
 Sad true lover ne'er find my grave. 
 To weep there*." 
 
 And whilst she sings, the youth, her son, 
 seated upon a stool at her feet, is deeply en- 
 gaged in perusing the goodly-sized volume he 
 holds upon his knees. 
 
 * "Twelfth Nio-ht."
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 183 
 
 Such is tlie picture. The sun streams 
 through the diamond panes of that ample win- 
 dow, and gires a glo^Ying tint to the red cur- 
 tains of the old square-topped bedstead, and 
 other cumbrous articles of furniture ; the high- 
 backed chairs, and the heayj oaken table in 
 the background. What would the illustrious 
 of the world, — what would the most honoured 
 in the world's esteem, of our own day, for arts, 
 for arms, or for learning, — what would they 
 give for one glance into "the dark back- 
 "ward and abysm of time," — but one glance, 
 so to see that mother and her son; — that 
 mother who implanted gi'ace in her child; — 
 that child whose high spirit had been tamed 
 and cultivated by her influence '? And 
 "what, indeed, should we all be, saith a great 
 writer, but for the influence of women in our 
 youth ? 
 
 They give us life, and they also give us 
 the life of the soul. How many things do 
 we learn of them as sons, lovers, or friends ? 
 
 The youthful Shakspere loved to hold sweet 
 converse with his handsome mother, and whom 
 lie loved so well. From her conversation in
 
 184 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 his boyhood he had taken his first impressions 
 of things: from her legendary stories, (so 
 sweetly related,) he had gathered many facts 
 of history. In winters' tedious nights, how 
 oft had she pictured to him all she had heard 
 from her own parents, of the York and Lan- 
 castrian wars, and the horrors to which Eng- 
 land had been reduced — "Discord in every 
 state, discord in every family!" From her's, 
 and from his father's relations, over the 
 winter's fire, were gathered the boy's first 
 impressions of those fierce English, whose cha- 
 racteristics (according to their foes,) were 
 force of pride, and obstinacy — those doggedly 
 resolute, those invincibly cool islanders, who, 
 in all the splendour of their feudal pride, had 
 so often walked through the vasty fields of 
 France, as if in some harnessed masque, eating 
 up the lands on all sides, and still fighting 
 onwards in their own joyless way: burning, 
 slaying, and destroying for so many cen- 
 turies, till they made captive at Agincourt, 
 not only of the French king, but the very 
 realm. 
 
 'Twas thus the boy had learnt his first
 
 SHAKSPERE. 185 
 
 lesson in the history of his country, not either 
 exactly as a lesson, but in the homely popular 
 form of a winter night's tale, as the simple 
 story, or faith of a mother. 
 
 And what we thus imbibe with the milk we 
 suck, and with our growing blood, is a living 
 thing as it were, and what the boy loved to 
 listen to as a simple story, the youth loved to 
 follow out as a study. He reads of the events 
 his mother has told him of, and given him a 
 taste for, in the chronicled history of the 
 wars of the time ; whilst the little of life and 
 splendour he has already seen, in the brilliant 
 era in which he lives, has given him, even now, 
 an impression of the pride, pomp, and circum- 
 stance of the Norman period. 
 
 Yes, the mind of the boy had been 
 moulded by his mother, and a great deal of 
 his just appreciation of women, and his de- 
 lineations of the exquisite females he has 
 drawn are derived from the impressions she 
 has given him. 
 
 As he reads from the thick volume, in 
 which he learnt more accurately the facts, and 
 date, of the history of his own country, he
 
 186 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 occasionally pauses to listen to Lis mother's 
 song, to gaze up in her face, and to question 
 her upon some point he has arrived at and 
 which he remembers to have heard her relate 
 before. 
 
 Music and singing, were much more cul- 
 tiyated (even amongst the humble classes,) 
 than in our own times, in England, and 
 where indeed they are now scarcely cultivated 
 at all. The sweet old songs, " of the old age," 
 are for the most part lost to us, they have 
 departed with the quainter dwellings in which 
 they were warbled. 
 
 In those days the strains which floated 
 through the halls of the great, and the notes 
 which were heard in the low-roofed apartments 
 of the citizen, were calculated to sooth and quiet 
 the passions of man. In our own times they 
 are meant to arouse and excite — they are a 
 whirl, a discordant noise. The lullabys which 
 the mother chanted as she worked, were 
 scraps of songs, great favourites at the time, 
 and afterwards adapted from the recollection of 
 the hearer in some of his works
 
 SHAKSPERE. 187 
 
 " Take, oh, take those lips avray, 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn, — 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 
 Lights that do mislead the morn. 
 But my kisses bring again, — bring again. 
 Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, — seal'd in vain*." 
 
 Not only the history of his own land, and 
 ^'hich all ranks at this period were lamentably 
 ignorant in, did the youthful Shakspere 
 receive the rudiments of from his mother; 
 but she loved to amuse him with those stories 
 of romance she had learned from her own 
 parents, and which had been handed down 
 from the chivalric ages, when the female of 
 high degree was the teacher of youth. The 
 great lady — " of exalted rank and inaccessible," 
 — who cultivates the mind of the youthful 
 page — a mother, a sister, a guardian angel, 
 and yet of such high degree, that she seems 
 (in the austerity of her counsels, and the 
 difficulties to be overcome, ere her favour can 
 be gained,) too great even to receive the 
 
 * This song, which, no doubt, was a favourite in its 
 day, is inserted in Beaumont and Fletcher's " Bloody 
 Brother."
 
 188 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 adoration of hiin whose service costs so many 
 siglis. Till in the end, as the accomplished 
 knight is produced, the incarnation of merit 
 and grace, all fades away before the powerful 
 god. 
 
 The youth achieves greatness, and becomes 
 lord of that beautiful lady, her dark castle, 
 and her broad domain, " with shadowy forests, 
 and with champions rich/'
 
 CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 THE LOVERS. 
 
 But three days had intervened since young 
 Shakspere's introduction to Olopton Hall, and 
 again he was a visitor there. 
 
 Although his own desire for the society of 
 its amiable inmates might reasonably haye led 
 the youth to repeat his visit, his better judg- 
 ment would have hindered him from so soon 
 returning to Clopton, had he not been led to 
 do so by Walter Arderne. 
 
 That young man felt so great a desire to 
 renew his acquaintance with the youthful 
 poet, that he had sought him out on the day 
 following his visit; and had, indeed, been 
 with him every succeeding day in the interval. 
 
 To one so amiable in disposition and so 
 generous in sentiment as Walter Arderne, the
 
 190 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 difference iu station bet^Yeen himself and 
 friend was no bar to intimacj. Indeed, he 
 felt so much in eyerj way liis own inferiority, 
 whilst in company with this singular new 
 acquaintance, that it seemed when in his 
 society as if the condescension was on the 
 other side. At the same time the joyous 
 spirit of the youthful Shakspere, and a spice 
 of reckless daring in his disposition, gave an 
 additional charm to " his companionship. So 
 that intimacy, which (amongst many,) has 
 been the source of the deadliest enmity, in 
 this case led to the firmest friendship. 
 
 " I know not wherefore, good AVilliam,'' said 
 Arderne, as they slowly wended their way 
 towards Clopton, " but towards thee my 
 feelings of friendship and attachment are 
 greater than is ordinarily experienced between 
 men not connected by blood. I am by birth 
 thy superior, my prospects in life are more 
 brilliant than thine. I mix with the choice 
 spirits of the country here, and yet (albeit I 
 am looked on as a wit, a setter of exploits, a 
 leader of diversions, a good blade, and a 
 sportsman,) yet, somehow, my genius seems 
 rebuked when in thy presence; I feel myself
 
 SHAKSPERE. 191 
 
 as it were naught. Naj, despite thj sober 
 suit of homely cut and fashion, there is a 
 superiority in every look, tone, and moYement 
 of thine, which I feel and wonder at/' 
 
 " Nay," said Shakspere, " this is something 
 too much, good sir. 'Tis your lore and friend- 
 ship which makes you think thus. Be assured, 
 the gay and gallant Walter Arderne can 
 never be outshone by so quiet, so unobtrusive 
 a wight as myself." 
 
 " Ah, so thou say'st," returned Arderne ; "but 
 why is it that I feel this veneration on so 
 short an acquaintance with a mere boy ? Thy 
 converse is different from that of men, even of 
 learning and great attainments. There is a 
 force, a feeling in every word thou utterest, 
 which makes its impression. Yes, there is a 
 manner about thee, William Shakspere, which 
 is inexplicable; whilst thy slightest remark 
 upon the most trivial floweret in the hedgerow 
 seems to me worth all the uttered wisdom of 
 the schools." 
 
 " Nay, then," said Shakspere, laughing, "thou 
 art but flouting me, good Master Walter." 
 
 "Truly, thou art an extraordinary youth, 
 good William, and the way thou hast di'awn
 
 192 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 out the diiFerent characters we have met with 
 as we walked the streets even to-daj, and 
 made them display their peculiarities and 
 their follies, is as singular as all else pertaining 
 to thee." 
 
 Whilst thej held converse thus, Walter 
 Arderne and his new friend drew near to the 
 garden and pleasure-grounds of the Hall. As 
 they did so, the eye of the lover detected his 
 mistress in the distance. She was slowly 
 pacing along one of the walks, and perusing 
 some verses written upon a small scrap of 
 paper. Arderne stopped as soon as he saw 
 Charlotte Clopton, and as he watched her 
 graceful form amidst the trees, he seemed for 
 the moment wrapped in his own thoughts. 
 
 " Were it not," he ^aid, after a pause, and 
 turning to his youthful friend, "were it not that 
 I so entirely love thee, good William, were it not 
 that even in our short acquaintance I so highly 
 esteem thee, I should hesitate to bring one so 
 superior to myself in contact with her I adore, 
 and were it not that thy superiority is so 
 great, I should scorn to own such a feeling to 
 thee, William Shakspere, lest I compromised 
 my own station by such thoughts. 'Tis strange,
 
 SHAKSPEPvE. 193 
 
 but SO it is ; and to any one but tliee, I should 
 have sliamed to give my thoughts tongue on 
 such a subject." 
 
 Arderne sighed as he said this, and again 
 looked towards the object of his ardent affec- 
 tion. " She loves me not," he said, " 'tis yain 
 for me to suppose she does. Her manner, 
 despite her willingness to oblige her father, 
 and even to persuade herself she feels inclina- 
 tion to wed with me, too plainly shows I have 
 little or no real interest in her heart. Had I but 
 thy winning tongue and gift of speech, good 
 William, I might do much. Nay, by Heaven, 
 it were good that thou shouldst plead for me, 
 and tell her of the violence of my passion; 
 and thou shalt do it too." 
 
 "Nay," said his friend, "that would be 
 somewhat out of the usual course of wooing. 
 I pray you hold me excused in this. Master 
 Arderne." 
 
 " Not a whit," said Arderne, " the thought 
 is a good one. Women oft-times are led to 
 prize that which those they think well of, 
 value. To open their eyes and see clearly the 
 hugeness of an affection they have not before 
 appreciated." 
 
 YOL. I. K
 
 194 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 " But I know not how to woo a maid for 
 myself/' said his friend, "since I have never 
 yet made suit to one; how, then, am I to 
 play the suitor for so accomplished a cavalier; 
 I who hath not ever seen the court V 
 
 " Tush, tush, man," said Arderne, " there's 
 ne'er a courtier of them all could match thee, 
 I dare be sworn." 
 
 And thus did the boy poet ; the lover under 
 circumstances so peculiar, spend another day 
 at Clopton Hall, and where all he saw gave 
 him a second impression of life in a different 
 sphere to that in which he had hitherto 
 moved. True to the whimsical project which 
 had suddenly seized him, Walter Arderne left 
 his friend with a fair opportunity of pleading 
 for him to the fair Charlotte. 
 
 " When thou art tired of examining those 
 worm-eaten volumes," he said to Shakspere, 
 " I dare be sworn thou wilt find Mistress 
 Charlotte in her favourite arbour in the gar- 
 den. Sir Hugh and myself are promised forth 
 this morning. Farewell, therefore, for the 
 present." 
 
 Our readers with readily imagine that the 
 renewal of acquaintance between this youthful
 
 SHAKSPERE. 195 
 
 pair would be likely to ripen the growing 
 affection tliej felt for each other. Conceal- 
 ment, howeyer, seemed to both a matter of 
 necessity. Neither dared to own even to 
 themselves that they loved. Pride came to 
 the aid of each. In one it was the pride 
 which fears even the shadow of suspicion ; in 
 the other it was the pride of birth. The 
 pride of ancestry, however, is soonest subdued 
 in such cases ; that of conscience is more diffi- 
 cult for the bhnd god to overcome. 
 
 And the youthful poet and the exquisite 
 Charlotte found themselves thrown together, 
 where every scene of beauty around them was 
 conducive to the growth of their passion. 
 
 The locality has oft-times much to do with 
 love. 
 
 The lady, in all her glowing beauty, seemed 
 even more lovely amidst her own shadowy 
 groves, with the tiuie-honoured towers of her 
 ancestors looking majestic in the distance. 
 The perfume from the sweetly-scented shrubs 
 and flowrets, the whisper of the soft breeze 
 through the luxuriant trees, the cooing of the 
 wood-pigeons in the distant plantation, the 
 hum of the bees, and the plash of the foun- 
 
 K 2
 
 196 SHAKSrERE. 
 
 tain, each and all were felt by one who was so 
 prone to feel. 
 
 And he himself w^ho walked beside that 
 beautiful girl, thus surrounded by all the ap- 
 pliances of rank and station, how did he 
 appear in her eyes in his lowly suit? Had he 
 nothing to recommend him, and did he seem 
 unfitted for the companionship of one so much 
 more elevated in station ? Did he appear to feel 
 himself out of place or abashed by all he sawl 
 We think not. The lady looked upon that 
 face of youthful beauty; the soft curly hair 
 even then thin u])on the high forehead, the 
 features so beautifully formed and so exj)res- 
 ;sive; that eye so soft, and yet at times so full 
 of fire, and whose glance was like the light- 
 ning's flash ; the small beautifully-formed and 
 ^downy moustache upon the upper lip ; and all 
 this, added to a figure which for grace and 
 symmetry, might have vied with a Grecian 
 statue. And as she looked and listened to 
 his sweet and honied sentences, she felt that 
 all around would darken down to naked w^aste 
 without his society. The conversation of him 
 who but a few days before she would have 
 passed without perhaps deigning to look upon,
 
 SHAKSPERE. 197 
 
 seemed to have opened a new world to her. 
 Such is love, — that most fantastic of passions, 
 which is said to be but once felt, and once felt 
 never forgotten. 
 
 The ajQfections of women are perhaps easier 
 won than those of men. They are commonly 
 more distinterested, and "prize not quality of 
 dirty lands." Seldom do we find that women 
 display such open heartlessness, such acts of 
 infidelity, as men. 
 
 " For however we do praise ourselves, 
 Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, 
 Than woman's are." 
 
 That the fair Charlotte should, on better 
 knowledge, more fully appreciate the merits of 
 her companion, we of latter days, who imagine 
 the man from his works alone, can hardly 
 wonder at; and the pecuHarities of the posi- 
 tion of the lovers made her, falling desperately 
 in love, the less extraordinary. Had the 
 youth of inferior degree presumed upon the 
 favourable impression, he could not help seeing 
 he had made, the pride of the lady might have 
 better befriended her. But there was ever a cer-
 
 198 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 tain reserve about him, when matters seemed 
 verging to^vards their issue, which perplexed 
 and somewhat piqued her. 
 
 The expression of his ejes, when occasion- 
 ally she detected him gazing upon her, was 
 hardly to be mistaken, but then his respectful 
 reserve would as suddenly return. 
 
 This was, however, a state of things that 
 could not last, and perhaps, of all men, the 
 ardent, the impassioned Shakspere, in his early 
 youth, was the most unlikely person to with- 
 stand such a strife, as he was exposed to, 
 and come off victorious, however honour, and 
 friendship, and pride, might come to his aid. 
 The knowledge that he was beloved by the 
 fair creature beside him, the locality, the op- 
 portunity afforded him of expressing his own 
 feelings, altogether, even in this his second visit, 
 nearly made shipwreck of all his good inten- 
 tions, and once or twice he was about to seize 
 the hand of the fair Charlotte, and after 
 owning the ardour of his affection, fly from 
 the spot for ever. 
 
 He, however, during this visit did manage 
 to contain and conceal his passion; nay, he 
 even performed the ofiice of friendship which
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 199 
 
 had been entrusted to him, and as he spoke of 
 the fair lady's betrothed husband he praised 
 him for those good qualities he had already 
 found him to possess, and spoke of him as one 
 worthy the love and regard of any woman, 
 however excellent and high in station. This 
 was a theme, however, which he perceived was 
 somewhat unwelcome, and the beauty grew 
 wayward as he pursued it. With girlish tact she 
 beat him from his theme, as often as he renewed 
 it, and sought to lure him to other subjects 
 more congenial to her thoughts whilst in his 
 society. Nay, perhaps, had he studied how 
 best to advance his own suit to her he could 
 not have hit upon a way more likely to suc- 
 ceed. 
 
 The fair Charlotte was piqued at what she 
 considered his insensibility, and, without con- 
 sidering what she did, she almost let him un- 
 derstand that it would have been much more 
 grateful to her to have heard the speaker's 
 own merits extolled than those of Master 
 Arderne. 
 
 "And yet," she said, with a sigh, as she 
 glanced archly from her fringed lids whilst 
 her eyes were cast down in mock solemnity,
 
 200 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 " and jet I sliould be ungrateful were I not to 
 join in jour praises towards my bold coz, for 
 in good sootli I am indebted to him for manj 
 of the accomplishments I possess. He hath 
 taught me to flj mj hawk with ere a cavalier 
 in Warwickshire. Naj, I think I could even 
 shoe mj palfrej as well as ride him, if neces- 
 sarj- I am sure I could train a hound as well 
 as himself, and, as for the treatment of the 
 poor brutes in all their ailments, that I am 
 confident I understand quite as much of as old 
 Hubert, the head huntsman, or anj of his 
 underlings. Now, all these matters I have 
 been fairlj taught and perfected in bj mj 
 cousin, therefore see an I be not under obliga- 
 tion indeed.'^ 
 
 *' And is such the praise that one so true of 
 heart and hand deserves'?" said Shakspere. 
 " Methinks, in this world, where so much silli- 
 ness, selfishness, vanitj, and falsehood exist, a 
 perfect cavalier, without fault and honest, open 
 and free too as he is brave and handsome, 
 deserves more praise from the lips of bcautj 
 than for paltrj knowledge jou have ascribed 
 to him." 
 
 " Paltrj knowledge !" said Charlotte, laugh-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 201 
 
 ing, " what call je paltry ? why these accom- 
 plishments I hare enumerated to thee are the 
 essentials of a country gentleman, as necessary 
 for the woods and fields as dancing, dicing, 
 and swearing are for the town. But methinks 
 ^tis somewhat early for you to have taken note 
 of the silliness and falsehood existing in the 
 world; one so young can scarce have observed 
 such matters I should have thought." 
 
 "Pardon me, good lady," said Shakspere, 
 " what may be in the world at large I am, in- 
 deed, for the most part ignorant in. But our 
 good town of Stratford hath in itself some 
 fair specimens of the human mortal which 
 he who hath eyes to mark and brains to 
 consider, may easily profit by, and lay up in 
 his memory." 
 
 "Methinks so shrewd an observer, and so 
 keen withal, may chance to find us all fair 
 mark for the shafts of his wit," returned Char- 
 lotte ; " we shall learn to fear you, young sir, 
 an ye prove so hard upon your neighbours." 
 
 " Nay, fair lady," said Shakspere, " my ob- 
 servation hath only had to do with those in 
 my own sphere of life. Tlie little I have seen 
 as yet in a higher grade, hath been glanced at 
 
 k3
 
 202 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 during my boyhood at the Free School of my 
 native town. Nay, if I may venture to judge 
 I should say that the same vices, the same 
 ambitions, the same petty feelings, jealousies, 
 and envious heart-burnings, are to be observed 
 in the smaller circle of a charity-school and its 
 rulers, as are to be observed in the great and 
 universal theatre of the world. Amongst those 
 who rule, we do not always find examples of 
 unerring goodliness, grace, and virtue, but 
 rather intolerance and pride, and in most 
 others ill-will, conceit, envy, hatred, and un- 
 charitableness ; large promise; much of puri- 
 tanism, but a plentiful lack of true merit." 
 
 During this visit the fair Charlotte, who was 
 all joyous anxiety to contribute to the amuse- 
 ment of her guest, made the round of the 
 kennel and the falconry, in order to initiate 
 him into the mysteries of the management of 
 some of her pets. 
 
 In those days, as we have before hinted, 
 men of all ranks took delight in out-door 
 sports and diversions. Their amusements 
 were for the most part in the open air, 
 and the chase, and the terms of wood- craft
 
 SHAKSPERE, 203 
 
 were ever mixed up in their conversation. 
 The veriest lout in his holiday excursion loved 
 to see his mongrel cur hunt the meadows and 
 marshes for game, or catch the coney in the 
 extensive Avarrens which then existed around. 
 The youthful Shakspere, it may therefore be 
 well imagined, was passionately fond of seeking 
 the haunts of the game, abundant as it was in 
 the neighbourhood of his native town. Under 
 these circumstances the sporting establishment 
 at Olopton was looked over with considerable 
 interest by him, and as the fair Charlotte 
 petted the favourite hawk which usually graced 
 her wrist, she taught him the several terms of 
 falconry, and even explained how the various 
 gi-ades of men in the old time were recognized 
 by their hawks. "An eagle," she said, "is 
 for an emperor ; a gerfalcon is due to a king ; 
 a falcon-gentle and a tercel-gentle, these be for 
 a prince; a falcon of the rock is for a duke; 
 the falcon peregi'ine for a belted earl; your 
 bustard is for a baron ; a sacret for a knight, 
 and a lanair for a squire; and then," said 
 Charlotte, as she continued to count up further 
 varieties, " we have the goshawk for the yeo- 
 man, the spave hawk for Sir Priest, a muskyte
 
 204 SIIAKSPERE. 
 
 for a holj-water clerk, and a kestrel for a knave 
 or varlet." 
 
 Whilst tlius situated and employed, how 
 swift is the growth of love between two beings 
 of disposition and character sucb as we have 
 described. As the youthful poet watched the 
 expressive face of the beautiful girl beside him, 
 whilst she spoke so eloquently upon a subject 
 of interest to her, and as she gave herself up 
 to the management of her falcon, or played 
 with and fondled her favourite dogs, he became, 
 more fascinated with her artlessness and beauty. 
 He marked the natural grace of her movements, 
 as, in all the freedom of unchecked enjoyment, 
 she entered into the excitement of the hour. 
 He observed the nymph-like figure, the glowing 
 face, the luxuriant tresses uncontrolled in the 
 soft breeze, and he listened with delight to the 
 joyous and ringing laugh ; and as he beheld 
 her thus, his admiration was touched with 
 sadness, for he thought that all this elegance 
 and beauty was far removed from his hopes. 
 "One fading moment's mirth'' perchance was 
 bought " with twenty watchful, weary, tedious 
 nights." 
 
 A;(,tended by the head falconer and one or
 
 SHAKSPERE. 205 
 
 two of his men, as they followed the flight 
 of Charlotte's hawk, they had extended their 
 ramble to some considerable distance beyond 
 the chace, and the mid-day sun was so oppres- 
 sive, that they returned through the thick and 
 shadowy woods, which on one side extended to 
 within a short distance of the Hall. And here 
 too — as the grasshopper uttered his peculiar 
 chirp in the prickling gorse and thorn, and as the 
 sweet scent of the fern pervaded the air — these 
 unfrequented glades gave rise to thoughts 
 only incident to fresh and stainless youth ere 
 the blunter feelings of riper years rob us of 
 their verdant freshness. 
 
 Images of vernal brightness floated before 
 the poet's mind, and feelings of youth, and 
 hope, and joy were blended with the thoughts 
 of her he loved: images such as Shakspere 
 alone could have conceived. And she who 
 was the object of that love, as she listened to 
 the sportive gaiety of his words, during this 
 ramble, and as he called forth the elves and 
 fairies of his brilliant imagination, she felt as 
 if wandering in a magic grove and breathing 
 the sweet odours of an elfin bower; and then, 
 again, he peopled the glades with bright forms,
 
 206 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 fresli and lusty as in tlie first ages of the 
 world. And ^Yllen lie himself parted from his 
 fair companion on reaching the Hall, and he 
 returned again through the plantations of 
 Clopton, he sought out each spot ^yhich Char- 
 lotte had seemed most interested in, and dwelt 
 upon each look, and tone, and word, she had 
 uttered. Twas indeed a midsummer-day's 
 dream, a situation in which he was carried 
 from the reality of the present, to the realms 
 of fancy, a dream that haunted him in after 
 years. The thoughts and imaginings which 
 pervaded the mind of the youthful Shakspere, 
 during these moments were what perhaps he 
 himself would have failed in describing. 
 
 Few of us can convey in words the he*ivenly 
 imatres which float in celestial ether as it were 
 through the brain. We feel in the feeble at- 
 tempt the unsufficing medium of language. 
 Words are but the clayed embodiment of the 
 swift thought. The thought itself is the es- 
 sence of the soul — poetry unspeakable. We 
 cannot word that which is divine. Language 
 has no power to render again the shadowy 
 dream — the musing reverie. 
 
 Whilst under the influence of feelino^s such
 
 SHAKSPERE. 207 
 
 as these, society and the haunts of men were 
 uncongenial to the poetic youth, and he usually 
 sought out the wildest scenes of his native 
 country. Over park, over pale, he bounded, 
 and the keepers, who caught sight of him 
 occasionally in their forest walks, failed in 
 arrestino' him in his rambles.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CHAELECOTE. 
 
 In a former chapter we Lave seen the sharp 
 and sententious Lawyer Grasp, in the act of 
 girding up his loins and preparing to set forth 
 upon a somewhat important mission : a matter, 
 indeed, not likelj to be effected Avithout some 
 little danger to all concerned in its execution. 
 The shrewd lawyer, however, to say the least 
 of him, was not altogether devoid of courage, 
 and, albeit his valour was modified by a 
 certain degree of discretion, he loved to be 
 first when anything was to be gained by 
 leading the van. 
 
 In the present instance he thought he spied 
 good chance of promotion, both as regarding 
 his instrumentality in apprehending or gaining 
 notice of a dangerous plot, but he also hoped
 
 SHAKSPERE. 209 
 
 to make a profitable intimacv ^'itli the proud 
 owner of Charlecote : and, as he spurred his 
 palfrj onwards, yisions of suits, and testa- 
 ments, and title deeds, and strong boxes, per- 
 taining to the domain he was entering, floated 
 through his brain in rapid succession. 
 
 Plots and complots, conspiracies, and secret 
 meetings to kill a queen, were, indeed, in his 
 eye, as nothing, unless pertaining to the ad- 
 vancement of one small person who wrote 
 himself attorney in the town of Stratford: 
 and who hoped one day to be the richest and 
 greatest man there. The world around was 
 nothing : the coyering sky was nothing ; Eng- 
 land was nothing, except as pertaining to 
 Master Pouncet Grasp; nay, so long as the 
 small circle of air around his own proper 
 person was wholesome and fit for the purposes 
 of respiration, it would have been all the same 
 to him if the atmosphere in general were 
 infected with the plague. He was, indeed, 
 without question, the most selfish little caitiff 
 that ever drove a quill upon parchment. 
 
 Charlecote, the residence of Sir Thomas 
 Lacy, was one of those vast, irregularly built, 
 but picturesque looking mansions, which gives
 
 210 SHAKSPEPtE. 
 
 impression, at first sight of the architectural 
 style of the Tudors. Redolent of red brick 
 picked out with white, full of large bay win- 
 dows, beetling balconies, twisted chimnies, 
 gable ends, and gate-houses. A magnificent 
 structure looking like a brick-built palace, 
 situate in the midst of the most luxuriant 
 foliage ; which partially concealed its multitu- 
 dinous offices, its falconries, its dog-kennels, 
 and its thick-walled gardens. 
 
 As Grasp therefore approached this curious 
 building, he beheld its embattled towers and 
 massiye chimnies embosomed in ancient trees 
 of yast size, and most soft and loyely foliage. 
 Nothing perhaps could be more impressive 
 than the whole scene. The vast park studded 
 with mossed trees, and the herded deer couched 
 in the fern, beneath the shade. The gigantic 
 avenue, flourishing in all the grandeur of its 
 undecayed age, and each particular tree 
 throwing its deep shadow upon the grassy 
 carpet beneath, with the lordly mansion only 
 partially seen at its extremity. 
 
 As Grasp entered this gloomy, but majestic 
 avenue, he drew bridle and paused for a few 
 moments to reassure himself, and consider
 
 SHAKSPERE. 211 
 
 matters over, and as lie did so, he became 
 impressed mtli tlie deep and solemn silence 
 reigning around, a silence only occasionally 
 interrupted by the baying howl from the 
 kennel, an occasional winding note from the 
 huntsman's bugle, or the clear ringing sound 
 of the old clock from the tower of the red 
 brick gate-house. 
 
 As the little lawyer gazed around, a sort of 
 awe crept over his paltry soul, he became at 
 each step more deeply impressed with the 
 greatness of the man he was about to 
 approach, and from the wealth he saw around 
 him, he began to consider whether he himself 
 was worthy of coming into the presence of 
 one so mighty. For Grasp's idol was money, 
 the only Proyidence he believed in or wor- 
 shipped. 
 
 Added to this he knew from report the 
 aristocratic and exclusive disposition of Sir 
 Thomas, his haughty bearing towards his in- 
 feriors, and his dislike of intrusion, and he 
 began to doubt whether the knight might take 
 it well, that he had come thus in person to 
 communicate with him, more especially as he 
 himself had very lately been engaged in a suit
 
 212 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 against Sir Thomas, instituted by one of the 
 tradesmen of Stratford, and in ^^hich Grasp, 
 bj trickery, had managed to get a verdict 
 against the great man. 
 
 In short as Grasp approached the house he 
 began to feel that he ^yould almost rather have 
 demanded an interview with Queen Elizabeth 
 herself, than with the owner of the domain of 
 Charlecote. He even began to doubt, whether 
 (if Sir Thomas should happen to catch sight of 
 him before an opportunity offered for intro- 
 ducing his important mission,) the proud 
 knioht would not either order his attendants 
 to whip him out of the park-gates, or perhaps 
 even set his hounds upon him and hunt him 
 through the grounds. These thoughts and 
 apprehensions the more forcibly impressed 
 themselves upon his mind, as the caitiff was 
 well aware he fully deserved as much at Sir 
 Thomas's hands. 
 
 However the business he was upon at length 
 outweighed all other considerations, and setting 
 spurs to his sorry nag, he hastened onwards 
 and neared the house. 
 
 As he did so he found that he had timed 
 his visit exactly, as he had anticipated, and
 
 SHAKSPERE. 213 
 
 tliat Sir Thomas and his family were about to 
 take their afternoon excursion. For (amongst 
 his other peculiarities,) the old knight was 
 exceedingly punctual and precise in all his 
 doings, keeping the even tenor of his way and 
 timing his different movements, as exactly as 
 the clock in the tower of his gate-house was 
 true to the dial in the pleasaunce. As Grasp 
 therefore approached he beheld the palfreys 
 and attendants of the family party, mustering 
 in front of tlie mansion, — a goodly sight to 
 look on, and which made Grasp open his eyes 
 as he beheld it. 
 
 Sir Thomas, like most others in the country 
 at this period, was one of those proud men 
 who like to do every thing with circumstance 
 and parade, and accordingly if he only rode 
 across the park to shoot a buck, he usually 
 was attended by a round dozen of his keepers 
 and servants. 
 
 At the present time, as he w^as about to 
 take his afternoon ride, and perhaps pay a 
 formal visit to one or two of his immediate 
 neighbours, his party, including his own family 
 and the attendant serving-men, amounted to 
 about a score. The sight was a gallant one,
 
 214 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 — such as ill our own times we may beliold 
 represented upon the artist's canvas, or during 
 the scenic hour, but never again with all its 
 cii^cumstance in real life. There were assem- 
 bled the serving-men and attendants, with 
 the three white lucjs embroidered in silver 
 upon their green hunting-frocks. The head 
 falconer, clad in a sort of loose frock of 
 scarlet cloth; the keepers carrying the hawks 
 upon a stand, and several attendant grooms 
 with the knight's favourite dogs in their 
 charge. For, as with men of this sort the 
 sports of the field was the chief occupation of 
 life, so the companionship of their dogs and 
 hounds seemed almost necessary to their 
 enjoyment ; they seldom made a journey 
 without the favourite hawk or hound, and 
 they as seldom rode to take the air on the 
 most ordinary occasions, without being pro- 
 vided with the means of striking any game 
 they might put up in their route. The Imwk 
 upon the wrist was as necessary also to the 
 lady as the spur upon the heel to the knight. 
 The most interesting part of the present 
 display, however, and that which struck the 
 little lawyer with a sort of dread, was the
 
 SHAKSPERE. 215 
 
 sporting old knight himself, and his three 
 daughters, as thej came forth and mounted 
 their steeds. 
 
 There was, indeed, something about Sir 
 Thomas Lucy, that, to a man of Grasp's sort, 
 seemed unapproachable, incomprehensible, and 
 eren awful. His tall gaunt figure, clad in his 
 hunting-frock of scarlet cloth embroidered 
 with gold, with all the tasselled appointments 
 to match — the long leather gauntlets upon 
 his hands — and the high russet boots upon 
 his legs, were well matched bj the gray hair 
 and peaked beard, the aquiline features, and the 
 pale complexion of the stern-looking old knight. 
 In fact, there was a something inexpressibly 
 noble in the appearance of that gTaj old 
 man. He looked one of the Norman knights 
 of the crusading times returned to his halls, — 
 so pale, so wan, so antique, and jet withal so 
 knightly in his bearing. The hand seemed 
 formed for the rapier, the head for the helm, 
 the heel for the spur. If the little lawyer 
 felt at the moment somewhat impressed with 
 the appearance of the old knight, now that he 
 was about to approach him, he was no less 
 struck with the grace and beauty of his
 
 216 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 claiigliters. Tliej seemed to his eye at that 
 moment, (and as he regarded them, seated 
 upon their palfreys,) creatures of a superior 
 race to the generality of human mortals; 
 celestial beings, with " beauty too rich for use, 
 for earth too dear." 
 
 In fact, Grasp was so feelingly impressed 
 with a sense of inferiority as he approached 
 the presence of the Knight of Oharlecote, that 
 once or twice he was about to wheel his steed, 
 and return as he had come. 
 
 Indeed he certainly had done so, had not 
 the old knight suddenly caught sight of him, 
 just as he came into the open space in which 
 the party was assembled, and fixed him like a 
 basilisk. 
 
 It happened unluckily for Grasp, that the 
 avenue was not often made a thoroughfare for 
 any but visitors to the Hall, and accordingly, 
 the apparition of the meagre-looking lawyer, 
 clad in a sad-coloured suit, carrying a little 
 bag in his hand, and bowing to the pommel of 
 his saddle every step he took, rather struck 
 Sir Thomas Lucy with astonishment. The 
 knight had just at that precise moment 
 thrown his leg over his palfrey, and settled
 
 SHAKSPERE. 217 
 
 his gaunt person fairly in the demipiqne, or 
 war-saddle, it was his usual wont to use, when 
 he espied the lawyer; and the effect upon both 
 was like the boa-constrictor suddenly coming 
 in sight of its prey. The lawyer seemed 
 transfixed for the moment, whilst the mag- 
 nifico, with his movements arrested, regarded 
 him with a stern and curious eye. 
 
 At leno^th Sir Thomas siojned to one of his 
 attendants to approach, and pointing to the 
 lawyer, desired him to inquire into the meaning 
 of the intrusion. 
 
 " Inquire me of yonder man,'' said the 
 knight, ''wherefore he hath approached the 
 house on this side, and which it is our desire 
 to keep secluded from pubhc resort, and the 
 eyes of the common and popular." 
 
 " He hath business of great import, and 
 crayes an immediate and private audience with 
 your worship!" said the serving-man, after 
 communicating with Grasp. 
 
 "Hath he a name?' said Sir Thomas. 
 
 " He had rather your worship heard his 
 business first and his name afterwards," 
 said the serving-man, "so much did he in- 
 form me when I made inquiry; but I rather 
 
 YOL. I. L
 
 218 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 think it is Master Grasp, the lawj^er of Strat- 
 ford." 
 
 Sir Thomas evinced. "And what doth 
 Master Grasp, the lawyer of Stratford, require 
 with Sir Thomas Liicj, of Charlecote?" drjly 
 he said. " Inquire me out his business ; and if 
 he tell it not, convey him round to the proper 
 entrance for people of his sort; and, d'ye hear 1 
 wait on him out." 
 
 During this colloquy, the lawyer had gained 
 somewhat of his self-sufficiency, and dismount- 
 ing, approached Sir Thomas, and ventured to 
 accost him. 
 
 " Will your honourable worship," he said, 
 " favour me with a hearing at this unseasonable 
 moment, upon matters of high import, con- 
 nected with the safety of our gracious Sove- 
 reign the Queen and the welfare of the whole 
 realm." 
 
 " If thy communication be of so much im- 
 portance as that," said the knight, " it behoves 
 me, as a true subject, to give attention to it. 
 The body public and the safety of the realm 
 demand so much of us." 
 
 " 'Tis a matter of so much importance," said 
 Grasp, ''that it concerns all who wish not to
 
 SHAKSPERE. 219 
 
 be burned, racked, whipped, beaten, and other- 
 wise tormented to death bj the Spaniard. 
 'Tis no less a matter. Sir Thomas Lucy, than a 
 discovery I have made of a nest of popish 
 traitors, who are, at this moment, assembled 
 together, at Stratford, for the purpose of con- 
 triving the murder of our Queen and the 
 delivery of the kingdom into the hands of 
 Philip of Spain/' 
 
 Grasp delivered this piece of intelligence 
 with so much eagerness and vehemence, that 
 he had approached quite close to Sir Thomas, 
 in his anxiety that his news should not be 
 overheard, and the old knight was in some- 
 thing impressed with its importance. He, 
 however, drew back from too close contact 
 with the Stratford lawyer, warning him to 
 remove a little further from his person. 
 
 "Your communication is doubtless of the 
 utmost importance," he said coolly, as he pre- 
 pared to dismount; "we will instantly hear 
 all you have to say. Nevertheless, confine 
 your eagerness to serve Her Majesty within 
 proper bounds." So saying. Sir Thomas dis- 
 mounted from his palfry, and coolly desiring 
 his daughters to continue their ride, led the 
 
 L 2
 
 220 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 way into the house, and, followed bj Grasp, 
 entered his private study.' 
 
 The loyalty of the man would not permit 
 him to pause a moment, as soon as he fully 
 comprehended the nature of the business. He 
 took two turns up and down the apartment ; 
 and then ordered the head-keeper to be sum- 
 moned into his presence. "I will arrest these 
 miscreants with my own proper hand and with 
 my own people," he said, " instantly, without a 
 moment's delay. Meantime, I will send over 
 to my good neighbour. Sir Hugh Clopton, and 
 inform him of it, so that he may meet me at 
 Stratford on my arrival there, and aid me in 
 this capture. Not so much," he continued to 
 himself, " that I require his assistance, as that 
 he may partake with me in the honour of 
 cuttins: the throats of such vile wretches, an 
 they resist lawful authority." 
 
 " May it please your worship," said Grasp, 
 '' there is a thing I omitted to say, and which 
 I had said, only that I feared its knowledge 
 would most heartily grieve, astonish, and dis- 
 may your worship." 
 
 "You have already both astonished and 
 somewhat grieved us," said Sir Thomas, "in
 
 SHAKSPERE. 221 
 
 delivering the piece of intelligence you came 
 here charged withal. In how far you may be 
 further able to dismay us, we may be perhaps 
 permitted to doubt: nevertheless, we would 
 fain be made acquainted with the nature of 
 this omitted circumstance." 
 
 "Sir Hugh Clopton," said Grasp, "your 
 worship spoke of him as aiding and assisting 
 in the capture of these bloody-minded con- 
 spirators." 
 
 " I did so," said Sir Thomas. " Said I not 
 well, good Master Grasp 1'' 
 
 " Your worship hath the gift of saying well,' 
 returned Grasp, who found himself gaining 
 ground, he thought, in Sir Thomas's good 
 graces. " But I grieve to say that Sir Hugh 
 lieth under the imputation of being deeply 
 implicated in this plot." 
 
 " How !" said Sir Thomas, losing' something 
 of austerity in his surprise. " Sir Hugh Oloptou 
 implicated in such a hellish conspiracy as this 
 you have named '? Had any man holding rank 
 equal or superior to mine own, said so much. 
 Master Pouncet Grasp, he had lied under the 
 imputation of a liar and a caitiff at my hands." 
 
 "Nay," said Grasp, "I ask your worship's
 
 222 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 pardon, I had it from him who gave me the 
 clue to the whole matter, — the honourable 
 gentleman I told jou of, — the right honour- 
 able Master Walter Neville." 
 
 " Sa J, rather, the arch traitor. The doublj 
 dishonourable villain Neville, who goeth about 
 to purchase benefit for himself bj the blood of 
 Ms party. An such a man be your informant 1 
 Credit me the information is incorrect. I 
 listen not therefore to it, it is naught." 
 
 Meantime, whilst Sir Thomas held converse 
 thus with Grasp, he had at the same time, in 
 the most quiet and business-like w^ay, been 
 encasing himself in one or two pieces of defen- 
 sive armour which had hung at hand, behind 
 the great chair on which he usually sat. Taking 
 down a richly inlaid breastplate, and which he 
 had worn in his youth in the wars of the Low 
 Countries, he fitted it on with care and pre- 
 cision as one to whom the business of arming 
 was a habit of easiness. He then indued a 
 cumbrous back-piece to match, buckled the 
 shoulder-straps without assistance, and girded 
 the whole tightly together with an embroidered 
 belt round his waist. After which (laying 
 aside the light rapier he usually wore) he
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 223 
 
 adopted a stout heavy hilted and somewhat 
 ponderous blade, and thrusting a pair of 
 enormous petronels and his dagger into his 
 girdle, stept forth into the centre of the apart- 
 ment completely equipped for the business in 
 hand, and looking, what oui' readers of the 
 present day would have termed, as perfect a 
 specimen of Don Quixote de la Mancha as 
 they could have wished to behold. 
 
 Those who looked upon his tall gaunt form 
 and sinewy limbs, however, might see, that 
 eccentric as was his appearance, he would be 
 rather an awkward customer to engage with 
 or offer an affront to, and so thought Grasp 
 when he beheld the knight's military toilette 
 completed. 
 
 Nay, a sort of unpleasant feeling began to 
 creep over him; a presentiment of hard 
 knocks, bullets, and grievous wounds suddenly 
 pervaded his mind, as he looked upon this 
 military figure clattering about in his cuirass, 
 and coolly selecting his ponderous weapons for 
 the nonce. For Grasp, it must be remem- 
 bered, (albeit he lived in stirring times) was a 
 man of peace, and whose whole life nearly had 
 been passed in a small dark back office in the
 
 224 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 to^vn of Warwick, where he had been brought 
 up and initiated in all the tricks of his craft. 
 
 However, as he had been the exciting cause 
 of Sir Thomas's taking the affair upon his 
 hands, and as he knew the knight woukl be 
 likely to make a clean business of it, he felt 
 that nov/ to hold back would be to lose all the 
 advantage he had previously promised himself. 
 
 Could he but manage to be exceedingly 
 prominent and useful in this capture he felt 
 certain that it w^ould lead on to fortune. 
 
 " I have never yet fought,'^ he said to himself, 
 "except with my pen. Now I am going to wield 
 a weapon which, if it be only half as deadly 
 and destructive in my hands, I shall make 
 unpleasant work withal. But, in good sooth, 
 1 feel as though I had rather prepare the writ 
 than serve it in the present case." 
 
 So eager was Sir Thomas to pursue the 
 adventure, and make capture of the conspira- 
 tors with his own hand, that he tarried not for 
 any of the customary formalities. 
 
 He resolved to take all responsibility upon 
 himself, and, "standing to no repairs," swoop 
 upon the culprits. Accordingly, having mus- 
 tered the serving-men he had warned for this
 
 SHAKSPERE. 225 
 
 service, and seen to their efficiency in regard 
 to weapons with a military eye, the whole 
 party wheeled out of the gate-house of Oharle- 
 cote and took their way towards Stratford. 
 
 L 3
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE ATTACK. 
 
 Many of our readers who liaye searched 
 with curious eye through the various localities 
 and peculiar points of interest at Stratford, 
 will doubtless recollect a small antiquated- 
 looking inn, situated on the Avon's bank, — a 
 building whose outward favour and stout- 
 timbered walls, together with its massive chim- 
 neys and general appearance, would proclaim 
 it to have been a house of some mark in its 
 day. 
 
 At the period of our story this building had 
 degenerated from a goodly farm-house to a 
 hostel called the Chequers, and was the house 
 of entertainment generally used by the com- 
 moner sort of wayfarers. It was a house 
 altogether of no very good repute, in which 
 the brawl and the nio-lit shriek mii>ht be oc-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 227 
 
 casionallj liearcl bj the more respectable 
 dwellers in the town, — a house often visited 
 too bj the watch, and carefully looked after 
 bj the authorities. 
 
 It was a dwelling also often changing owners, 
 and had been lately taken by a stranger, a 
 dark, taciturn, evil-looking host, whose ap- 
 pearance nobody liked, consequently he was 
 but ill supported. 
 
 In short, since the present landlord had 
 been its occupant, save and except an occa- 
 sional guest who appeared to have arrived 
 from foreign parts, and departed as quickly 
 and silently as he had come, the Chequers was 
 almost without guests. So that, albeit its 
 former dissolute repute might be said to have 
 departed from it, the inn had now assumed a 
 mysterious sort of note, and was as celebrated 
 for closed doors and quietude, as it had before 
 been for riot and open debauchery. Some 
 said the landlord was a Jesuit; others, that 
 he was an emissary of the Spaniard, whilst 
 others again affirmed he was both the one and 
 the other, and all agreed that he was an ill- 
 favoured, unneighbourly, and exceedingly dis- 
 agreeable person.
 
 228 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 It was at tliis liostel, Master Neville and 
 his associates had previously taken up their 
 quarters, and here they had been frequently 
 visited during the dark hours by certain cava- 
 liers v^'ho hitherto had seldom remained till 
 dawn. 
 
 Master Muddlework, the head-constable of 
 town, had considered it consistent with his 
 duty twice to visit the Chequers, in order to 
 observe these suspicious-looking strangers, but 
 each time he had done so he had failed in 
 finding anything to fasten his suspicions upon ; 
 so that whether a good look-out was kept, and 
 the major portion of the strangers had con- 
 cealed themselves, or that they were really 
 absent at the moment of his visit, the func- 
 tionary had, as we have said, quite failed in 
 observing anything unusual or particular ; ex- 
 cept it was the mysterious quietude and closed 
 up doors and shutters of the sometime rollick- 
 ing hostel. 
 
 In short, nothing could exceed the degree of 
 interest with which this inn and its occu- 
 pants were at tliis moment regarded, — an inte- 
 rest which had become general throughout the 
 town, all on a sudden apparently, and it was
 
 SHAKSPEKE, 229 
 
 towards this hostel, as our readers doubtless 
 are aware, that Sir Thomas Lucj and his party 
 were now advancing. 
 
 To the suggestion of Grasp, that it would be 
 better, he thought, to wait till the shadows of 
 evening had descended before they approached 
 the town, Sir Thomas gave a decided negative. 
 All dark doings, he said, were foreign to his 
 nature. He had proceeded by the shortest 
 and most exjDeditious route towards his design, 
 as in duty bound, the moment he heard of this 
 vile assemblage, and Heaven willing, he would 
 proceed as straight to the capture of the 
 caitiffs. 
 
 With military precision and precaution, 
 however, he gave directions so as to ensure the 
 more sure success of his undertaking, and 
 halting for a few moments in the road, he divided 
 his party in twain, sending one portion full trot 
 forwards, with orders to make a slight detour, 
 and enter the town on the further side, whilst 
 he so timed his own movements as to come 
 within hail of the suspicious hostel at the pre- 
 cise moment his other party approached it. 
 
 This done, according to previous concert, 
 the two portions extending from the right and
 
 230 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 left, in a moment completed a Ycry pretty 
 cordon around the hostel ; so that not a mouse 
 could show its nose outside the walls without 
 being seen. Quickly as this movement had 
 been executed, it had been as quickly seen by 
 the inmates apparently; for the door in the 
 rear, which had been open the moment before, 
 was imro_ediately closed and secured. 
 
 This proceeding conyinced Sir Thomas in a 
 moment that the inmates of the hostel kept 
 a good look-out, and at the same time led him 
 to suspect what he indeed quickly found; 
 namely, a desperate resistance. Such indeed 
 might reasonably be expected, for the vigi- 
 lance of the Queen's council w^as at this time 
 so keen, and the various plots of the day so 
 continually being discovered by one chance or 
 other, that there was small hope of success, 
 unless the utmost secresy was maintained. 
 
 Ordering his party instantly to dismount 
 (whilst the horses were put in charge of a small 
 reserve), Sir Thomas drew back and desired 
 Grasp to advance to the fore door of the 
 Chequers, and demand admittance in form. 
 
 "An it so please your worship," said Grasp, 
 " I had rather not take upon myself so much
 
 SHAKSPERE. 231 
 
 of the responsibility of tlie action as tliat 
 would amount to. Youi' honour is a justice 
 of the peace, and may therefore reasonably 
 take the lead. I will follow and bear witness 
 to the lawfulness of whatsoever it may please 
 your valour to perform ; but I had rather not 
 strike the fii'st blow." 
 
 "Or receive it either, I beheve/' said Sir 
 Thomas, sotto voce. " 'Tis well," he added 
 aloud, and immediately setting spurs to his 
 palfrey, he was the next moment beside the 
 strong iron-studded front-door of the hostel, 
 which he struck forcibly with the butt- end of 
 his riding-whip. 
 
 As he expected, the door was fastened, and 
 to his repeated summons no answer was re- 
 turned. At length he uplifted his voice, and 
 in a loud tone, demanded instant admittance 
 in the Queen's name. Upon this the lattice- 
 window was thrown open, and a man's head 
 appeared at it, — a pale, cadaverous-looking 
 wretch, with long lank hair, and glassy and 
 excited eye. 
 
 " What seek you here '?" he said. " There 
 is death in the house, and the doors are closed 
 against visitors to-day."
 
 232 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 " Let tliem opeu to those ^YllO come in the 
 Queen's name," said Sir Thomas. " I come to 
 seize the persons of all within this house. Dead 
 or alive, it matters not, I will arrest the bodies 
 of all here consorting and assembling.'' 
 
 "Ah," said the man, "and who then art 
 thou, thus commissioned, and from whom hast 
 thou such authority'?" 
 
 " I am Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote," 
 returned the knight, " and if I mistake not, 
 thou art Ralph Somerville, of Warwick." 
 
 " And how if we refuse you admittance 1" 
 said Somerville. "How then, Sir Thomas 
 Lucy, of Charlecote V 
 
 " Then I will make forcible entry," said Sir 
 Thomas, " and those who oppose me must be 
 content with the mishaps that attend such 
 procedure." 
 
 " Of what are we accused, that we are thus 
 molested in our retirement V said Somer- 
 ville. 
 
 " Of high treason, in conspiring to take the 
 life of our blessed and gracious Queen EHza- 
 beth, infernal and damnable papists as ye 
 are," said Sir Thomas. 
 
 " Then receive the wages of your service,
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 233 
 
 heretic," said Somerville, at the same moment 
 discharging the contents of a petronel full in 
 Sir Thomas's visage. 
 
 The weapon was thrust so near to the face 
 of the knight that the powder blackened his 
 features, but the ball luckily just missed his 
 head, and passing downwards on his cuirass, 
 glanced off harmless. 
 
 " Tis well,'" he said, with his usual cool- 
 ness, as Somerville immediately closed the 
 window. " Forwards, men, and force the doors 
 instantly." 
 
 The house had apparently been prepared in 
 anticipation of such an assault ; for, as the 
 party advanced to the attack, several calivers 
 were discharged from loop-holes, which had 
 been made in the walls at the upper part, and 
 two of Sir Thomas's men w^ere shot dead ere 
 they could reach the doors. 
 
 As the remainder, however, did so, they 
 found the entrance so strongly barricaded that 
 their efforts to get in were fruitless ; whilst at 
 the same time they were exposed to the bul- 
 lets of those within during the attempt. Sir 
 Thomas saw this in a moment, as he rode 
 about superintending the affair, and indeed
 
 234 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 drawing several discharges from the besieged 
 upon his own person. 
 
 With military quickness and decision he 
 immediately dismounted, and rallying some 
 half-a-dozen of his men who were bearing back 
 from the hot fire of the besieged, he seized 
 upon a ladder which he espied lying near a 
 sort of outhouse in the rear. This he ordered 
 his people to man on either side, and leading 
 them on, sword in hand, they rushed with 
 terrible force against the back door of the 
 hostel, giving it such a shock, that door and 
 lintels together were nearly unshipped. 
 
 "Another rush!" cried Sir Thomas; "one 
 more, and we have them!" 
 
 Accordingly on dashed the men with this 
 novel battering-ram, and again and again they 
 assailed the door. Any one who could have 
 observed Grasp at this moment, would have 
 doubtless considered that he had suddenly gone 
 mad, since what between his anxiety to be 
 amongst the first, and near Sir Thomas Lucy, 
 and his mortal fear of the whistling balls, he 
 cut a most ridiculous figure. One moment he 
 rushed forward with the party who were using 
 the ladder as a battering-ram ; the next, as
 
 SHAKSPERE. 235 
 
 the sharp report of a well-loaded caliver 
 jarred his ears, he fairlj bolted off, turning 
 again when he had gained a few paces to the 
 rear, flourishing his blue bag, and shouting at 
 the assailants with all his might, to break in 
 and take the Papists. 
 
 " Serve the warrant, take the body, seize the 
 person! — Take them dead or alive!" he cried, 
 as he jumped about. Meantime the ladder, 
 being well and chivalrously managed, at about 
 the fourth rush carried in the door, and Sir 
 Thomas, with portentous strength, carried his 
 body along with it into the kitchen of the inn, 
 a petronel in one hand and his heavy rapier 
 in the other, closely followed by his men. 
 Contrary to his expectations, however, the 
 apartment was empty; "Guard the entrance!" 
 he cried, as he dashed into the next apartment. 
 " The villains will escape us yet ! Kill who- 
 ever attempts to get out !" 
 
 Rapidly, and followed by his men, Sir 
 Thomas made search through the lower por- 
 tion of the hostel, without however finding a 
 soul, although it was evident they had but the 
 moment before escaped, the rooms being filled 
 with the smoke of their discharged fire-arms.
 
 236 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Glancing round upon his followers, who were 
 now for the most part within the hostel, he 
 directed them instantly to search the upper 
 flooring, whilst lie kept guard below. 
 
 This was, however, more easily said than 
 done. The staircase was found to be imprac- 
 ticable, being barricaded by a large quantity of 
 faggots, which had been drawn up and jammed 
 tightly together. 
 
 "Ah," said Grasp, whose ferret eyes were 
 everywhere at once, "may I never draw an 
 inference again, if I do not think the rogues 
 have ascended by a ladder through yonder 
 trap, and then drawn the ladder up after 
 them." 
 
 At this moment, and whilst all paused to 
 consider the next move, the barrels of several 
 calivers were thrust through as many holes 
 which had been perforated through the ceiling, 
 and a very lively discharge was kept up upon 
 Sir Thomas and his party, which killing one 
 of the men, quickly sent Grasp and the rest 
 out of the doors. Grasp, who iu his hurry and 
 agitation being the last, closing the door be- 
 hind him, and actually shutting Sir Thomas 
 up alone ajnongst liis foes.
 
 SHAKSPEPvE. 237 
 
 " Heaven, bless and preserve us all from 
 Papist conspirators and bloody-minded Je- 
 suits," said the lawyer, jumping about and 
 wringing his hands, as he hastily glanced 
 amongst the scared domestics, " they have 
 shot, killed, and destroyed the knight of Char- 
 lecot, as sure as I am a sinner! Sir Thomas 
 Lucy is certainly murdered outright by this 
 nest of vipers, for I see him not amongst us 
 here!" 
 
 Confusion and dismay, indeed, sufficiently 
 pervaded the attacking party. They readily 
 imagined their lord and master was slain, and 
 to the horror of such a catastrophe was added 
 their doubts as to what was next to be done ; 
 so that whilst some cbew off from the near 
 vicinity of the house, others mounted their 
 horses, and set off full cry to the town to get 
 assistance. 
 
 In short, the assaulters felt the want of a 
 second in command. They were struck with 
 dread at the supposed death of their leader, 
 and the head falconer being killed also, there 
 was no one to lead them to the recovery even 
 of the old knight's body, if he was indeed shot, 
 or his rescue, if only wounded.
 
 238 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Grasp, however, did all lie could to exhort 
 some half-a-dozen who remained to make ano- 
 ther attempt, and gain the interior. But the 
 men very wisely demurred. 
 
 "Who think je is to enter yonder dark 
 place, to be killed like a fox in a hole'?" said 
 one. 
 
 "Nay,'^ said another, "the matter is now 
 none of ours to mell with. If our master 
 be killed by these villains, some one else 
 must take it up, we have no further war- 
 ranty to go forward; all we can do is to 
 wait till assistance comes from the town." 
 
 In the midst of this colloquy, (and which 
 had hardly taken as many moments as words 
 used,) to the astonishment of the speakers, 
 the sound of firing again commenced within, 
 the dwelling, — quick, short, and rapid, sounded 
 the shots; w^hilst the old inn, as the gazers 
 regarded it, although it seemed convulsed with 
 internal discord remained closed up, and its 
 exterior undisturbed as if nothing extraordinary 
 was going on. At the same moment too, 
 shouts, and sounds from the town, pro- 
 claimed that the townsfolks were coming to 
 the scene of action.
 
 SHAKSPEBE. 239 
 
 "Gad he here/'' said Grasp, "what may 
 this portend ? The miscreants surely cannot be 
 contending against each other, and cutting 
 their own throats from sheer disappointment 
 at being discovered in their yillanj I" 
 
 At this moment, and in the midst of these 
 speculations upon the matter, the door opened, 
 and enveloped in a volume of smoke, which 
 burst out with him, begrimed too with soot 
 and dirt, appeared Sir Thomas himself, who in- 
 stantly closing the door after him, and cough- 
 ing violently from the effects of the fumigation 
 he had endured, waved his sword for his 
 people again to advance.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE CAPTUEE. 
 
 To account for this appearance we must 
 return to the knight after he had been shut up 
 within the hostel. 
 
 As he had never for a moment intended to 
 give ground, he was in no wise daunted at 
 being thus left alone, and, as the closing of the 
 door shut out the glare of light, it most 
 probably was the means of saving his life, for 
 (could those above have distinctly seen and 
 levelled their pieces at him,) they would have 
 shot him like a wolf in a trap. For the 
 moment all was quiet, and casting his eyes 
 round the gloomy kitchen Sir Thomas spied 
 the remains of a fire in the grate, whilst 
 fearful and hurried whispers gradually growing- 
 louder and more vehement above his head,
 
 SHAKSrERE. 241 
 
 proclaimed that tlie conspirators were in 
 earnest consultation. 
 
 Without a moment's delay, Sir Thomas (by 
 aid of the fire on the hearth, and such com- 
 bustibles as he could hastily collect,) set to 
 work with might and main, and lighted up a 
 blazing bonfire in the very middle of the 
 apartment. 
 
 The rushes with which the floor was par- 
 tially strewed, materially assisted the blaze, 
 and heaping chairs and other less cumbrous 
 articles upon it, whilst the astonished con- 
 spirators fired at him through the loopholes, 
 he soon effected a very alarming conflagration. 
 
 It was lucky for the knight that the con- 
 struction of such a measure of defence, as that 
 of perforating an upper floor to fire through, 
 necessarily precludes any precision in taking 
 aim, as it is almost impossible in a small 
 opening of the sort, to get a good sight whilst 
 levelling downwards, and consequently, although 
 a continued discharge took place, wliilst the 
 knight busied himself in getting up the con- 
 flagration, althougli the balls flew about his 
 ears and buried themselves in the floor at his 
 feet, not one struck him. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Under these circumstances, and whilst the 
 conspirators were ignorant that the combustion 
 which ah'eadj became disagreeably apparent 
 to them was being effected bj one person, 
 their persevering foe completed his arrange- 
 ments, and jerking his powder flask into the 
 flames, quickly opened the door, and as he 
 could no longer remain safely within, coolly 
 walked out. 
 
 Reassured by his appearance, those of his 
 followers who were at hand, hastened to the 
 support of the knight, who instantly directed 
 Grasp to proceed round to the door on the 
 other side, with several of the men, and make 
 instant capture of any of the conspirators who 
 attempted to escape on that side. 
 
 " I have smoked the traitors in their den," 
 said he, " and anon we shall have them swarm- 
 ing out. Make prisoners of all you can secure. 
 Hurt none who yield, but suffer none to escape. 
 If they resist, kill.'' 
 
 The anxiety of Grasp to see these mys- 
 terious plotters almost overcame his personal 
 apprehensions. He therefore hastened round 
 with the men under his charge, and in a few 
 minutes the conflagration within forced the
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 243 
 
 besieged to attempt a sortie. The door before 
 which Sii' Thomas had posted himself was 
 thrown open, and (as smoke and flame gushed 
 out) forth rushed half a dozen men so com- 
 pletely begrimed in soot that their features 
 were scarcely distinguishable. 
 
 The conspirators eridently had made up 
 their minds to a desperate efibrt at escape, for 
 they dashed to the right and left sword in 
 hand, cutting at all who opposed them. 
 
 "Yield thee, caitiff!" cried Sir Thomas, 
 flinging himself upon the foremost, and seizing 
 him by the collar of his doubtlet with an iron 
 gripe, before he could strike a blow. " Yield 
 thee, miscreant, in the Queen's name!'' 
 
 The man accosted attempted to stab Sir 
 Thomas with his daoorer, but the knight 
 dragged him headlong down, and stepping a 
 pace or two back, at the same time absolutely 
 flinging him to his men, rushed upon the next 
 in the same manner, and, in this way, cap- 
 turing three with his own hand, whilst his 
 followers kept them in play. 
 
 The scene we have described fiilly exempli- 
 fied the nature of a period in which deeds 
 of yiolence and bloodshed, consequent upon 
 
 M 2
 
 244 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 the seditious and superstitious bigotry of both 
 religions, were bj no means uncommon, break- 
 ing out too as they oft-times did in the midst of 
 apparent tranquillity. 
 
 Close upon the doors, in rear of the hostel, 
 and at wliich the conspirators made their 
 principal efforts at escape, stood Sir Thomas 
 himself, backed up by several of his men, con- 
 spicuous from his tall form and his activity in 
 cutting down all Avho refused to yield. 
 
 Somewhat removed, and at a safer distance, 
 were to be seen a crowd of the townsfolk, 
 with a portion of the town guard and the 
 head bailiff, wlio had hastened to the serene 
 upon the alarm of the encounter, accompanied 
 by a legion of old women and idle boys. 
 These, as they learned the nature of the busi- 
 ness in hand, became proportionably excited 
 against the conspirators, whom they seemed 
 inclined to tear in pieces so soon as they could 
 fairly get at them with safety to themselves. 
 
 '' Ah, tlie bloody and villanous papists !" 
 cried one. " Think of the massacre of St. 
 Bartholomew's !" cried a second. " Keep those 
 boys back, Maud Mutch, can't ye? Remember 
 the miserable butchery which flooded the streets
 
 SHAKSPERE. 245 
 
 of Paris witli blood," cried a tliird, " and in- 
 Yolved the Protestants in tlie provinces in one 
 general slaughter!" '*In which five hundred 
 gentlemen of rank and ten thousand Huguenots 
 were massacred in cold blood in one town 
 alone !" cried a fourth. ^^ Take care there, nij 
 masters, see, there's Thomas Coulter shot down ! 
 Out them in pieces !" cried another. " Tear 
 them, burn them, destroy them! Best keep 
 back. There goes another shot and another 
 man killed! Body o' me what a desperate 
 set!" 
 
 "Oh! the miserable sinners," said Dame 
 Patch. " I thought no good was going on 
 down yonder, with all their silence, secret 
 meetings, and keeping us women from amongst 
 them." 
 
 " I always said there was a plot hatching to 
 blow up the town and kill every Protestant in 
 it," cried Doubletongue. "God save Sir 
 Thomas. See, there's the last of the rogues 
 down and being bound hand and foot !" 
 
 Such was indeed the case, and, except 
 Somerville and another of the conspirators 
 who escaped Grasp and his party, the whole 
 (amounting to seven individuals) were down or
 
 246 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 captured, and, being bound, were delivered 
 into the hands of the bailiff for safe custody. 
 
 No sooner Avas the business done, and the 
 capture fairly effected, than the eccentric cha- 
 racter of the knight of Charlecote again dis- 
 played itself. He had borne himself manfully 
 during the fight, and as one M'orthy of his 
 crusading ancestors, but his hauteur and reserve 
 immediately succeeded to the violence of 
 action. 
 
 Drawing together his people, he gave direc- 
 tions for the removal of the wounded into the 
 town, where their hurts could be looked to. 
 After which he mounted his horse, and calling 
 for a cup of wine, he lifted his hat, and drank 
 to the health of the Queen, the discomfort of 
 the Spaniards, and the confusion of all Jesuits 
 and popish cut-throats. After which he turned 
 his horse's head from the Chequers, now filled 
 with the idle and curious, who had managed 
 to extinguish the fire, and rode off towards 
 Charlecote. 
 
 " Nay. But how am I to dispose of these 
 prisoners. Sir Thomas'?" said the head bailiff, 
 stopping him as he passed. "I should also 
 like to learn the exact nature of the matter
 
 SHAKSPERE. 247 
 
 whicli hath led to this capture and the death of 
 these people around us here." 
 
 "Of that jou Trill better learn," said Sir 
 Thomas, drilj, "'by applying to your townsman 
 there — Lawyer Grasp ; and all further circum- 
 stances connected with them, I opine you will 
 speedily be made acquainted with by the 
 Queen's council, as I am myself led to believe 
 by what Master Grasp hath informed me." 
 
 So saying Sir Thomas bowed to the head 
 bailiff, and rode away from the scene of his 
 achievements.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A REVEL AT CLOPTON. 
 
 On tlie night wliicli followed the action we 
 have described, and which the inhabitants of 
 Stratford long afterwards called the fraj of 
 the Chequers, Sir Hugh Clopton held an old 
 accustomed feast at his house. The entertain- 
 ment was given in honour of his daughter's 
 birth-daj, the maiden having just completed 
 her seventeenth year ; and on this interesting 
 occasion most of the old knightly families of 
 the county of Warwickshire graced the scene. 
 There came the Astleys of Hill Moreton, the 
 De la Wards of Newton, the Clintons of Bad- 
 sley, the Walshes of Mereden, the Blenknaps of 
 Knoll, the Wellesbourns of Hastang, the 
 Comptons of Compton Winyate, the Sheldons 
 of Beoley, the Attwoods, and many other
 
 SHAKSPERE. 249 
 
 nobles and whose names, no^y like those once 
 owning tliem, in all the pride of ancestral 
 honours, are obliterated from the muster-roll 
 of the liring, and long forgotten in the very 
 domains which owned them as lords; and 
 last, though by no means least, came the 
 knight of Oharlecote and his lady, and their 
 >*^^ two lovely daughters, v^ ^ f- - ' ^" 
 
 It was indeed a goodly assemblage of the 
 rank, youth, and beauty of the county of 
 Warwick of that period. The old folks stately 
 in manner and formal in costume; the men 
 looking, in their starch ruffs, short cloaks and 
 trunks, quaint cut doublets and peaked beards, 
 and the women, in their jewelled stomachers 
 and farthingales, like so many old portraits 
 steppiug forth from their frames; whilst the 
 youth of both sexes, in all the bravery of that 
 age of brave attire, glittered in silks and satins, 
 gold and embroidery, bright jewels and richly 
 mounted weapons. Nothing indeed could ex- 
 ceed the gallant look of the cavaliers who trod 
 a measure in the dance, except it were the 
 loveliness of their bright partners. Those 
 youthful and fresh female buds of England, so 
 celebrated for their native beauty; fair, and 
 
 M 3
 
 250 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 blooming, and swan-like in their graceful car- 
 riage — '' Earth-treading stars, that make dark 
 Leaven bright." 
 
 The music rang out from a sort of a tempo- 
 rary orchestra, formed at one end of the hall, 
 arched over and festooned with sweet flowers 
 and green shrubs. It consisted mostly of 
 stringed instruments, which gave forth a silver 
 sound, accompanied by the deep tones of the 
 bassoon and the occasional flourish of the 
 horn, and whilst the dancers trod a measure, 
 and the difi*erent guests, in all tlie freedom of 
 unchecked enjoyment, wandered about, how 
 sweetly the strains floated through those oak 
 pannelled rooms, reverberating in the long cor- 
 ridors and passages, and, mellowed by distance, 
 thrummed in the upper rooms. 
 
 It mingled with the whispered softness of 
 the lover's tongue, sounding doubly sweet by 
 night. It added to the charm of beauty, as 
 she listened to the flattering tale, till the coy- 
 ness of the half-won maiden seemed to relax in 
 music ; and the glittering cavalier, with renewed 
 hope, led her to the dance. 
 
 How inferior is the fussy and excited style 
 of our own days compared vath such a scene as
 
 SHAKSPERE. 251 
 
 this, where all was open-hearted gaiety and 
 enjoyment, where, without effort, all was dig- 
 nified, and brilliant, and picturesque. 
 
 The very serving-men and maids, ranged in 
 a long row at the lower end of the hall, 
 seemed to add to the effect of the picture. 
 The men in their rich liveries with heraldic 
 badge upon the sleeve ; the maids, all in one 
 sort of costume, fitting and becoming for their 
 station in life; nay, the orchestra itself was a 
 picture, composed as it was, of respectable 
 personages, from the town of Stratford, grave- 
 looking, bearded, and staid, working away at 
 their different instruments, as if it was a mat- 
 ter of national pride and import, — the cele- 
 bration of the fair Charlotte's natal day. Each 
 in his quaint-cut doublet and scarlet hose. 
 How they clutched at the bass-viol, those fat 
 citizens, and glowed with the strains they pro- 
 duced; how the fiddlers jerked and worked at 
 their bows, with heads going, and feet keeping 
 time; how the puffed cheek of the horn- 
 blowers seemed to grow distended to the de- 
 gree of exploding; and how the eyes of the 
 whole party seemed to roll about in agony, 
 and follow the dancers as their strains excited
 
 252 SITAKSPERE. 
 
 tlicm to frcsli efforts ; and how resolutely, ever 
 and anon, they paused to take a long pull a^- 
 the huge flaggons placed within their reach; 
 returning to their instruments with renewed 
 rigour, and stamping to keep time, as if sitting 
 still was almost too great an effort, and they 
 longed to jump up, and fling out amongst the 
 best there; urging one another to quicker 
 movements and louder strains as the liquor 
 mounted and the evening wore on. 
 
 Amongst that gay and brilliant throng there 
 was one whose whole soul seemed wrapped in 
 melody. The soft tones of the floating min- 
 strelsy seemed to steal upon his heart. He 
 stood apart from all; aloof in person as in 
 mind, leaning against one of the quaint-cut 
 ornaments of the room. As his eye wandered 
 amongst the gay dancers, his countenance was 
 at times lighted up by an expression which 
 seemed divine. The greatness of his soul 
 shone out in his glorious countenance, and yet, 
 save by two persons, he was all unmarked. 
 
 It was the boy poet, the youthful Shak- 
 spere. 
 
 Walter Arderne, Avho felt that no assem- 
 blage could be complete which wanted the
 
 SHAKSPERE. 253 
 
 presence of his friend, no lioiir enjoyed but 
 in his company, had brought him again to 
 Clopton, where he mingled in the scene, not so 
 much a guest as a spectator. And jet un- 
 known as unmarked, or, if regarded, perhaps 
 but calling forth a passing remark upon his 
 good looks, how greatly did that youth feel 
 himself the superior of all there, elevated as 
 some of them were in station. The fineness 
 and acuteness of organic sensibility made him 
 alive to all the mighty world of ear and eye. 
 Nothing escaped him ; and yet feeling this 
 within himself, and in strength of mind a 
 demigod, in profundity of view a prophet '"', he 
 moved amongst the throng, as if unconscious 
 of being more than the most unassuming ser- 
 vitor in attendance. Gentle and open in 
 maner as a child. 
 
 The good Sir Hugh welcomed him to his 
 house, and presented him to two of his oldest 
 friends, as one to whom he owed much. " A 
 goodly lad," he said, " and of exceeding pro- 
 mise ; a ripe and ready wit, sirs. By 're Lady, 
 but he hath the knack of making me laugh till 
 
 * Scliegel's estimate of Shakspere.
 
 254 SHA.KSPERE. 
 
 my face is like a ^\'et uapkin. Naj, and lie 
 incliteth rlijmes, too, it w'ould do jou good to 
 hear. A poet, I'll assure ye, sirs, already, 
 and a rare one, too. Go tlij ^^ajs, lad; go 
 thv ways. 'Fore Heaven we owe tliee much, 
 and hope to requite it.'' 
 
 " A young friend," said Arderne, to one of 
 the ladies with whom he danced, and as he 
 pointed the unconscious poet out to her, whilst 
 standing at the lower end of the hall. "A 
 young friend who, though in humble life, seems 
 to me of somewhat extraordinary character, 
 and in whom I am greatly interested. He 
 unites in his genius the utmost elevation and 
 the utmost depth; and the most foreign, and 
 even irreconcilable properties subsist in him 
 together. I cannot describe to you the delight 
 I experience in the companionship of that 
 youth." The lady glanced her eye towards the 
 part of the hall indicated by AYalter Arderne, 
 as he mentioned his friend. It was but a 
 glance, and she observed the person indicated. 
 The words humble life was, however, quite 
 sufficient to destroy all interest in the bosom 
 of the beauty, for Clara de Mowbray (albeit 
 she was both lovely and amiable) partook, in
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 255 
 
 some sort, of the pride of her race. Added 
 to this, she was the yictim of an unrequited 
 passion, and save for the tall handsome form 
 and expressive features of her partner, she 
 had no ejes. 
 
 " I should have imagined, from all I hare 
 this night beheld,'' she said, "there was but 
 one in this room, naj in this world, who could 
 take up even a moment of jour care or 
 thoughts, fair sir. This new-found friend 
 must, indeed, be a rare specimen, if he can 
 wean jour ejes for a moment from Charlotte 
 Clopton. But that, indeed," she added, with 
 a sigh, "is as it should be; she is, I think, 
 to-night more beautiful than ever!'' 
 
 Walter sighed, and unconsciouslj his glance 
 wandered in search of his betrothed. " You 
 are a shrewd observer, ladj/' he said, looking 
 full in her expressive face, — and indeed, 
 except Charlotte Clopton, whose beautj was 
 of a different character, Clara de Mowbray 
 was one of the most beautiful women in the 
 countj. " You are a great observer, ladj," 
 he said, " and jet jou have failed to observe 
 how much jour own beautj excites admira- 
 tion from all present to-night." Naj, I am
 
 256 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 not blind myself, llO^Ycyc^ much I may lay 
 nndcr the imputation with which you have 
 charged me." 
 
 " To love is no such heavy sin, Sir Arderne," 
 said the lady, '' an if it were so, you would 
 indeed require sufficing penance and absolu- 
 tion, since you are a very votary to the bhnd 
 god." 
 
 "And she to whom my vows are given," 
 he said, " is she not worthy of an emperor's 
 lover' 
 
 "She is worthy of the love of him who 
 seeks her hand," said Clara, somewhat sadl}^ 
 " She is my dear and early friend, and I could 
 not wish greater happiness to her than that 
 in store. Unless the emperor were AYalter 
 Arderne, and the empire he inherited here in 
 Warwickshire, I conclude Charlotte would 
 scarce become an empress." 
 
 "You speak not this as you think," said 
 Arderne, doubtfully, yet dehghted at so much 
 confirmation from one of the intimate friends 
 of his beloved Charlotte. 
 
 " I speak as I feel," said Clara ; " I know 
 the worth of both, and how well both deserve ; 
 and yet methinks youth and valour should not
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 257 
 
 altogether succumb to Cupid. Were I a man, 
 I should seek for action and to be worthy in 
 deed" 
 
 The youth gazed with increasing admiration 
 upon the radiant face of the lady. He almost 
 doubted whether its exceeding loveliness did 
 not equal that of his betrothed. 
 
 " Ah," he said, gaily, turning towards his 
 new friend, who at the moment approached, 
 " giro us assurance, gentle Shakspere, we that 
 are in love; and teach this lady to respect the 
 passion." 
 
 Shakspere looked full at the lady: he 
 seemed struck with the beauty of her face and 
 form. " Love, first learned in a lady^s eyes," 
 he said, gaily, 
 
 "Lives not alone Immured in tlie brain; 
 But with the motion of all elements, 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power; 
 And gives to every power a double power, 
 Above their functions and their offices. 
 Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
 Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs." 
 
 " That is indeed a singular being!" said the 
 lady, gazing after the youtli as he passed 
 through the crowd and quitted the room. 
 "Who and what isheT'
 
 258 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 " 'Tis him of whom I just now spoke," said 
 Arderne; "but come, let us seek Charlotte 
 Clopton; I thought I saw her leave the room 
 but now to seek the purer air of the gardens. 
 I will tell thee more of our acquaintance with 
 this youth as we go."" 
 
 It was a bright and lorelj night, and with 
 all the freedom and licence of the age, many 
 of the younger guests had sought the pleasure- 
 grounds and gardens of the Hall, whilst their 
 more staid guardians and parents held con- 
 verse within doors. 
 
 Here and there was to be seen a group 
 seated or reclined upon the velvet turf, whilst 
 others paced up and down the terrace, or 
 disappeared and were lost in the dark walks, 
 till the joyous strains of the orchestra within 
 again recalled them to the dance. 
 
 If the quick eyes of love had enabled the 
 lady Clara to observe the object to which 
 Walter Arderne's thoughts were that night 
 fixed, the same observation had failed in 
 showing her on whom the affections of her 
 rival was centred. 
 
 Indeed, although Charlotte Clopton, both 
 from her beauty and her position as the he- 
 roine of the night, was necessarily the observed
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 259 
 
 of all obserrers, and her hand sought for bv 
 eyerv cavalier in the room, those who looked 
 closely at her might hare observed a tinge of 
 nielancholv in her countenance, and a rest- 
 lessness about her which showed she was not 
 in the enjoyment of her own content. To 
 herself hardly dared she own it. as her rest- 
 less glance traversed the room, but she felt that 
 one minute's conversation with her romantic 
 friend, — nay, one word, or but an exchanged 
 glance, — would be worth all the gallant 
 speeches she endured from the gayer cavaliei*s 
 by whom she was surrounded. 
 
 This new friend, however, had not once 
 approached her on that night. He had stu- 
 diously kept in the background, and although 
 he had unobserved caught sight of her, he had 
 even carefully avoided those parts of the room 
 in which she was engaged with her yarious 
 partners and friends. Xay, the pleasure he 
 experienced in the gay and festive scene, like 
 that of the fair Charlotte, was tinged with an 
 occasional melancholy: a soft and cbeamy 
 sadness mingled with the brighter thoughts 
 called into play by the sight of beauty and the 
 strains of music.
 
 260 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 With sucli feelings lie quitted the house, 
 and passed into the gardens of the Hall, those 
 lovelv grounds looking, as thej did, so fair and 
 soft in the bright moonlight. And how often 
 do Tre find it thus in life! How oft do we 
 see the most worthy wending his way unno- 
 ticed, unobserved, unappreciated, and unknown, 
 whilst the giddy, the frivolous, the vain, and 
 even the vile, are sunning themselves in the 
 smiles of patronage and favour, playing their 
 fantastic tricks, and (swollen with the success 
 their cringing falsehood has attained.) whilst 
 patient merit, scorning the rout, passes on 
 unsought. 
 
 The night, as Lorenzo words it, was but 
 the dayhght sick, "it looked a little paler/' 
 The youthful poet threw himself upon a grassy 
 bank, shadowed by trees, and as the sounds 
 of music crept upon his ears, 
 
 " Soft stillness, and tlie night. 
 Became the touches of sweet harmony." 
 
 And what indeed were the thoughts and ima- 
 ginings the scene and hour gave rise to? — • 
 Thoughts softened by the sweet breath of a 
 summer's night, loaded with perfume, and
 
 SHAKSPERE. 261 
 
 bearing harmony from the distance. At such 
 moment the mind reverts to days long past, 
 or even revels in the fabled ages of the early 
 world. In such as a night as this, 
 
 " When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees 
 And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
 Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls 
 And sighed his soul towards the Grecian tents 
 "Where Cressid lay." 
 
 And, 
 
 " In such a night, 
 Stood Dido with a willow in her hand. 
 Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love 
 To come again to Carthage." 
 
 It was v.hilst Shakspere remained thus se- 
 questered and alone, and in the indulgence of 
 the thoughts produced by such a situation, 
 that the company had sought the gardens, and 
 the walks, and alleys, the green slopes, and 
 mossed banks, became suddenly peopled with 
 bright forms, and which in a moment gave 
 another and gayer aspect, and a totally diffe- 
 rent turn to the entire scene. The stillness, 
 and the sweet touches of distant music, and 
 which had so stolen upon his heart, was noAV 
 chaniied to the sounds of lauditer and loud
 
 262 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 conversation. In the shaded walks were now 
 to be seen some tall form, clad in brave attire ; 
 his jewelled hat and gay plume bent down as 
 he conversed with the lady at his side, and, in 
 the open space before him, the different groups 
 lent a lustre to the gardens which only gay 
 costume and forms of beauty can give. As 
 he remarked the scene before him, the joyous 
 and sportive throng thus revelling in happiness, 
 — the very heavens " thick inlaid with patines 
 of bright gold," he presently observed a 
 dark and ominous cloud slowly and stealthily 
 mounting, as it were, from the south. It 
 seemed to emerge from the distant woods like 
 a pall, and as if emblematic of the short-lived 
 days of mortals, — gradually stole over one 
 side of the heavens. 
 
 Yes, that flaunting throng w^as like the 
 pleasures of the world. " Those clouds were 
 like its coming cares.'' Whilst he watched 
 their slow development, a light footstep ap- 
 proached, and Charlotte Olopton stood before 
 him. 
 
 Was it his fancy, or was it that the silver 
 brightness falhng on the spot on which she 
 stood, gave an ethereal appearance to the
 
 SHAKSPERE. 26S 
 
 beautiful girl, a ghost-like and shadowy look, 
 which, for the moment, struck him with a sort 
 of awe '? He arose from his recumbent posture, 
 and, as he did so, he observed she was un- 
 usually pale. Nay, as he gazed upon that 
 sweet face and form, he could not help seeing 
 that it was with difficulty she kept herself 
 from falling. 
 
 "I fear me, lady,'' he said, (struck with 
 sudden alarm,) " you are not well V 
 
 " A feeling of illness has indeed come over 
 me," said Charlotte, " and which I cannot 
 entirely shake off. I tliought the air of the 
 gardens would have taken it away, but it has 
 not done so.'' 
 
 " Suffer me to lead you in," said Shakspere, 
 taking her hand, "perhaps some cordial will 
 restore you '?" 
 
 "JSTot so," said Charlotte; "I have sought 
 this spot as I knew it was a favourite one with 
 you. I felt you would be here, and that I 
 must see you. I know not wherefore but a 
 presentiment of evil is upon me. I feel as if 
 I spoke to thee this night for the last time." 
 
 There was a wildness in the manner of 
 Charlotte Clopton, as she said this, which
 
 264 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 increased tlic anxiety of her admirer, and, as 
 he saw that she was really suffering from some 
 sudden feeling of illness, he again intreated 
 her to seek the house. She, however, again 
 refused. " I liave sought this opportunity to 
 speak to you,'' she said, " for I felt I must do 
 so; nay, I feel as if I should die unless I 
 unburthened myself to one I so highly esteem, 
 one to whom I owe so much, one so noble and 
 so good; nay, were it to any but to thee 
 (generous and sweet in disposition as thou 
 art, AVilliam Shakspere,) I should shame to 
 say so much. But well I know that none can 
 know thee and refrain from loving; can trust 
 thee and repent." 
 
 To say that the youthful poet could hear 
 this from a being so beautiful, and not forget 
 all the resolutions he had previously made to 
 subdue and conceal his passion, would be to 
 describe one of those over-perfect mortals 
 existing only in the imagination of the prudish. 
 
 William Shakspere was no such perfection 
 of a hero ; he had sought to quench his love's 
 hot fire, 
 
 " Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason."
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 265 
 
 The intense feelings of joutli, however, and 
 which in after-life led him so forcibly to pour- 
 tray the passion he felt, now completely over- 
 came all his prudential resolves. 
 
 The beins he had thouoht so much above 
 him, and in secret loved, had confessed her 
 feelings. He was instantly lost to every thing 
 but his love for her. Its hopelessness, its 
 seeming treachery towards his new and gene- 
 rous friend, all were forgotten as he gazed 
 upon Charlotte and returned her vows. And 
 yet, what was this love, so pure, so unselfish, 
 so unlikely ever to meet witli reward? It 
 rather lacked even at its commencement the 
 rapturous intoxication of hope, and seemed 
 even at the moment of its mutual confidence 
 to partake of the bitterness of certain disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 Whilst the various groups had been enjoying 
 themselves in the grounds the heavens had 
 become gradually overcast, till one entire por- 
 tion was mantled with the darksome veil now 
 rapidly extending; distant rumbling peals too, 
 like the sound of heavy ordnance from afar, 
 and large heavy drops of rain, gave notice of 
 the coming storm. This, together with the 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 SHAKSrERE. 
 
 renewed sound of music, warned the revellers 
 around again to seek tlie shelter of the Hall, 
 and, as Cliarlotte Clopton heard her name 
 called, the lovers too felt tliat they must part. 
 Yet still they lingered, and had more to say. 
 
 The voice of Martin, however, calling upon 
 Charlotte, who had now been suddenly missed 
 from amongst the guests, and sought for in 
 the house, recalled them to the necessity of 
 separating. Their parting seemed a sad one, 
 and although the feeling of illness Charlotte 
 had previously felt had now partially left her, 
 she still felt a sensation of languor and a 
 weight upon her spirits she could not account 
 for. 
 
 Her lover observed this, and that her cheek, 
 ordinarily so full of bloom, was deadly pale, 
 fifiving her dark brown tresses a still darker 
 shade, and he parted from her with an ill 
 divining soul. 
 
 In his present frame of mind Shaksperc felt 
 no longer any desire to witness the gaieties 
 •within doors, and yet he found it impossible to 
 tear himself away from the gardens. He loved 
 to breathe the neighbouring air, and as he lis- 
 tened to the music, he tried to fancy her he
 
 SHAKSPERE. 267 
 
 loved still adding to the grace and beauty of 
 the assemblage. 
 
 Whilst he thus remained lost in his own 
 thoughts, the threatened storm suddenly burst 
 forth. The thunder crashed over head, and 
 the lightning darted along the walks and 
 alleys of the gardens, and then came the rain, 
 rushing upon the earth like a cataract, suddenly 
 bursting bounds. 
 
 These sounds were mingled with the tread 
 of horses' hoofs as they clattered into the 
 stable-yard, and then came a short and rapid 
 word of command. A few minutes more and 
 the music ceased ; rapid and hurried footsteps 
 were heard, as of guests suddenly departing, 
 coupled with lamentations and sounds of alarm. 
 The mirth of the assemblage seemed suddenly 
 to have been marred, and their good cheer 
 spoiled, and such indeed was the case. 
 
 In the very midst of the revel, and whilst 
 the festive cup was drained around to the 
 health of Sir Hugh and his fair child, that 
 child had again been seized with illness and 
 fainted. 
 
 Attributing it to the heat and excitement 
 she had undergone. Sir Hugh bore her to her 
 
 N 2
 
 268 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 coiicli, and as she soon recovered from her 
 svroon he again sought his guests. 
 
 When lie did so, he observed that during 
 his absence the party had been increased by 
 the addition of some half a dozen cavaliers 
 completely armed, and as he entered the room 
 the chief of the party stepped up to him, and 
 laid his hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Sir Hugh Clopton of Clopton," he said, 
 in a loud voice, " I arrest thee of high treason 
 in the name of our most sovereign lady the 
 Queen."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE TLAGUE AT STRATFORD. 
 
 The swift passage of events, and which it 
 has taken some little time to record, has ne- 
 cessarily obliged us to omit mention of several 
 minor characters of our story, but who never- 
 theless have been playing their parts upon the 
 stage as well as those of greater note and im- 
 port. Amongst others Master Dismal, whose 
 cue it seemed to ferret out all sorts of disagree- 
 ables, and who seemed to batten upon horrors, 
 had not failed to follow up the hint promul- 
 gated at the Falcon regarding the sickness 
 which had appeared in the town. 
 
 At the period of our story the plague was 
 no uncommon visitor in the different towns in 
 England, and awful were the consequence of 
 such visitation when it appeared.
 
 270 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 In cases of this sort when some dire disease 
 breaks out amongst the poor and ignorant, they 
 generally at first conceal it. Struck with dis- 
 may, they yet resolve to doubt the suspicious 
 appearance till confirmation of its reality 
 drives them to disclosure. 
 
 The plague was indeed so much dreaded 
 at this time that those first infected were 
 looked upon with as much horror and dislike 
 as if they were absolutely guilty of its pro- 
 duction. 
 
 The very suspicion of its appearance was 
 sufficient to frighten the town from its pro- 
 priety. The inhabitants withdrew from the 
 businesses and pleasures of life like snails 
 within their shells. Each feared his neigh- 
 bour, and all around was distrust and dread. 
 It was this fear, together with the unclean 
 state of the town and most of the houses in it 
 which made the pestilence so quick and so 
 fatal in its effects. Evils, it has been said, 
 are more to be dreaded from the suddenness 
 of their attack than from their magnitude or 
 duration. In the storms of life those that are 
 foreseen are half overcome. 
 
 This disease, however, was in general as
 
 SHAKSPERE. 271 
 
 formidable and as difficult to get rid of in a 
 town, as its coming was sudden and unex- 
 pected. It was like the wind wliicli sailors 
 term the tiffoon, pouncing upon the vessel like 
 an eagle upon the prej, and paralyzing the 
 victim at once. 
 
 Master Dismal, had received intelligence of 
 this visitation by an anonymous communi- 
 cation, written upon a dirty scrap of paper, 
 and which had been one night thrown in at 
 his window. 
 
 The scrawl was in such strange hiero- 
 glyphics, and so vaguely worded, that any 
 other person besides himself would have failed 
 in hitting upon its hidden meaning ; but the 
 busy-body had a peculiar facility in decipher- 
 ing and discovering horrors. Nay, his visita- 
 tions amongst his neighbours and townfolks 
 were generally looked upon by them as a sure 
 harbinger of evil in one shape or other. He 
 was a sort of stormy petrel in the town, a 
 forerunner of danger and despair. He even 
 loved to watch the progress of misery and 
 disease, contemplating the ills mankind are 
 subject to, with a philosophic eye. 
 
 If a whole family were to be swept off, his
 
 272 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 visits continued as longj as the disease lasted 
 amongst them ; and he made his entrance and 
 took his leave with the doctor. 
 
 In fact, it was his recreation to study the 
 maladies and miseries " the poor compounded 
 clay, man, is heir to." Accidents and wounds, 
 and indeed every sort of infliction his neigh- 
 bours were subject to, it was his humour to 
 w^atch curiously, — nay, he was even interested 
 in the sight of a felon's ear, nailed to the cart- 
 wheel, w^hilst a knave set in the stocks, or a 
 vagabond whipped through the town, w^as a 
 matter of reflection, and a spectacle to be 
 hunted after ; and when Dame Patch was 
 placed upon the cuckin stool, and then ducked 
 in the Avon for lying and slander, he was 
 observed next day to pay her a visit of con- 
 dolence, whilst some affirmed that he had even 
 remained a whole week in her dwelling to offer 
 her consolation in her distress. 
 
 In addition to these peculiarities we need 
 hardly mention that the funeral bell w^as at 
 any time a grateful sound to his ears, seldom 
 failing to call him forth from his home, what- 
 ever his employment might happen to be. 
 
 Then again he loved to contemplate a batch
 
 SIIAKSPERE. 273 
 
 of dirty urchius, in all the enjoyment of mud 
 and mire, freedom and mischief, revelling in 
 undisturbed possession of the kennel or the 
 road, and to speculate upon tlie chances 
 against one-third of them reaching maturity, 
 or their probable fate if they did so. " Ah !'" 
 he would say, as he patted the cheek of a 
 strong, curly-headed varlet, " you're a despe- 
 rate dog and a wilful! You'll hang, — that's 
 a clear case. You're an ill weed," he would 
 continue^ singling out a squalid brat, " a poor 
 half tester to give the worms, hut theijll have 
 you soon. And ijou,^^ he would say, catching 
 a third by the ear, and twisting it till the boy 
 roared again, " you have good lungs I trow, 
 and may possibly live to manhood, hut the 
 three-hooped pot and the flaggon will be the 
 end on't with you too anon. You're for the 
 wars," he continued to another, "I see the 
 devil in your eye, poor victim of a toy drum 
 and service. And you, — yes, you may live 
 on and propagate more miser}'. Let me see, 
 that's two out of five that I shall see put to 
 bed with a shovel, and two more that will die 
 in their shoes. Good," he would then say, 
 with a chuckle of satisfaction. *' Now I'll 
 
 N 3
 
 274 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 just call in upon Dame Illwill, and have a 
 gossip with her, and then to dinner/' 
 
 Follo^ving the clue given him by the ano- 
 nymous communication, and which he had 
 received a few hours before he announced the 
 news it contained at the Falcon, he had made 
 a search through the locality hinted at. The 
 note, which was vaguely and mysteriously 
 worded, had pointed to some house in the 
 suburbs ; and, after duly calling over the differ- 
 ent persons whom he considered likely to have 
 been the writer of the billet, he fixed it upon a 
 crazy, half insane fellow, living in a lone house 
 in Henly Street. 
 
 Accordingly when the shadows of evening 
 descended, he went prying about, and peeping 
 into all the windows, and listening at all the 
 doors on either side that street. " AYat Mur- 
 dake," he said to himself, "is a maniac, — a 
 dangerous fellow at times, having fits of vio- 
 lence quite awful to look on. He killed his 
 wife with a shoemaker's awl, pierced her ear 
 when she was asleep, — at least, so it is said, 
 and he confesses it even now in his ravings, — 
 but that's nought. Many an old host that I 
 know would be glad to do the same, if they
 
 SHAKSPERE/ "175 
 
 dared, for the wouien do drive men to despe- 
 rate deeds with that unruly member the 
 tongue. Wat Murdake is a dangerous fellow 
 at times, and exceeding mad always, but then 
 he is pretty cunning, and keepeth a sure eye 
 upon his neighbour. An I cannot find 
 these plague-spots, I will seek him and make 
 inquiry, for 'tis good I saw into the matter at 
 once. 
 
 " Ah ! what's that I hear '? A scream '? No, 
 it's only a child squalling, and the mother 
 singing it to sleep with a merry song. There's 
 no misery there. So pass we on to the next. 
 What's that, a groan'? l\o, it's a fellow prac- 
 tising on the bass-yiol. All right I trow there ; 
 where music is contentment rests, and no 
 plague. What's this 1" he continued, listening 
 at the next house, ''lamentations and words 
 of woe'? No, it's man and wife quarrelling. 
 Ah! and there they go to blows. There is no 
 real misery there, but what they make for 
 themselves ; the've plague enough, but not the 
 plague I seek. Pass we on again. Wliat's 
 here'? the bones rattling? Yes, dicing, drink- 
 ing, and brawl. It's not there. It ma^ come 
 to that, but they don't begin so, Tliere'U be
 
 276 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 death, perhaps, in the house, but it will be by 
 violence, not disease — to-night, to-morrow, 
 perhaps; who knows 1'^ And so Master Dis- 
 mal passed on from door to door, taking his 
 cue of good or ill from the employment of the 
 inmates of the different houses. At length he 
 came to a lone, squalid-looking hut, the last 
 but one in the street, standing in its own 
 untrimmed and neglected garden ; a ruin with 
 walls so rent as to show one-half of its heavy- 
 beamed rooms in a skeleton state ; the remain- 
 der being patched up to expel the wind and 
 rain, and reclaimed, as it were, in a slovenly 
 manner, from the general state of decay. 
 
 The toad sat and croaked in the long damp 
 grass, and the lizard crawled over the muddy 
 pathway to the door, as Dismal stopped and 
 listened. 
 
 " This looks like business,'^ he said, " I quite 
 forgot this house of ill-omen. Ah! what a 
 dirty-mantled pond in the garden! Here we 
 have it, sure enough! there's no mistaking 
 these sounds! Let me see, this is the resi- 
 dence of Smite Drear and his family, the most 
 drunken, ill-conducted, dirty, evil-minded lot 
 in all Warwickshire — the man a vile caitiff, a
 
 SHAKSPERE. 277 
 
 puritan whose tongue is ruin; tlie woman a 
 slanderer also, and a termagant ; the children 
 thieves, liars, and imps of ill. Vm sure ifs 
 here; I hnoio ifs here; it must be here; it 
 ought to be here; it is here. Yes and here it 
 is, sure enough! If I could only get a peep 
 into the interior, I should know in a minute. 
 Let me see; whereas my pouncet-box ? I'm 
 not over-fond of intruding into this house — as 
 the caitiff Drear kicked me out the last time 
 I went in, what time his wife lay-in. Ah! 
 there's another groan, and the sob of a female ! 
 I hear some one praying, too ; rather unusual 
 that, I trow. I must go in. — But no, I cannot 
 get in, the door is fastened; 111 knock.'' 
 
 It was some time before the summons of 
 Master Dismal was answered. But at last 
 the owner of the hovel removed a broken 
 shutter from an upper window, and thrusting 
 out his head, growled a malediction upon the 
 person disturbing him. 
 
 " Pass on," he said, " and trouble us not." 
 
 " I would crave permission," said Dismal, 
 " to pay a visit on matters '' 
 
 " Crave nothing here," said Drear. " Seek
 
 278 SHAKSFERE. 
 
 nothing here. Sickness and death are \>'ithin 
 our doors : ^ve are accursed/' 
 
 " I would fain offer consolation, and observe 
 the nature of jour illness/' said Dismal. " I 
 would inform the leech, or even summon other 
 aid in your need." 
 
 "Who is it speaks?' said Drear, thrusting 
 liis head further out. "All, I see! Hence, 
 screech-owl — bird of ill; hence, wretch, lest I 
 come down and beat thee! Hence, hound, 
 whose bark never boded aught but death to 
 the sick man. We wanted but tlij visit to 
 make us certain of our fate." 
 
 So saying. Drear violently put up his shutter 
 and withdrew. 
 
 "Ah," said Dismal, " you may talk, my mas- 
 ter, till you've tired yourself But I know all 
 about it now. If I cannot get in, by my troth 
 I'll take care to put a sign which shall Iiindcr 
 you from getting out. Plague or no plague, 
 I'll cause them to look in upon you who have 
 authority to do so." So saying, Master Dismal 
 took a large lump of red-ochre from his pocket, 
 and with considerable care marked up a broad 
 red cross upon the door, lie then, as he
 
 SHAKSPERE. 279 
 
 knew it \ras about the hour the watch passed, 
 quietly withdrew to the opposite side of the 
 street, and ensconsing himself behind the but- 
 tress of a wall, w^aited the event. 
 
 In a short time the watch came up; they 
 passed Master Dismal where he stood Mdthout 
 discoYcring him, and then proceeded to the 
 yery end of the street. According to their 
 custom (in making the rounds at night) they 
 then halted, ordered their pikes, trimmed their 
 lights, and stood at ease for a few minutes, 
 ere they returned down the other side of the 
 street; examining each door they passed by 
 holding up the light they carried. 
 
 At the first tenement they found nothing 
 extraordinary, the fellow who carried the light, 
 w^hich was a sort of cresset at the end of a 
 bar of iron, held it aloft, and as its lurid 
 glare fell upon the house it displayed its walls 
 clear as in open daylight. " All right, pass,'' 
 said the head constable, and so they passed on 
 to the next. 
 
 Here the constable carrying the cresset was 
 merely about to raise it and pass on, wdien, as 
 he did so, the whole party vreve arrested in 
 speechless alarm by a sign they knew too well
 
 280 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 from former visitation. " The plague !" said 
 the first, in a voice modulated almost to a 
 whisper. " The plague !" said the second, "why, 
 I heard not of it before." " The searcher's 
 mark," said the second, " I knew not he had 
 been sent out." '*' Advance your light again, 
 Diccon," said a third, "and observe if the 
 house be padlocked up." " I see no fastening," 
 said Diccon, " and yet, 'tis the searcher's mark 
 sure enough ; pass on, in heaven's name, com- 
 rades," and on passed the watch ; no longer 
 with measured tread, but with accelerated and 
 fearful steps to inform the headborough of 
 what they had seen. Master Dismal stealing 
 after them in a state of the most exuberant 
 dee at his own conceit and its success. 
 
 The spread of the disease, as was usual at 
 this period, was extremely rapid. Indeed, it 
 had risen to some height in tlie town before 
 the authorities would consent to believe it 
 really existed. Jn such cases, and in former 
 days, precautionary measures were seldom 
 thought of. Men drove off all thought of the 
 evil; when they found it was really amongst 
 them, or what they feared, they kept to them- 
 selves. At first they turned sulky under the
 
 SIIAKSPERE. 281 
 
 infliction, if we may so term it, barring up 
 their doors and deserting the streets; they 
 avoided each other as much as possible, seek- 
 ing air and recreation and forgetfulness by 
 taking to the wastes and commons around. 
 Leaving their homes by the back doors they 
 almost deserted the streets in search of the 
 necessaries of life. As it grew worse the 
 town seemed depopulated even before the 
 disease had time to work, so empty w^ere its 
 streets. 
 
 But a few days had passed since all the out 
 door sports and diversions of the age and the 
 season had been in full play. Those gay and 
 jovial May-day games, in the quaint mazes of 
 the wanton green ; those rural fetes and diver- 
 sions — the wakes and revels — the May-pole 
 dances — the parties of pleasure into the 
 shadowy desert unfrequented woods, and which 
 the peasantry of old were so fond of, all had 
 ■ ceased as it were on the instant. The human 
 mortals feared each other, a secret dread, 
 however each member of a family kept the 
 native colour of his cheek, was in the heart of 
 each. The very air seemed infected, and the 
 aspect of the town took a ghastly hue. It
 
 282 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 smelt of death, men tlioiiglit. Business stopped 
 in it. No markets Avere attended. No 
 strangers passed tlirougli it. It was a place 
 infected, ayoided, accursed.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MOEE TROUBLE AT CLOPTOK 
 
 Meanwhile, as misfortunes seldom come 
 but in battalions, Sir Hugh Clopton (even 
 before he had heard of the appearance of 
 the disease) had been arrested of high treason, 
 and carried off to London with several other 
 gentlemen of condition in the county, and who 
 had likewise been mixed up in the confession 
 of Master Walter Neville. 
 
 It is indeed hardly possible to describe the 
 dire confusion which ensued upon this unex- 
 pected event taking place on the night of the 
 feast at Clopton Hall. Sir Hugh himself was 
 the only person of his household and family 
 who seemed to retain his self-command. 
 "Walter Ardernc would, at first, have fain struck 
 down the Queen's officer and expelled his
 
 284 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 men. The faithful Martin was almost dis- 
 traught. The serving-men and retainers were 
 scared and indignant at the same time ; and the 
 guests in a state of astonishment and dismay. 
 
 " Heed it not, my masters all," said Sir 
 Hugh, " 'tis a mistake altogether. I a traitor 
 to our blessed Queen ? pah. I would she had 
 but such traitors in all her foes ; methinks I 
 know where this matter originates, and shall 
 set it right upon examination.'' 
 
 " I hope so," said the officer ; " nevertheless, 
 there is one other I am to secure within your 
 household, but my people have just learnt he 
 hath fled on our approach." 
 
 "In the name of Heaven," said Sir Hugh, 
 "who else lays under this strange misconcep- 
 tion r 
 
 " A priest but lately come from over sea, 
 commonly called Father Eustace," said the 
 officer. 
 
 " Eustace !" said Sir Hugh, " why he was 
 here but now. Is he too accused V 
 
 " He is," said the officer, " and must, if pos- 
 sible, be apprehended ; some of my party have 
 followed on his trail." 
 
 "Any more of my family, household, or
 
 SHAKSPERE. 285 
 
 personal friends, implicated V said Sir Hugli, 
 somewhat bitterly. "I trust I shall set my 
 accuser, ^YhocTer he be, before my rapier's 
 point, when I promise him such mercy as it 
 affords, no onore" 
 
 " I feel sorry to put any force upon you. Sir 
 Hugh,'' said the officer, " especially before this 
 goodly company, but my orders are peremptorj', 
 and I must convey you to Warwick to-night; 
 to-morrow with all speed toAvards London." 
 
 "Nay," said Sir Hugh, "good sir, you 
 but express my own washes in this matter. 
 To the Tower with me at once. An there be 
 any limb or member o' my body found guilty 
 of this sin — torture it : an the Queen find that 
 my head hath entertained a thought against 
 her — off with it : an my heart hath conceived 
 treason — tear it out. To horse then in God's 
 name, and let us put on wdthout delay." 
 
 And truly did the good Sir Hugh bespeak 
 himself^ whilst most of the guests standing in 
 amaze around, and, with tears in their eyes, 
 beheld him made prisoner, and conveyed from 
 his own domain. Under the circumstances in 
 which he found himself, it was a great relief to
 
 286 SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 the good kniglit that his daughter was saved 
 from the grief and misery of seeing and taking 
 leave of him. 
 
 The coming of the officers and the arrest of 
 her father it was hastily arranged should be 
 carefully concealed, and her attendants were 
 enjoined to say that a sudden summons from 
 the Queen had obliged Sir Hugh instantly to 
 depart. 
 
 Meantime the faithful Martin undertook to 
 remain in watcliful attendance upon her, whilst 
 Arderne, whose feelings would not permit him 
 to stay behind, accompanied the party in 
 charge of the old knight, and whom he swore 
 never to leave till he was again at liberty. 
 
 "I will gain audience of the Queen," he 
 said, " instantly, and not leave the Court until 
 I know the vile traducer who hath thus de- 
 nounced thee, uncle. Thou a traitor, indeed! 
 Thou soul of honour, loyalty, and truth! 
 Treason hath no existence. No place to hide 
 in aught where thou abidest." 
 
 And thus (as is oft tlie case in life) the 
 scene became on the sudden overcast. At the 
 moment of its brightness — the gaiety, the 
 splendour, and the happiness of the party
 
 SHAKSPERE. 287 
 
 were dasliecl; whilst those who had met toge- 
 ther with light hearts and fantastic spirits, 
 dispersed with eyil foreboding and slow and 
 heavy footsteps. 
 
 In a party of this sort, in Warwickshire, it 
 was customary oft-times to keep up the revel 
 till dawn, whilst every nook and corner of the 
 dwelling was made available for those of the 
 guests who chose to remain afterwards. 
 
 With the good old English hospitality which 
 despised form. Sir Hugh had previously ar- 
 ranged for many of his most intimate friends 
 to stay a few days at Olopton and partake in 
 the sport his preserves afforded. The dogs 
 and falcons were to have been put in requisi- 
 tion, and the heronry and the thick covers 
 around beat for game. 
 
 Indeed two or three did remain at Clopton 
 the next day ; not for the purpose of recreating 
 themselves with the old knight's hawks, but 
 from their anxiety about the illness of the fair 
 Charlotte, and in the hope of seeing her re- 
 appear from her room with renewed health. 
 
 Such however was not to be the case, as she 
 grew rapidly worse, and it was found neces- 
 sary to summon the leech from Stratford.
 
 288 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Soon after his arrival, tlie faithful Martin, with 
 a face of alarm, took upon himself to dismiss 
 the guests. Ilis charge, he said, Tvas extremely 
 ill. Her complaint was pronounced by the 
 leech to be both infectious and dangerous, and 
 under such circumstances, it was advisable for 
 them to shorten their visit. " Neither should I 
 be acting riglitlj," he added, " if I concealed it, 
 although' the rumour may possibly be without 
 foundation, but I had just heard the plague 
 hath broken out in Stratford." 
 
 Thus were the halls of Olopton — and which 
 but a few short hours before had displayed 
 such a scene of gaiety and revelling, — as sud- 
 denly changed to gloom and melancholy. 
 
 The domestics seemed to glide about with 
 noiseless step, hardly having heart to arrange 
 the different rooms, so that many of them 
 were left in the confusion and disarray they 
 had been in when the mirtli of the party was 
 so suddenly interrupted ; and, if the succeeding 
 day was fraught wdth melancholy, the night 
 was filled with terrors. Strange and awful 
 sounds were heard in some of the rooms. 
 Sounds which none could account for or dis- 
 cover the meaning of, although, at first attri-
 
 SHAKSPERE. 289 
 
 buting tliem to natural causes, the domestics 
 made search through those parts of the house 
 v/here thej had been heard. 
 
 Coming thus at a time of grief and mis- 
 fortune, and following sickness and the ru- 
 mours of so dire a disease as the plague, these 
 sounds had an ominous and awful appearance. 
 The domestics, much as they loved their em- 
 ployers, and commiserated them in their pre- 
 sent distress, were so much scared, that several 
 fled from the Hall to their own homes; and, 
 as the mysterious sounds continued night after 
 night growing more violent, and even extend- 
 ing from the part of the house to which they 
 had at first been confined, with the exception 
 of two or three of the upper servants, the 
 numerous domestics of the establishment had 
 almost all deserted it. 
 
 The faithful Martin was sorely troubled. 
 Living in an age when men's minds were easily 
 afi'ected by superstitious terrors, and a general 
 belief existed in supernatural agency, he how- 
 ever possessed an uncommon degree of firmness 
 and mental energy. At first he tried to 
 laugh at the terrors and complaints of the dif- 
 ferent servants, as they brought continued 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 reports of dreadful sounds existing in the 
 western wing of the Hall, and where the secret 
 hiding-places existed. Then, as his own cars 
 confirmed their reports, he shut himself up, 
 well armed, for a whole night in the apart- 
 ments where the spirit was said to be most 
 troublesome. 
 
 On this night, which was the third after 
 the departure of Sir Hugh, the sounds were 
 most terrific and awful. As if the evil genius 
 of the house of Clopton was either rejoicing 
 over the present state of the family, or impa- 
 tient for their utter destruction, it seemed in- 
 clined to drive the inmates to despair by its 
 violence. 
 
 Martin, having thrown himself upon the bed 
 in the apartment we have before seen tenanted 
 by the maniac Parry, was reclining in a half- 
 dozing state, a couple of huge petronels in his 
 belt and a drawn rapier upon the table, when 
 he was suddenly conscious of some one entering 
 the room, and sitting down beside the bed. 
 
 As he had carefully locked the door he was 
 in something surprised at this visitation; but 
 suspecting that some influence from without 
 was at work, and distrusting the Jesuitical
 
 SHAKSPERE. 291 
 
 priest Eustace, after a while he quietly and 
 cautiously rose, and then leaping suddenly 
 from the bed, confronted the supposed visitant 
 petronel in hand. 
 
 To his astonishment, however, no person 
 was there, — " He looked but on a stool." The 
 door, which had been violently burst in, was 
 still wide open, but no one was in the room 
 besides himself. This was the more extraor- 
 dinary as Martin was confident he had dis- 
 tinctly heard the person enter, and with swift 
 step passing into the apartment, seat itself by 
 his bedside. Nay, so quick and sudden seemed 
 the visit, that although a bold and determined 
 man, Martin had felt paralyzed and unable to 
 move for the first minute or two. His heart 
 beat violently; be was certain some one was 
 within a few inches of him as he lay, and yet 
 he could not move a limb ; till at length, shak- 
 ing ofi* the feeling, he rose to confront the in- 
 truder. Pistol in hand, he looked in every 
 part of the small room, " searching impossible 
 places" in his anxiety. He then descended 
 the narrow staircase, and looked into every 
 nook and corner of the apartment beneath, 
 but found not even a cobweb amiss. 
 
 2
 
 292 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Returniufij to liis couch lie refastened the 
 door, trimmed his lamp, placed it in the chair 
 beside his bed, examined his petronel, and 
 again lay down with the weapon firmly grasped 
 in his hand. " If there be any deceit in this," 
 he said to himself, " and which I feel inclined 
 to belieye is the case, I will make sure work 
 of it with the practiser. A bullet through his 
 heart or lungs, will lay his ghostship in the 
 Red Sea/^ 
 
 There had never been much good feeling in 
 existence between the shrewd Martin and the 
 priest Eustace. At the present moment the 
 former held the Jesuit in especial dislike. He 
 had a suspicion that the difficulties in which 
 Sir Hugh was now placed arose from some in- 
 trigues of the priest, whom he knew to be of an 
 unscrupulous and designing nature. The pre- 
 sent noises he conceived to be some contrivance 
 of this iron-hearted bigot, in order to scare the 
 servants of the establishment from that wing 
 of the building, and he accordingly resolved to 
 make a severe example of whoever he de- 
 tected. This idea nerved him to so great a 
 degree, that the extraordinary sounds he heard
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 293 
 
 at first failed in completely friglitening liim. 
 The situation, however, ^vas not altogether a 
 pleasant one. The silence, the loneliness, the 
 dangerous illness of his favourite Charlotte, 
 the peril in wliich the old knight was placed, 
 all crowded themselves upon his imagination 
 as he lay and watched. 
 
 For some time nothing occurred to disturb 
 his melancholy reflections, reflections which at 
 length took him from the present horror of the 
 time; and led on to other thoughts, till, at 
 length, the heavy summons of sleep began to 
 weigh upon his eyelids. 
 
 At this moment the clock from the old 
 tower in the stabling struck two. Scarcely 
 had it done so when a distant whirling sound 
 was heard; it seemed at first like a rushing 
 wind stirring the trees in the shrubbery with- 
 out, and steadily advancing towards the house. 
 It increased in sound as it did so, till it ap^ 
 peared to enter the house, and rushing up the 
 staircase with fearful violence the door again 
 was dashed open with a tremendous burst, 
 the lamp was extinguished at the same 
 moment, and the room seemed filled with 
 some strange and unnatural visitants.
 
 294 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Starting up at the moment of tlie door 
 being burst in Martin discharged his pistol full 
 at the entrance, and at the very instant the 
 light was extinguished. He then jumped, 
 sword in hand, into the middle of the room, 
 whilst a rushing sound, as of persons moving 
 about, was all around him. 
 
 The darkness, added to the horrors of his 
 situation, almost unmanned the bold Martin, 
 and spite of his determined character his heart 
 now beat violently and his hair bristled on his 
 head. Naj, so impressed was he with the 
 idea that some spectral beings were in the 
 apartment and even in his close vicinity, — nay, 
 perhaps, that the enemy of mankind was at 
 his very elbow and about to clutch him, that, 
 as he uttered a hasty prayer for the protec- 
 tion of Heaven, he executed several furious 
 backstrokes round the apartment, cutting a 
 huge gash in the bed furniture, demolishing 
 the back of an elaborately carved oaken chair, 
 and bringing down a cumbrous mirror, smashed 
 into a dozen pieces with as many blows. 
 Indeed, the natural sounds of this ruin in 
 some measure did away with the awe the 
 supernatural noises had created. There is
 
 SHAKSPERE. 295 
 
 always some relief in action in such cases. 
 The coward, for instance, makes use of his 
 legs in the midst of apprehension, the braye 
 man takes to his arms, and as the strange 
 sounds gradually subsided, seeming to traverse 
 through the rooms below in their progress, 
 Martin ceased from his exertions. 
 
 He was, however, now completely converted 
 to the opinion of the domestics that there was 
 something most strange and most unnatural in 
 this visitation. He felt awed and struck with 
 di'ead, and. lowering the point of his weapon, 
 he stood in the centre of the apartment listen- 
 ing attentively as the noise passed througli the 
 lower rooms. " There is surely something in 
 all this," he said to himself, " which is beyond 
 my comprehension. 'Tis a sound of warning. 
 I fear me some dire misfortune is in store. 
 Peradventure Sir Hugh is dead: great Heaven, 
 perhaps executed on the scaffold! Alas, my 
 poor Charlotte! But no, it cannot be so. 
 Heaven help us in our need, for we seem a 
 doomed people here." 
 
 A deep sigh sounded close to his cars as he 
 finished his soliloquy, so heavy, so long drawn, 
 and so startling, that his blood curdled in his
 
 296 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Tcins. He felt that lie could no longer remain 
 in tlie apartment, and hastily leaving it he 
 descended the stairs, and, opening the sliding 
 pannel, passed into the rooms usually habited 
 Avhen Sir Hugh was at home. 
 
 Here he felt in something reassured, and 
 groping his way to the door which admitted 
 to the garden, he threw it open and sought 
 relief in the free air. 
 
 The night was dark and a drizzling rain 
 descended, he stepped on to the grass-plat and 
 looked up at the apartment of his sick charge. 
 A light was in the room, a pale and sickly 
 gleam, which seemed to speak of watching and 
 woe at that dead hour. As he passed beneath 
 the window he thought he perceiyed a figure 
 gliding away, but the night was too dark for 
 him to be quite certain ; still he felt sure that 
 he had seen the outline of a form which, 
 gloomy as was the night, he recognized. 
 
 " 'Tis he, I feel assured," said Martin. " I 
 cannot mistake that form, even so indistinctly 
 seen, for there is none other like him. Alas ! 
 alas! 'tis even so. He watches her window 
 even in such a night as this. I saw they loved 
 each other from the first. Well, we are in the
 
 SHAKSPERE. 297 
 
 hands of Heaven, and 'tis Avrong to murmur. 
 If our ills are reparable, to complain is un- 
 grateful: if irremediable 'tis vain. What- 
 ever happens must have first pleased God, and 
 most pleased Him; or it had not happened. 
 There is no affliction which resignation cannot 
 conquer or death cure." 
 
 As Martin resigned himself to this comfort- 
 able doctrine he turned and re-entered the 
 house. 
 
 The dawn was noAV beginning to break, and 
 he resolved to knock at the chamber door of 
 the invalid and make some inquiry after her. 
 
 The first gray tint of morning began to 
 render objects in the room visible as he passed 
 through it. There stood the spinnet upon 
 which Charlotte had so lately played, the 
 music-book open. There was her lute lying 
 beside the music, and where it had been 
 laid on the night of the party, and beside 
 that laid the hood and jesses of her favourite 
 hawk. 
 
 Whilst Martin regarded these remembrances 
 of one now unable to use or enjoy them, a 
 pang of grief shot through his heart, that 
 sorrowful feeling with which we look upon the 
 
 3
 
 298 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 relics of the dead, and whom we have loved 
 dearly when in life ; and with that feeling 
 came the conviction that she who once played 
 so sweetly on that instrument, and so bravely 
 wore those trappings of her gallant bird, — she, 
 the young, the beautiful, was already parted 
 perhaps for ever from the pleasures of the 
 earth, — sick, prostrate, dying, — nay, even at 
 that moment perhaps dead. 
 
 With heavy heart and evil forebodings he 
 ascended the great staircase and sought Char- 
 lotte's room. His step was heard by the nurse 
 who attended on the invalid, and gently open- 
 ing the door she came forth to meet him. 
 
 The nurse was one of the old servants of 
 the family; she was pale as death Martin 
 observed as he advanced along the corridor. 
 *' We have had a fearful night," she said. 
 
 " But your charge V said Martin, " I trust in 
 Heaven she is better." 
 
 " Worse, Martin, worse," she replied; " worse 
 than I can. bring myself to tell thee. She is 
 now asleep, but hath been delirious all night." 
 
 " Now the gods help us," said Martin. 
 
 " Amen," said the nurse ; " she hath raved 
 much and talked wildly. To thee, Martin, I
 
 SHAKSPERE. 299 
 
 will confess it, she hatli spoken mucli of one 
 she loYes." 
 
 " I dare to say so/' said Martin, musing. 
 
 "But not of him of whom she should so 
 speak," said the nurse. " Not of him, our good 
 old master would like to have heard her speak 
 in such loving terms. Majhap I should sur- 
 prize you were I to say on whom her affections 
 seem fixed." 
 
 " I think not," said Martin, significantly. 
 
 " You think not V said the nurse, " and 
 wherefore V 
 
 "Because I know her secret as well as if 
 she had told it me," said Martin. "I have 
 seen it from the first." 
 
 "Hark!" said the nurse, "she is again in 
 one of these fits. Hear you that name, and 
 thus called on." 
 
 " I do," said Martin; " 'tis as I thought. 
 May I see her 1 Methinks I cannot be satisfied 
 till I look upon her sweet face, if but for a 
 moment." 
 
 "Remain here whilst I go in, and I will 
 then summon you," said the nurse. " Ah me, 
 'tis very sad!" and the nurse passed into the 
 room, closing the door behind her.
 
 300 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Martin sGcatcd himself on tlic bcncli beneath 
 the window at the end of tlie corridor, and as 
 he gazed upon the portraits of the Clopton 
 family hanging on either hand, his reflections 
 became even more saddened. In that array 
 of beautiful females and noble-looking cava- 
 liers, how many had ..died early ! Amongst 
 those scowling and bearded men of middle 
 age, arrayed in all the panoply of war, how 
 many had perished in their harness! There 
 was Hugho de Olopton, the crusader, the 
 fiercest of a brave race, who had smote even 
 a crowned king in Palestine rather than brook 
 dishonour. There was the Templar who had 
 died at the stake in France, true to his vow; 
 and Blanche Olopton, whom the lascivious 
 John had solicited in vain, and who had 
 been celebrated at tilt and tourney throughout 
 Christendom as " La belle des belles." 
 
 Each and all of these portraits, it seemed to 
 him, had a curious history attached to them — 
 a sad and stern tale in life's romance — and as 
 he sat and regarded them he thought upon 
 their descendant now lying sick in their close 
 vicinity — her father accused of treason and a 
 prisoner, at a time so inopportune.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 301 
 
 "Strange/' he tliougbt to himself, "that 
 this family, so noble in disposition, so high in 
 their sense of honour, should seem thus marked 
 out and pursued by fate. 
 
 "'Tis true the good Sir Hugh hath been 
 called, by the clergy of his own persuasion, 
 but a lukewarm member of the true Church ; 
 an irreligious man. 
 
 "Nay, Eustace hath upbraided him with 
 leaning towards heresy; and the Protestant 
 churchman at Stratford, again, hath accused 
 him of being neither of the one religion or the 
 other— altogether a heathen. 
 
 " These churchmen are both men, however, 
 who wrangle and fight so much about religion, 
 vice and virtue, that they have no time to 
 practise either the one or the other; whilst 
 the good Sir Hugh hath, during life, been so 
 folly engaged in acts of benevolence, that 
 saving the hours he hath spent amongst his 
 horses and his dogs, he hath indeed little 
 leisure to think about such controversies." 
 
 Whilst Martin sat thus chewing the cud of 
 bitter fancy, the old attendant returned to 
 him. "She again sleeps," she said, weeping, 
 " and you may look upon her sweet face once
 
 302 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 more. But oh, Martin, I fear me we are 
 indeed in trouble ; jou will scarce behold that 
 countenance, even jet so beautiful, without 
 terror." 
 
 "Is she already so changed 1" said Martin. 
 " In the name of Heaven, what can be her 
 com j)laint '? " 
 
 "No noise," said the attendant, "but go 
 in, and judge for yourself." 
 
 In a few moments Martin returned. Horror 
 was in his countenance. " Her face is filled 
 with liyid spots ! " he said. " AYe are indeed 
 unhappy ; she has caught " 
 
 " The plague," said the nurse, as Martin 
 hesitated, apparently unable to repeat the 
 w^ords. " The plague; 'tis even so, and she 
 wiU not outlive this day." 
 
 " I will hasten to Stratford, and bid the 
 leech again visit her instantly," said Martin. 
 
 " 'Twere best, said the attendant, " be 
 quick; but I fear me it is of little avail;" and 
 Martin, with fearful and hasty steps, left the 
 coiTidor, and descended to the stabling of the 
 Hall. 
 
 Besides Martin and the attending nurse,
 
 SHAKSPERE. 303 
 
 there was one other who watched with anxiety 
 over the fate of the poor invalid, and who, 
 albeit circumstances made it unpleasing to him 
 openly to display the interest he felt, yet who 
 sought in every way to gather some tidings of 
 her state of health. 
 
 Amidst the general trouble in which the 
 town was now involved, private griefs were 
 less thought of, and consequently, although 
 the inhabitants of the Hall were, by the good 
 folks of Stratford-upon-Avon, known to be in 
 some strait, whilst everybody was in appre- 
 hension for himself, commiseration there was 
 little of, and intercourse there was none. 
 Nay, the small remaining portion of domestics 
 at Clopton had become so greatly alarmed by 
 the visitation of the previous night, that they 
 neglected their duties on this day, and re- 
 maining huddled together in the servants'-hall, 
 meditated altogether deserting the locality. 
 
 In addition to the supernatural sounds, 
 they were now scared by a suspicion of the 
 natm-e of the disease which had seized their 
 young lady. Persons in their rank of life are 
 almost invariably an ignorant and self-inte- 
 rested set; nay, they will sometimes appear
 
 304 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 inclined to set their foot upon the head of 
 their sinking employers, ere they leave them 
 for good, in their need. 
 
 It ^vas under such circumstances that, when 
 Martin descended to the stables in order to 
 dispatch a messenger for the doctor, he could 
 at first find no one willing to undertake the 
 message. 
 
 " I would willingly do anything I could to 
 benefit the young lady," said one, " but I am 
 about to leare the Hall." 
 
 " I cannot go into the town," said another, 
 " for it is said that death is rife in its streets ; 
 and the folks are stricken as they walk. It 
 w^ould be a-tempting of the disease an I were 
 to run into it." 
 
 " Nay ! we have had warning enough here," 
 said another ; " and albeit I respect Sir Hugh, 
 I fear to remain, after what we have heard last 
 night. Besides, if the truth must out, I believe 
 the sickness hath come to Clopton; and folks 
 must look to themselves. I have friends at 
 Kenilworth, and I must seek them. They say 
 too, that Sir Hugh hath been found guilty of 
 a conspiracy against the life of the Queen, and 
 I like it not."
 
 SHAKSPERE. 305 
 
 " Hounds !" said Martin — " unworthy even 
 to tend upon tlie generous animals jou are 
 hired to feed. Begone ! pack — seek another 
 roof, where jou can batten on cold bits, and 
 return kindness with base ingratitude." So 
 sajing, Martin saddled one of the steeds, and 
 mounting himself, galloped into the town.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 DOMESTIC AFFLICTIOJ^. 
 
 It is evening — damp, dreary, and heavy, 
 like the day which has preceded it. 
 
 An unwholesome closeness pervades the air ; 
 a heavy drizzling rain descends from the clouds 
 upon the earth, enveloping all around in 
 a dense mist, which hides the surrounding 
 scenery. 
 
 Leaving his home, the youthful Shakspere 
 takes his way across the meadows, in which 
 our readers may remember to have first seen 
 him in the opening chapter of this story. His 
 step, however, is less buoyant, and his heart is 
 heavier than on that occasion. The clouds, 
 which drive steadily on, are not less gloomy 
 than his presentiments. Sickness and misery 
 are amongst the neighbours he leaves ; sickness 
 and sorrow are amonorst those he seeks.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 30? 
 
 Yet still as tliat youth wends onwards, now 
 crossing througli the fern (laden and heavy 
 with moisture), now diving into the thick plan- 
 tations which lead into the chase of Olopton, 
 nothing escapes his notice. The crow, " as it 
 wings to the rooky wood," in the thickening 
 light,— the coney, as it flashes into the cover, 
 — the darting lizard, as it disappears in the 
 thick fern, — the stoat and weasel, as they 
 pounce upon their prey in the brake, all are 
 noted by him. 
 
 His mind was oppressed and desponding, 
 but it was a mind which no circumstances 
 could entirely destroy the elasticity of, even 
 for a moment. " There is a pleasure in the 
 pathless woods," it hath been said by a modern 
 poet ; and there is society where none intrudes. 
 But perhaps the feeling of pleasure experienced 
 amidst solitude and sylvan scenery is only 
 really and intensely felt by men of extraordi- 
 nary parts and poetical imagination. 
 
 The fairest glade, and the wildest haunts of 
 the untamed denizens of the woods, it was 
 young Shakspere's great delight to seek out 
 and ponder amidst.
 
 308 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 At the present moment he felt that no 
 locality would soothe the sadness of his 
 thoughts so well as the leafy cover he was in. 
 
 Even whilst the heavy rain was pattering 
 amidst the foliage, and dropping from the sur- 
 charged boughs ; the air misty and moist ; 
 and the darksome glade rendered more gloomy 
 by the murky atmosphere, there was indeed 
 to his eye and mind, something fresh to be 
 remarked around in the changeful hue of the 
 herbs, plants, and thick foliage, as the driving 
 clouds constantly varied them ; nay, (as we 
 have said,) the gloomy and dull aspect of the 
 wood at that moment better suited his trou- 
 bled thoughts than a more bright and splendid 
 scene. 
 
 Some slight intimation of the troubles of 
 his friends at the Hall had reached him ; he 
 had received a hint of the arrest of Sir Hugh, 
 and the absence of his friend Arderne. He 
 also knew that the fair Charlotte was unwell ; 
 and naturally attributing her illness to the 
 shock she had received at the arrest of her 
 father, he hoped that a few days would restore 
 her to health. Still a presentiment of evil.
 
 SHAKSPERE. 309 
 
 and wliicli lie conceived was consequent upon 
 the unliappj state of tlie town in wliicli he 
 lived, pervaded his mind. 
 
 He had occasionally visited the neighbour- 
 hood of the Hall, and made some inquiry after 
 the inmates ; but in the absence of the good 
 knight, and his friend Arderne, he had not 
 considered it consistent with propriety to intro- 
 duce himself into the house, coming as he did 
 from a place infected with the plague. 
 
 On this evening, however, he resolved to 
 gain some more assured tidings of those he felt 
 so much interested in ; and after pondering 
 upon the matter, he resolved to approach the 
 Hall. 
 
 There was a solitude and silence about the 
 house, as he gazed at it from the belt of j)lan- 
 tation by which he approached, that he could 
 not account for. No smoke ascended from 
 those huge twisted chimneys ; no sound (save 
 an occasional dismal and long-drawn howl) came 
 from the kenneh No person was to be seen, as 
 of yore, flitting about, engaged in the numerous 
 avocations of their daily duties. All looked 
 dull and deserted. 
 
 He entered the court in rear, and proceeded
 
 310 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 to the stabling. The stables were for tlie 
 most part empty, the steeds had been turned 
 into the chase, and deserted bj their atten- 
 dants. He looked into the falconry ; the 
 hawks were upon the perch, and apparently 
 well fed and attended to, for at that period a 
 falconer would have as soon deserted his chil- 
 dren as his hawks, but the attendants were at 
 the moment absent; they had fled from the 
 Hall, and located themselves in some out- 
 buildings in the woods. As he entered the 
 house, the same appearance of desertion struck 
 his eye. He passed through a long passage, 
 and gained the hall. There hung the old 
 tattered banners, the unscoured armour, and 
 the antlered heads of several large stags, 
 — stags of ten, — all spoke of recent occupa- 
 tion and use. The cross-bow lay where it had 
 been thrown a few days before; the thick 
 hawking gauntlets and the dog-couples were 
 mingled with whips and spurs, bits and bridles, 
 and all the melange of the chase and the 
 country gentleman's occupation, but of ser- 
 vants or inhabitants there was no sign. He 
 passed into the oak-pannelled room, where he 
 had first enjoyed the society of the family, and
 
 SHAKSPEEE. 311 
 
 learned to love them for tlieir worth. All 
 looked desolate. The solitude and silence 
 around made his presence seem an intrusion. 
 The innate modesty of his disposition over- 
 came his anxiety to hear tidings of the invalid. 
 He felt as if prying into the secret sorrows of 
 the owner of the mansion, and was about to 
 withdraw, when the door opened, and Martin 
 entered the room. 
 
 Martin started as he recognized the visitor, 
 and a slight frown seemed to cross his brow. 
 He was a curious compound, that man. He 
 half disliked the youth for the virtues he at 
 the same time admired in him, and which he 
 saw had also won the love of the daughter of 
 his patron, and which under no circumstance 
 he considered could lead to a happy result, — 
 now, however, all was at an end. 
 
 " Ah," lie said, " art thou here'? Art thou 
 come to Clopton when all else desert itV 
 
 "My anxiety to learn tidings of the family 
 hath made me an intruder on your privacy," 
 said Shakespere. " I hope " 
 
 " We have no hope," said Martin ; " and you 
 are not wise in coming hither. You have 
 surely heard of our misery. Charlotte Oiopton
 
 312 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 is dying. Dying of the plague. The nurse 
 has just caught it of her and sickens too. All 
 have fled from the Hall.'' 
 
 A few moments more, and Shakspere had 
 sprung up the great staircase, and sought the 
 chamber of the invalid, Martin hastening after 
 him, and in vain urging him not to enter her 
 room. " The disease is of the most malignant 
 character," he said. " The leech hath left the 
 house unable to do us any good. 'Tis but a 
 tempting of Providence to enter the room. I 
 pr ythee have thought upon your own safety." 
 
 " Perish all thoughts of self and safety 1" said 
 Shakspere, dashing his hat upon the floor as 
 he entered the chamber. "0 fairest flower," 
 he said, "cut down and blighted in thy budding 
 beauty, do I indeed behold thee again thus — 
 so soon to part with thee for ever V 
 
 He knelt down beside her bed, took her 
 hand, and carried it to his lips. 
 
 Her long luxuriant tresses, which had es- 
 caped from the ribbon that bound them, 
 covered the white pillow like a cloud, and half- 
 concealed her face. She raised herself as she 
 recognised the voice, and, parting her hair, 
 gazed eagerly in his face. "Thou art come
 
 SHAKSPERE. 313 
 
 then," she said; "once more come'? Oh, bles- 
 sings on thee for it. I have wished for thee ; 
 dreamt of thee ; called for thee ; and thou art 
 come at last to set mine eye. What happiness 
 to look upon thy face once more — even in 
 death ! And jet," she said, as she held him 
 from her, "there is danger in jour being 
 here, I heard them whisper to each other of 
 the plague." 
 
 " Oh, believe it not !" said Shakspere ; " there 
 is no sign of such disease about thee. Thou 
 wilt live, dearest ladj. Oast but from jour 
 mind these sad thoughts, and jou will jet 
 recover." 
 
 "Not so," said Charlotte; "I feel as if I 
 had not manj moments on earth, and jet I 
 know I shall not harm thee, for I have beheld 
 the storj of thj life in mj troubled dreams. 
 I have seen thee unknown, unthought of, un- 
 honoured in the world. And then I saw thee 
 enshrined in such a blaze of glorj as no mortal 
 ever before attained on earth : — the wonder of 
 ages to come. Thj verj name alone, whis- 
 pered in thj lowlj home, William Shakspere, 
 will make bearded men weep. Yes," she con- 
 tinued, vehementlj, " I beheld thj figure 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 314 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 standing upon an eminence so high above thy 
 fellow-mortals, that, though all were striving to 
 ascend towards thee, none could come beyond 
 the plain on which that mountain stood." 
 
 The tears fell from the youth's eyes, as he 
 buried his face upon the coverlid of the couch, 
 and listened to what he considered the pro- 
 phetic ravings of delirium ; and then he again 
 raised his head and gazed upon her. There 
 were no traces of disease to be observed in 
 that bright form as he did so. The subdued 
 light of the chamber gave her the appearance 
 of a marble monument. In the abandonment 
 of her grief, she had raised herself on one arm, 
 and her beauty seemed even more dazzling. 
 
 "'Twas beauty 
 Too ricli for use, for earth too dear." 
 
 The livid spots, which had so alarmed the 
 nurse and Martin, had disappeared from her 
 face. Her rounded shoulder and bosom 
 were like the sculptured alabaster — rendered 
 yet more white and polished by the soft, 
 dark tresses, by which they were partially 
 covered. 
 
 " I would have lived for thee," she said, " to
 
 SHAKSPERE. 315 
 
 have but served thee; to have made the 
 paltrj riches I own, available to thy genius/' 
 
 As she uttered this, she sank down sobbing 
 upon the couch. Shakspere, in an agonj of 
 grief, tried to raise and recover her, but she 
 sank quickly into insensibility : and when he 
 laid her down again upon her pillow, as he 
 looked upon her, he saw she was dead ! 
 
 Dead! but without the ghastly appearance 
 which the grisly tyrant stamps upon his prey. 
 
 " Death, that had sucked the honey of her breath, 
 Had yet no power upon her beauty. 
 
 Beauty's ensign yet 
 Was crimson on her lips and in her cheeks, 
 And Death's pale flag was not advanced there.'* 
 
 50 B 
 
 EXD OP VOIi^ I.
 
 London: 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 
 
 ir-