diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:03:03 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:03:03 -0700 |
| commit | 80166dbc45213b16e16e779561ac558b06a26ca2 (patch) | |
| tree | cabb5609a9c5d6016f9992f51e2980b45294343b /35105-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '35105-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/35105-h.htm | 6310 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0008.jpg | bin | 0 -> 181416 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0011.jpg | bin | 0 -> 47436 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0014.jpg | bin | 0 -> 56042 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0017.jpg | bin | 0 -> 98169 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0021.jpg | bin | 0 -> 71056 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0023.jpg | bin | 0 -> 74485 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0029.jpg | bin | 0 -> 78654 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0033.jpg | bin | 0 -> 82605 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0034.jpg | bin | 0 -> 94916 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0036.jpg | bin | 0 -> 69813 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0039.jpg | bin | 0 -> 141137 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0041.jpg | bin | 0 -> 57494 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0043.jpg | bin | 0 -> 192432 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0046.jpg | bin | 0 -> 83781 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0049.jpg | bin | 0 -> 186207 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0055.jpg | bin | 0 -> 68065 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0056.jpg | bin | 0 -> 76789 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0057.jpg | bin | 0 -> 127306 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0059.jpg | bin | 0 -> 160239 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0061.jpg | bin | 0 -> 207393 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0064.jpg | bin | 0 -> 233956 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0066.jpg | bin | 0 -> 180409 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0067.jpg | bin | 0 -> 44759 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0068.jpg | bin | 0 -> 203496 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0069.jpg | bin | 0 -> 99771 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0070.jpg | bin | 0 -> 228760 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0073.jpg | bin | 0 -> 240529 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0075.jpg | bin | 0 -> 324991 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0077.jpg | bin | 0 -> 179455 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0079.jpg | bin | 0 -> 57989 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0080.jpg | bin | 0 -> 75908 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0081.jpg | bin | 0 -> 190515 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0082.jpg | bin | 0 -> 63871 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0087.jpg | bin | 0 -> 235357 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0089.jpg | bin | 0 -> 471208 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0090.jpg | bin | 0 -> 84672 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0091.jpg | bin | 0 -> 95197 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0095.jpg | bin | 0 -> 116388 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0096.jpg | bin | 0 -> 456115 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0097.jpg | bin | 0 -> 64879 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0098.jpg | bin | 0 -> 73836 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0099.jpg | bin | 0 -> 214517 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0102.jpg | bin | 0 -> 101410 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0104.jpg | bin | 0 -> 199854 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0109.jpg | bin | 0 -> 95621 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0110.jpg | bin | 0 -> 92750 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0113.jpg | bin | 0 -> 223423 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0117.jpg | bin | 0 -> 225234 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0121.jpg | bin | 0 -> 179433 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0123.jpg | bin | 0 -> 117248 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0124.jpg | bin | 0 -> 89564 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0129.jpg | bin | 0 -> 94238 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0130.jpg | bin | 0 -> 84449 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0131.jpg | bin | 0 -> 349341 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0133.jpg | bin | 0 -> 258494 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0136.jpg | bin | 0 -> 189966 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0138.jpg | bin | 0 -> 243239 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0140.jpg | bin | 0 -> 265897 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0142.jpg | bin | 0 -> 163615 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0143.jpg | bin | 0 -> 49460 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0144.jpg | bin | 0 -> 75700 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0145.jpg | bin | 0 -> 136418 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0148.jpg | bin | 0 -> 170472 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0165.jpg | bin | 0 -> 299259 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0169.jpg | bin | 0 -> 214037 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0172.jpg | bin | 0 -> 164701 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0186.jpg | bin | 0 -> 136374 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0188.jpg | bin | 0 -> 185540 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0192.jpg | bin | 0 -> 57511 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0193.jpg | bin | 0 -> 93051 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0194.jpg | bin | 0 -> 335553 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0196.jpg | bin | 0 -> 188957 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0199.jpg | bin | 0 -> 231377 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0201.jpg | bin | 0 -> 111561 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0202.jpg | bin | 0 -> 78142 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0207.jpg | bin | 0 -> 237423 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0210.jpg | bin | 0 -> 196421 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0211.jpg | bin | 0 -> 144925 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0212.jpg | bin | 0 -> 211384 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0213.jpg | bin | 0 -> 64961 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0214.jpg | bin | 0 -> 100832 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0216.jpg | bin | 0 -> 127263 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0219.jpg | bin | 0 -> 219109 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0221.jpg | bin | 0 -> 172145 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0222.jpg | bin | 0 -> 45326 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0223.jpg | bin | 0 -> 76064 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0228.jpg | bin | 0 -> 75008 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0230.jpg | bin | 0 -> 296497 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0235.jpg | bin | 0 -> 102015 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0236.jpg | bin | 0 -> 100301 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0240.jpg | bin | 0 -> 100853 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0243.jpg | bin | 0 -> 73116 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0246.jpg | bin | 0 -> 144659 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0248.jpg | bin | 0 -> 66380 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0249.jpg | bin | 0 -> 102105 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0250.jpg | bin | 0 -> 201604 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0252.jpg | bin | 0 -> 129507 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0255.jpg | bin | 0 -> 186526 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0257.jpg | bin | 0 -> 260494 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0259.jpg | bin | 0 -> 37570 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0260.jpg | bin | 0 -> 80265 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0261.jpg | bin | 0 -> 148349 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0263.jpg | bin | 0 -> 180229 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0269.jpg | bin | 0 -> 51009 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0273.jpg | bin | 0 -> 197649 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0276.jpg | bin | 0 -> 243201 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0278.jpg | bin | 0 -> 101611 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0279.jpg | bin | 0 -> 280832 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0283.jpg | bin | 0 -> 250265 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0285.jpg | bin | 0 -> 160920 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 35105-h/images/img0287.jpg | bin | 0 -> 95177 bytes |
112 files changed, 6310 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/35105-h/35105-h.htm b/35105-h/35105-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd9315b --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/35105-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6310 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 25 March 2009), see www.w3.org"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Shakespeare's England by +William Winter</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> + p.pg1 {text-align: center;} +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare's England, by William Winter + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Shakespeare's England + +Author: William Winter + +Release Date: January 28, 2011 [EBook #35105] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLAND *** + + + + +Produced by Jim Adcock, Special Thanks to the Internet +Archive, American Libraries. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<br> +<br> +<h1 align="center">SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLAND</h1> +<p class="pg1"><big>BY<br> +<br> +WILLIAM WINTER<br> +<br></big></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_PWW" id="a_PWW"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0008.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Crayon Drawing of the Author"></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><br> +<br> +<big>SHAKESPEARE'S<br> +<br> +ENGLAND<br> +<br> +BY<br> +<br> +WILLIAM WINTER<br> +<br></big></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHS" id="a_CHS"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0011.jpg" width="60%" alt= +"Church Spire"></p> +<br> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><small>New Edition, Revised, with +Illustrations</small><br> +<br> +<i>New York</i><br> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br> +LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.<br> +1898<br> +<br> +<small><i>All rights reserved</i></small><br> +<br> +Copyright, 1892,<br> +BY MACMILLAN AND CO.<br> +<br> +———<br> +<br> +<i>Illustrated Edition,</i><br> +<small>COPYRIGHT, 1893,<br> +BY MACMILLAN AND CO.<br> +<br> +———<br> +<br> +First published elsewhere.<br> +Set up and electrotyped by Macmillan & Co., April, 1892. +Reprinted<br> +November, 1892; January, 1893.<br> +<br> +Illustrated edition, revised throughout, in crown 8v0, set up and<br> +Electrotyped June, 1893. Reprinted October, 1893; August, 1895; +September,<br> +1898.<br> +<br> +<i>Norwood Press</i><br> +J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith<br> +Norwood Mass. U.S.A.<br></small><br> +<br></p> +<p class="pg1">To<br> +<br> +<big><i><b>Whitelaw Reid</b></i><br> +<br></big> <small>IN HONOUR OF EXALTED VIRTUES<br> +<br> +ADORNING A LIFE OF<br> +<br> +NOBLE ACHIEVEMENT AND PATIENT KINDNESS<br> +<br> +AND IN REMEMBRANCE OF<br> +<br> +FAITHFUL AND GENTLE FRIENDSHIP<br> +<br> +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK<br></small><br> +<br> +———<br> +<br> +<i>"Tum meae, si quid loquar audiendum,<br> +Vocis accedet bona pars"</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_ROS" id="a_ROS"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0014.jpg" width="20%" alt= +"Rose"></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center"><a name="a_PIE" id="a_PIE"></a>PREFACE TO THE +ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLAND</h2> +<br> +<p class="pg1">———</p> +<br> +<p><i>The favour with which this book has been received, alike in +Great Britain and America, is thought to warrant a reproduction of it +with pictorial embellishment, and accordingly it is offered in the +present form. I have revised the text for this reprint, and my friend +Mr. George P. Brett, of the house of Messrs. Macmillan and +Company,—at whose suggestion the pictorial edition was +undertaken,—has supervised the choice of pictures for its +adornment. The approval that the work has elicited is a source of +deep gratification. It signifies that my endeavour to reflect the +gentle sentiment of English landscape and the romantic character of +English rural life has not proved altogether in vain. It also shows +that an appeal may confidently be made,—irrespective of +transitory literary fashions and of popular caprice,—to the +love of the ideal, the taste for simplicity, and the sentiment of +veneration. In these writings there is, I hope, a profound practical +deference to the perfect standard of style that is represented by +such illustrious exemplars as Addison, Goldsmith, Sterne, and Gray. +This frail fabric may perish: that standard is immortal; and whatever +merit this book may possess is due to an instinctive and passionate +devotion to the ideal denoted by those shining names. These sketches +were written out of love for the subject. The first book of them, +called</i> The Trip to England, <i>reprinted, with changes, from +the</i> New York Tribune, <i>was made for me, at the De Vinne Press. +The subsequent growth of the work is traced in the earlier Preface, +herewith reprinted. The title of</i> Shakespeare's England <i>was +given to it when the first English edition was published, by Mr. +David Douglas, of Edinburgh. It has been my privilege to make various +tours of the British islands, since those of</i> 1877 <i>and</i> +1882, <i>recorded here; and my later books,</i> Gray Days and Gold, +<i>and</i> Old Shrines and Ivy, <i>should be read in association with +this one, by those persons who care for a wider glimpse of the same +delightful field, in the same companionship, and especially by those +who like to follow the record of exploration and change in +Shakespeare's home. As to the question of accuracy,—and indeed, +as to all other questions,—it is my wish that this book may be +judged by the text of the present edition, which is the latest and +the best.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<blockquote> +<blockquote><i>W. W.</i></blockquote> +June 6, 1893.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_PRE" id="a_PRE"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0017.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Preface"></p> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center"><a name="a_OPF" id="a_OPF"></a>PREFACE</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p><i>Beautiful and storied scenes that have soothed and elevated the +mind naturally inspire a feeling of gratitude. Prompted by that +feeling the present author has written this record of his rambles in +England. It was his wish, in dwelling upon the rural loveliness and +the literary and historical associations of that delightful realm, to +afford sympathetic guidance and useful suggestion to other American +travellers who, like himself, might be attracted to roam among the +shrines of the mother land. There is no pursuit more fascinating or +in a high intellectual sense more remunerative; since it serves to +define and regulate knowledge, to correct misapprehensions of fact, +to broaden the mental vision, to ripen and refine the Judgment and +the taste, and to fill the memory with ennobling recollections. These +papers commemorate two visits to England, the first made in</i> 1877, +<i>the second in</i> 1882; <i>they occasionally touch upon the same +place or scene as observed at different times; and especially they +describe two distinct journeys, separated by an interval of five +years, through the region associated with the great name of +Shakespeare. Repetitions of the same reference, which now and then +occur, were found unavoidable by the writer, but it is hoped that +they will not be found tedious by the reader. Those who walk twice in +the same pathways should be pleased, and not pained, to find the same +wild-flowers growing beside them. The first American edition of this +work consisted of two volumes, published in</i> 1879, 1881, +<i>and</i> 1884, <i>called</i> The Trip to England <i>and</i> English +Rambles. <i>The former book was embellished with poetic illustrations +by Joseph Jefferson, the famous comedian, my life-long friend. The +paper on</i> Shakespeare's Home,—<i>written to record for +American readers the dedication of the Shakespeare Memorial at +Stratford,</i>—<i>was first printed in</i> Harper's Magazine, +<i>in May</i> 1879. <i>with delicate illustrative pictures from the +graceful pencil of Edwin Abbey. This compendium of the</i> Trip +<i>and the</i> Rambles, <i>with the title of</i> Shakespeare's +England, <i>was first published by David Douglas of Edinburgh. That +title was chosen for the reason that the book relates largely to +Warwickshire and because it depicts not so much the England of fact +as the England created and hallowed by the spirit of her poetry, of +which Shakespeare is the soul. Several months after the publication +of</i> Shakespeare's England <i>the writer was told of a work, +published many years ago, bearing a similar title, though relating to +a different theme—the physical state of England in +Shakespeare's time. He had never heard of it and has never seen it. +The text for the present reprint has been carefully revised. To his +British readers the author would say that it is neither from lack of +sympathy with the happiness around him nor from lack of faith in the +future of his country that his writings have drifted toward the +pathos in human experience and toward the hallowing associations of +an old historic land. Temperament is the explanation of style: and he +has written thus of England because she has filled his mind with +beauty and his heart with mingled joy and sadness: and surely some +memory of her venerable ruins, her ancient shrines, her rustic glens, +her gleaming rivers, and her flower-spangled meadows will mingle with +the last thoughts that glimmer through his brain, when the shadows of +the eternal night are falling and the ramble of life is done.</i></p> +<blockquote> +<blockquote><i>W. W.</i></blockquote> +1892.</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0021.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Floral Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">CONTENTS</h2> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_PIE" href="#a_PIE" id= +"a_sub_PIE">Preface To Illustrated Edition</a></h3> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_OPF" href="#a_OPF" id= +"a_sub_OPF">Old Preface</a></h3> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHI" href="#a_CHI" id= +"a_sub_CHI">CHAPTER I.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIb" href="#a_CHIb" id= +"a_sub_CHIb">The Voyage</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHII" href="#a_CHII" id= +"a_sub_CHII">CHAPTER II.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIIb" href="#a_CHIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHIIb">The Beauty Of England</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIII" href="#a_CHIII" id= +"a_sub_CHIII">CHAPTER III.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIIIb" href="#a_CHIIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHIIIb">Great Historic Places</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIV" href="#a_CHIV" id= +"a_sub_CHIV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIVb" href="#a_CHIVb" id= +"a_sub_CHIVb">Rambles In London</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHV" href="#a_CHV" id= +"a_sub_CHV">CHAPTER V.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHVb" href="#a_CHVb" id= +"a_sub_CHVb">A Visit To Windsor</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHVI" href="#a_CHVI" id= +"a_sub_CHVI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHVIb" href="#a_CHVIb" id= +"a_sub_CHVIb">The Palace Of Westminster.</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHVII" href="#a_CHVII" id= +"a_sub_CHVII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHVIIb" href="#a_CHVIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHVIIb">Warwick And Kenilworth</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHVIII" href="#a_CHVIII" id= +"a_sub_CHVIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHVIIIb" href="#a_CHVIIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHVIIIb">First View Of Stratford-Upon-Avon</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIX" href="#a_CHIX" id= +"a_sub_CHIX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHIXb" href="#a_CHIXb" id= +"a_sub_CHIXb">London Nooks And Corners</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHX" href="#a_CHX" id= +"a_sub_CHX">CHAPTER X.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXb" href="#a_CHXb" id= +"a_sub_CHXb">Relics Of Lord Byron</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXI" href="#a_CHXI" id= +"a_sub_CHXI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIb" href="#a_CHXIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXIb">Westminster Abbey</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXII" href="#a_CHXII" id= +"a_sub_CHXII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIIb" href="#a_CHXIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXIIb">Shakespeare's Home</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIII" href="#a_CHXIII" id= +"a_sub_CHXIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIIIb" href="#a_CHXIIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXIIIb">Up to London</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIV" href="#a_CHXIV" id= +"a_sub_CHXIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIVb" href="#a_CHXIVb" id= +"a_sub_CHXIVb">Old Churches of London</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXV" href="#a_CHXV" id= +"a_sub_CHXV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXVb" href="#a_CHXVb" id= +"a_sub_CHXVb">Literary Shrines of London</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXVI" href="#a_CHXVI" id= +"a_sub_CHXVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXVIb" href="#a_CHXVIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXVIb">A Haunt Of Edmund Kean</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXVII" href="#a_CHXVII" id= +"a_sub_CHXVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXVIIb" href="#a_CHXVIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXVIIb">Stoke-Pogis and Thomas Gray</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXVIII" href="#a_CHXVIII" id= +"a_sub_CHXVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXVIIIb" href="#a_CHXVIIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXVIIIb">At The Grave of Coleridge</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIX" href="#a_CHXIX" id= +"a_sub_CHXIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXIXb" href="#a_CHXIXb" id= +"a_sub_CHXIXb">On Barnet Battle-field</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXX" href="#a_CHXX" id= +"a_sub_CHXX">CHAPTER XX.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXXb" href="#a_CHXXb" id= +"a_sub_CHXXb">A Glimpse Of Canterbury</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXXI" href="#a_CHXXI" id= +"a_sub_CHXXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXXIb" href="#a_CHXXIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXXIb">The Shrines Of Warwickshire</a></h4> +<br> +<h3 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXXII" href="#a_CHXXII" id= +"a_sub_CHXXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h3> +<h4 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHXXIIb" href="#a_CHXXIIb" id= +"a_sub_CHXXIIb">A Borrower of The Night</a></h4> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_ILL" id="a_ILL"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0023.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Illustrations"></p> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<br> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_PWW" href="#a_PWW" id= +"a_sub_PWW">Portrait of William Winter—from a crayon by Arthur +Jule Goodman</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TAI" href="#a_TAI" id= +"a_sub_TAI">The Anchor Inn</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_OHB" href="#a_OHB" id= +"a_sub_OHB">Old House at Bridport</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_RHR" href="#a_RHR" id= +"a_sub_RHR">Restoration House, Rochester</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHC" href="#a_CHC" id= +"a_sub_CHC">Charing Cross</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_KNP" href="#a_KNP" id= +"a_sub_KNP">Kensington Palace</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TTL" href="#a_TTL" id= +"a_sub_TTL">The Tower of London</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_OWG" href="#a_OWG" id= +"a_sub_OWG">Old Water Gate</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_ACC" href="#a_ACC" id= +"a_sub_ACC">Approach to Cheshire Cheese</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SMS" href="#a_SML" id= +"a_sub_SMS">St. Mary-le-Strand</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TCH" href="#a_TCH" id= +"a_sub_TCH">Temple Church</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_GMN" href="#a_GMN" id= +"a_sub_GMN">Gower's Monument</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_AMN" href="#a_AMN" id= +"a_sub_AMN">Andrews's Monument</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_OTI" href="#a_OTI" id= +"a_sub_OTI">Old Tabard Inn, Southwark</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WCH" href="#a_WCH" id= +"a_sub_WCH">Windsor Castle</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SGC" href="#a_SGC" id= +"a_sub_SGC">St. George's Chapel, Windsor Castle</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WFP" href="#a_WFP" id= +"a_sub_WFP">Windsor Forest and Park</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TCT" href="#a_TCT" id= +"a_sub_TCT">The Curfew Tower</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SOS" href="#a_SOS" id= +"a_sub_SOS">The Sign of the Swan</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WMH" href="#a_WMH" id= +"a_sub_WMH">Westminster Hall</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TMC" href="#a_TMC" id= +"a_sub_TMC">The Mace</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_GHO" href="#a_GHO" id= +"a_sub_GHO">Greenwich Hospital</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_QEC" href="#a_QEC" id= +"a_sub_QEC">Queen Elizabeth's Cradle</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WAC" href="#a_WAC" id= +"a_sub_WAC">Warwick Castle</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_OIN" href="#a_OIN" id= +"a_sub_OIN">Old Inn</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WIP" href="#a_WIP" id= +"a_sub_WIP">Washington Irving's Parlour</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_FWS" href="#a_FWS" id= +"a_sub_FWS">From the Warwick Shield</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_HTC" href="#a_HTC" id= +"a_sub_HTC">Holy Trinity Church, Stratford</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_ING" href="#a_ING" id= +"a_sub_ING">The Inglenook</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_ASH" href="#a_ASH" id= +"a_sub_ASH">Approach to Shottery</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_DVS" href="#a_DVS" id= +"a_sub_DVS">Distant View of Stratford</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WHG" href="#a_WHG" id= +"a_sub_WHG">Whitehall Gateway</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_LPL" href="#a_LPL" id= +"a_sub_LPL">Lambeth Palace</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_DCO" href="#a_DCO" id= +"a_sub_DCO">Dulwich College</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TCI" href="#a_TCI" id= +"a_sub_TCI">The Crown Inn, Dulwich</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_ORW" href="#a_ORW" id= +"a_sub_ORW">Oriel Window</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TWA" href="#a_TWA" id= +"a_sub_TWA">From the Triforium, Westminster Abbey</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_HVC" href="#a_HVC" id= +"a_sub_HVC">Chapel of Henry VII.</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CEC" href="#a_CEC" id= +"a_sub_CEC">Chapel of Edward the Confessor</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TPC" href="#a_TPC" id= +"a_sub_TPC">The Poets' Corner</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TNA" href="#a_TNA" id= +"a_sub_TNA">The North Ambulatory</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TSH" href="#a_TSH" id= +"a_sub_TSH">The Spaniards, Hampstead</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_DSP" href="#a_DSP" id= +"a_sub_DSP">The Dome of St. Paul's</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TGR" href="#a_TGR" id= +"a_sub_TGR">The Grange</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SHB" href="#a_SHB" id= +"a_sub_SHB">Shakespeare's Birthplace</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_AHC" href="#a_AHC" id= +"a_sub_AHC">Anne Hathaway's Cottage</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHR" href="#a_CHR" id= +"a_sub_CHR">Charlecote</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_MWA" href="#a_MWA" id= +"a_sub_MWA">Meadow Walk by the Avon</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_AFN" href="#a_AFN" id= +"a_sub_AFN">Antique Font</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SHM" href="#a_SHM" id= +"a_sub_SHM">Monument</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_GAW" href="#a_GAW" id= +"a_sub_GAW">Gable Window</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_PVP" href="#a_PVP" id= +"a_sub_PVP">Peveril Peak</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SPM" href="#a_SPM" id= +"a_sub_SPM">St. Paul's, from Maiden Lane</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CHH" href="#a_CHH" id= +"a_sub_CHH">The Charter-house</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SGCF" href="#a_SGCF" id= +"a_sub_SGCF">St. Giles', Cripplegate</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SJC" href="#a_SJC" id= +"a_sub_SJC">Sir John Crosby's Monument</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_GRMN" href="#a_GRMN" id= +"a_sub_GRMN">Gresham's Monument</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_GOLD" href="#a_GOLD" id= +"a_sub_GOLD">Goldsmith's House</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_BCC" href="#a_BCC" id="a_sub_BCC">A +Bit from Clare Court</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_FS1" href="#a_FS1" id= +"a_sub_FS1">Fleet Street in 1780</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_GIS" href="#a_GIS" id= +"a_sub_GIS">Gray's Inn Square</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SPC" href="#a_SPC" id= +"a_sub_SPC">Stoke-Pogis Church</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_OCH" href="#a_OCH" id= +"a_sub_OCH">Old Church</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TWH" href="#a_TWH" id= +"a_sub_TWH">The White Hart</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CBB" href="#a_CBB" id= +"a_sub_CBB">Column on Barnet Battle-field</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_FMH" href="#a_FMH2" id= +"a_sub_FMH">Farm-house</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_FIW" href="#a_FIW" id= +"a_sub_FIW">Falstaff Inn and West Gate, Canterbury</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_BLC" href="#a_BLC" id= +"a_sub_BLC">Butchery Lane, Canterbury</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_FHI" href="#a_FHI" id= +"a_sub_FHI">Flying-horse Inn, Canterbury</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CCA" href="#a_CCA" id= +"a_sub_CCA">Canterbury Cathedral</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SUA" href="#a_SUA" id= +"a_sub_SUA">Stratford-upon-Avon</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_SCH" href="#a_SCH" id= +"a_sub_SCH">Stratford Church</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WIC" href="#a_WIC" id= +"a_sub_WIC">Washington Irving's Chair</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_TSM" href="#a_TSM" id= +"a_sub_TSM">The Stratford Memorial</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_MAC" href="#a_MAC" id= +"a_sub_MAC">Mary Arden's Cottage</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_CSM2" href="#a_CSM2" id= +"a_sub_CSM2">Church of St. Martin</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_WES" href="#a_WES" id= +"a_sub_WES">Westminster Abbey</a></h5> +<h5 align="center"><a name="a_sub_MTL" href="#a_MTL" id= +"a_sub_MTL">Middle Temple Lane</a></h5> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<blockquote><small><i>This royal throne of kings, this sceptred +isle,</i><br> +<i>This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,</i><br> +<i>This other Eden, demi-paradise,</i><br> +<i>This fortress built by Nature for herself, . . .</i><br> +<i>This precious stone set in the silver sea, . . .</i><br> +<i>This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, . . +.</i><br> +<i>This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,</i><br> +<i>Dear for her reputation through the world!</i><br> +<br></small> +<blockquote>S<small>HAKESPEARE.</small></blockquote> +<br></blockquote> +<blockquote> +<blockquote>———</blockquote> +</blockquote> +<br> +<blockquote><small><i>All that I saw returns upon my view;</i><br> +<i>All that I heard comes back upon my ear;</i><br> +<i>All that I felt this moment doth renew.</i><br> +<br> +<i>Fair land! by Time's parental love made free,</i><br> +<i>By Social Order's watchful arms embraced,</i><br> +<i>With unexampled union meet in thee,</i><br> +<i>For eye and mind, the present and the past;</i><br> +<i>With golden prospect for futurity,</i><br> +<i>If that be reverenced which ought to last.</i><br> +<br></small> +<blockquote>W<small>ORDSWORTH.</small></blockquote> +</blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_NPB" id="a_NPB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0029.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Nepture Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLAND</h2> +<br> +<a name="a_CHI" id="a_CHI"></a><a name="a_CHIb" id="a_CHIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER I</h3> +<h5 align="center">THE VOYAGE</h5> +<h5 align="center">1887</h5> +<br> +<p>The coast-line recedes and disappears, and night comes down upon +the ocean. Into what dangers will the great ship plunge? Through what +mysterious waste of waters will she make her viewless path? The black +waves roll up around her. The strong blast fills her sails and +whistles through her creaking cordage. Overhead the stars shine dimly +amid the driving clouds. Mist and gloom close in the dubious +prospect, and a strange sadness settles upon the heart of the +voyager—who has left his home behind, and who now seeks, for +the first time, the land, the homes, and the manners of the stranger. +Thoughts and images of the past crowd thick upon his remembrance. The +faces of absent friends rise before him, whom, perhaps, he is +destined nevermore to behold. He sees their smiles; he hears their +voices; he fancies them by familiar hearth-stones, in the light of +the evening lamps. They are very far away now; and already it seems +months instead of hours since the parting moment. Vain now the pang +of regret for misunderstandings, unkindness, neglect; for golden +moments slighted and gentle courtesies left undone. He is alone upon +the wild sea—all the more alone because surrounded with new +faces of unknown companions—and the best he can do is to seek +his lonely pillow and lie down with a prayer in his heart and on his +lips. Never before did he so clearly know—never again will he +so deeply feel—the uncertainty of human life and the weakness +of human nature. Yet, as he notes the rush and throb of the vast ship +and the noise of the breaking waves around her, and thinks of the +mighty deep beneath, and the broad and melancholy expanse that +stretches away on every side, he cannot miss the +impression—grand, noble, and thrilling—of human courage, +skill, and power. For this ship is the centre of a splendid conflict. +Man and the elements are here at war; and man makes conquest of the +elements by using them as weapons against themselves. Strong and +brilliant, the head-light streams over the boiling surges. Lanterns +gleam in the tops. Dark figures keep watch upon the prow. The officer +of the night is at his post upon the bridge. Let danger threaten +howsoever it may, it cannot come unawares; it cannot subdue, without +a tremendous struggle, the brave minds and hardy bodies that are here +arrayed to meet it. With this thought, perhaps, the weary voyager +sinks to sleep; and this is his first night at sea.</p> +<p>There is no tediousness of solitude to him who has within himself +resources of thought and dream, the pleasures and pains of memory, +the bliss and the torture of imagination. It is best to have few +acquaintances—or none—on shipboard. Human companionship, +at some times, and this is one of them, distracts by its pettiness. +The voyager should yield himself to nature now, and meet his own soul +face to face. The routine of everyday life is commonplace enough, +equally upon sea and land. But the ocean is a continual pageant, +filling and soothing the mind with unspeakable peace. Never, in even +the grandest words of poetry, was the grandeur of the sea expressed. +Its vastness, its freedom, its joy, and its beauty overwhelm the +mind. All things else seem puny and momentary beside the life that +this immense creation unfolds and inspires. Sometimes it shines in +the sun, a wilderness of shimmering silver. Sometimes its long waves +are black, smooth, glittering, and dangerous. Sometimes it seems +instinct with a superb wrath, and its huge masses rise, and clash +together, and break into crests of foam. Sometimes it is gray and +quiet, as if in a sullen sleep. Sometimes the white mist broods upon +it and deepens the sense of awful mystery by which it is forever +enwrapped. At night its surging billows are furrowed with long +streaks of phosphorescent fire; or, it may be, the waves roll gently, +under the soft light of stars; or all the waste is dim, save where, +beneath the moon, a glorious pathway, broadening out to the far +horizon, allures and points to heaven. One of the most exquisite +delights of the voyage, whether by day or night, is to lie upon the +deck in some secluded spot, and look up at the tall, tapering spars +as they sway with the motion of the ship, while over them the white +clouds float, in ever-changing shapes, or the starry constellations +drift, in their eternal march. No need now of books, or newspapers, +or talk! The eyes are fed by every object they behold. The great +ship, with all her white wings spread, careening like a tiny +sail-boat, dips and rises, with sinuous, stately grace. The clank of +her engines—fit type of steadfast industry and +purpose—goes steadily on. The song of the sailors—"Give +me some time to blow the man down"—rises in cheery melody, full +of audacious, light-hearted thoughtlessness, and strangely tinged +with the romance of the sea. Far out toward the horizon many whales +come sporting and spouting along. At once, out of the distant bank of +cloud and mist, a little vessel springs into view, and with +convulsive movement—tilting up and down like the miniature +barque upon an old Dutch clock—dances across the vista and +vanishes into space. Soon a tempest bursts upon the calm; and then, +safe-housed from the fierce blast and blinding rain, the voyager +exults over the stern battle of winds and waters and the stalwart, +undaunted strength with which his ship bears down the furious floods +and stems the gale. By and by a quiet hour is given, when, met +together with the companions of his journey, he stands in the hushed +cabin and hears the voice of prayer and the hymn of praise, and, in +the pauses, a gentle ripple of waves against the ship, which now +rocks lazily upon the sunny deep; and, ever and anon, as she dips, he +can discern through her open ports the shining sea and the wheeling +and circling gulls that have come out to welcome her to the shores of +the old world.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TAI" id="a_TAI"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0033.jpg" width="60%" alt= +"The Anchor Inn."></p> +<br> +<p>The present writer, when first he saw the distant and dim coast of +Britain, felt, with a sense of forlorn loneliness that he was a +stranger; but when last he saw that coast he beheld it through a mist +of tears and knew that he had parted from many cherished friends, +from many of the gentlest men and women upon the earth, and from a +land henceforth as dear to him as his own. England is a country which +to see is to love. As you draw near to her shores you are pleased at +once with the air of careless finish and negligent grace that +everywhere overhangs the prospect. The grim, wind-beaten hills of +Ireland have first been passed—hills crowned, here and there, +with dark, fierce towers that look like strongholds of ancient bandit +chiefs, and cleft by dim valleys that seem to promise endless mystery +and romance, hid in their sombre depths. Passed also is white +Queenstown, with its lovely little bay, its circle of green +hillsides, and its valiant fort; and picturesque Fastnet, with its +gaily painted tower, has long been left behind. It is off the noble +crags of Holyhead that the voyager first observes with what a deft +skill the hand of art has here moulded nature's luxuriance into forms +of seeming chance-born beauty; and from that hour, wherever in rural +England the footsteps of the pilgrim may roam, he will behold nothing +but gentle rustic adornment, that has grown with the grass and the +roses—greener grass and redder roses than ever we see in our +western world! In the English nature a love of the beautiful is +spontaneous, and the operation of it is as fluent as the blowing of +the summer wind. Portions of English cities, indeed, are hard and +harsh and coarse enough to suit the most utilitarian taste; yet even +in those regions of dreary monotony the national love of flowers will +find expression, and the people, without being aware of it, will, in +many odd little ways, beautify their homes and make their +surroundings pictorial, at least to stranger eyes. There is a tone of +rest and homelike comfort even in murky Liverpool; and great +magnificence is there—as well of architecture and opulent +living as of enterprise and action. "Towered cities" and "the busy +hum of men," however, are soon left behind by the wise traveller in +England. A time will come for those; but in his first sojourn there +he soon discovers the two things that are utterly to absorb +him—which cannot disappoint—and which are the fulfilment +of all his dreams. These things are—the rustic loveliness of +the land and the charm of its always vital and splendid antiquity. +The green lanes, the thatched cottages, the meadows glorious with +wildflowers, the little churches covered with dark-green ivy, the +Tudor gables festooned with roses, the devious footpaths that wind +across wild heaths and long and lonesome fields, the narrow, shining +rivers, brimful to their banks and crossed here and there with gray, +moss-grown bridges, the stately elms whose low-hanging branches droop +over a turf of emerald velvet, the gnarled beech-trees "that wreathe +their old, fantastic roots so high," the rooks that caw and circle in +the air, the sweet winds that blow from fragrant woods, the sheep and +the deer that rest in shady places, the pretty children who cluster +round the porches of their cleanly, cosy homes, and peep at the +wayfarer as he passes, the numerous and often brilliant birds that at +times fill the air with music, the brief, light, pleasant rains that +ever and anon refresh the landscape—these are some of the +everyday joys of rural England; and these are wrapped in a climate +that makes life one serene ecstasy. Meantime, in rich valleys or on +verdant slopes, a thousand old castles and monasteries, ruined or +half in ruins, allure the pilgrim's gaze, inspire his imagination, +arouse his memory, and fill his mind. The best romance of the past +and the best reality of the present are his banquet now; and nothing +is wanting to the perfection of the feast. I thought that life could +have but few moments of content in store for me like the +moment—never to be forgotten!—when, in the heart of +London, on a perfect June day, I lay upon the grass in the old Green +Park, and, for the first time, looked up to the towers of Westminster +Abbey.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_OHB" id="a_OHB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0034.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Old House at Bridport."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_FLB" id="a_FLB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0036.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Flower Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHII" id="a_CHII"></a><a name="a_CHIIb" id="a_CHIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER II</h3> +<h5 align="center">THE BEAUTY OF ENGLAND</h5> +<br> +<p>It is not strange that Englishmen should be—as certainly +they are—passionate lovers of their country; for their country +is, almost beyond parallel, peaceful, gentle, and beautiful. Even in +vast London, where practical life asserts itself with such prodigious +force, the stranger is impressed, in every direction, with a +sentiment of repose and peace. This sentiment seems to proceed in +part from the antiquity of the social system here established, and in +part from the affectionate nature of the English people. Here are +finished towns, rural regions thoroughly cultivated and exquisitely +adorned; ancient architecture, crumbling in slow decay; and a soil so +rich and pure that even in its idlest mood it lights itself up with +flowers, just as the face of a sleeping child lights itself up with +smiles. Here, also, are soft and kindly manners, settled principles, +good laws, wise customs—wise, because rooted in the universal +attributes of human nature; and, above all, here is the practice of +trying to live in a happy condition instead of trying to make a noise +about it. Here, accordingly, life is soothed and hallowed with the +comfortable, genial, loving spirit of home. It would, doubtless, be +easily possible to come into contact here with absurd forms and +pernicious abuses, to observe absurd individuals, and to discover +veins of sordid selfishness and of evil and sorrow. But the things +that first and most deeply impress the observer of England and +English society are their potential, manifold, and abundant sources +of beauty, refinement, and peace. There are, of course, grumblers. +Mention has been made of a person who, even in heaven, would complain +that his cloud was damp and his halo a misfit. We cannot have +perfection; but the man who could not be happy in England—in so +far, at least, as happiness depends upon external objects and +influences—could not reasonably expect to be happy +anywhere.</p> +<p>Summer heat is perceptible for an hour or two each day, but it +causes no discomfort. Fog has refrained; though it is understood to +be lurking in the Irish sea and the English channel, and waiting for +November, when it will drift into town and grime all the new paint on +the London houses. Meantime, the sky is softly blue and full of +magnificent bronze clouds; the air is cool, and in the environs of +the city is fragrant with the scent of new-mown hay; and the grass +and trees in the parks—those copious and splendid lungs of +London—are green, dewy, sweet, and beautiful. Persons "to the +manner born" were lately calling the season "backward," and they went +so far as to grumble at the hawthorne, as being less brilliant than +in former seasons. But, in fact, to the unfamiliar sense, this tree +of odorous coral has been delicious. We have nothing comparable with +it in northern America, unless, perhaps, it be the elder, of our wild +woods; and even that, with all its fragrance, lacks equal charm of +colour. They use the hawthorne, or some kindred shrub, for hedges in +this country, and hence their fields are seldom disfigured with +fences. As you ride through the land you see miles and miles of +meadow traversed by these green and blooming hedgerows, which give +the country a charm quite incommunicable in words. The green of the +foliage—enriched by an uncommonly humid air and burnished by +the sun—is in perfection, while the flowers bloom in such +abundance that the whole realm is one glowing pageant. I saw near +Oxford, on the crest of a hill, a single ray of at least a thousand +feet of scarlet poppies. Imagine that glorious dash of colour in a +green landscape lit by the afternoon sun! Nobody could help loving a +land that woos him with such beauty.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_RHR" id="a_RHR"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0039.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Restoration House, Rochester."></p> +<br> +<p>English flowers are exceptional for substance and pomp. The roses, +in particular—though some of them, it should be said, are of +French breeds—surpass all others. It may seem an extravagance +to say, but it is certainly true, that these rich, firm, brilliant +flowers affect you like creatures of flesh and blood. They are, in +this respect, only to be described as like nothing in the world so +much as the bright lips and blushing cheeks of the handsome English +women who walk among them and vie with them in health and loveliness. +It is easy to perceive the source of those elements of warmth and +sumptuousness that are so conspicuous in the results of English +taste. It is a land of flowers. Even in the busiest parts of London +the people decorate their houses with them, and set the sombre, +fog-grimed fronts ablaze with scarlet and gold. These are the +prevalent colours—radically so, for they have become +national—and, when placed against the black tint with which +this climate stains the buildings, they have the advantage of a vivid +contrast that much augments their splendour. All London wears crape, +variegated with a tracery of white, like lace upon a pall. In some +instances the effect is splendidly pompous. There cannot be a grander +artificial object in the world than the front of St. Paul's +cathedral, which is especially notable for this mysterious blending +of light and shade. It is to be deplored that a climate which can +thus beautify should also destroy; but there can be no doubt that the +stones of England are steadily defaced by the action of the damp +atmosphere. Already the delicate carvings on the palace of +Westminster are beginning to crumble. And yet, if one might judge the +climate by this glittering July, England is a land of sunshine as +well as of flowers. Light comes before three o'clock in the morning, +and it lasts, through a dreamy and lovely gloaming, till nearly ten +o'clock at night. The morning sky is usually light blue, dappled with +slate-coloured clouds. A few large stars are visible then, lingering +to outface the dawn. Cool winds whisper, and presently they rouse the +great, sleepy, old elms; and then the rooks—which are the low +comedians of the air in this region—begin to grumble; and then +the sun leaps above the horizon, and we sweep into a day of golden, +breezy cheerfulness and comfort, the like of which is rarely or never +known in northern America, between June and October. Sometimes the +whole twenty-four hours have drifted past, as if in a dream of light, +and fragrance, and music. In a recent moonlight time there was scarce +any darkness at all; and more than once I have lain awake all night, +within a few miles of Charing Cross, listening to a twitter of birds +that is like the lapse and fall of silver water. It used to be +difficult to understand why the London season should begin in May and +last through most of the summer; it is not difficult to understand +the custom now.</p> +<p>The elements of discontent and disturbance which are visible in +English society are found, upon close examination, to be merely +superficial. Underneath them there abides a sturdy, immutable, inborn +love of England. Those croakings, grumblings, and bickerings do but +denote the process by which the body politic frees itself from the +headaches and fevers that embarrass the national health. The +Englishman and his country are one; and when the Englishman complains +against his country it is not because he believes that either there +is or can be a better country elsewhere, but because his instinct of +justice and order makes him crave perfection in his own. Institutions +and principles are, with him, by nature, paramount to individuals; +and individuals only possess importance—and that conditional on +abiding rectitude—who are their representatives. Everything is +done in England to promote the permanence and beauty of the home; and +the permanence and beauty of the home, by a natural reaction, augment +in the English people solidity of character and peace of life. They +do not dwell in a perpetual fret and fume as to the acts, thoughts, +and words of other nations: for the English there is absolutely no +public opinion outside of their own land: they do not live for the +sake of working, but they work for the sake of living; and, as the +necessary preparations for living have long since been completed, +their country is at rest. This is the secret of England's first, and +continuous, and last, and all-pervading charm and power for the +stranger—the charm and power to soothe.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_CHC" id="a_CHC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0041.jpg" width="65%" alt= +"Charing Cross."></p> +<br> +<p>The efficacy of endeavouring to make a country a united, +comfortable, and beautiful home for all its +inhabitants,—binding every heart to the land by the same tie +that binds every heart to the fireside,—is something well +worthy to be considered, equally by the practical statesman and the +contemplative observer. That way, assuredly, lie the welfare of the +human race and all the tranquillity that human nature—warped as +it is by evil—will ever permit to this world. This endeavour +has, through long ages, been steadily pursued in England, and one of +its results—which is also one of its indications—is the +vast accumulation of what may be called home treasures in the city of +London. The mere enumeration of them would fill large volumes. The +description of them could not be completed in a lifetime. It was this +copiousness of historic wealth and poetic association, combined with +the flavour of character and the sentiment of monastic repose, that +bound Dr. Johnson to Fleet Street and made Charles Lamb such an +inveterate lover of the town. Except it be to correct a possible +insular narrowness there can be no need that the Londoner should +travel. Glorious sights, indeed, await him, if he journeys no further +away than Paris; but, aside from ostentation, luxury, gaiety, and +excitement, Paris will give him nothing that he may not find at +home.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_KNP" id="a_KNP"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0043.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Kensington Palace."></p> +<br> +<p>The great cathedral of Notre Dame will awe him; but not more than +his own Westminster Abbey. The grandeur and beauty of the Madeleine +will enchant him; but not more than the massive solemnity and +stupendous magnificence of St. Paul's. The embankments of the Seine +will satisfy his taste with their symmetrical solidity; but he will +not deem them superior in any respect to the embankments of the +Thames. The Pantheon, the Hotel des Invalides, the Luxembourg, the +Louvre, the Tribunal of Commerce, the Opera-House,—all these +will dazzle and delight his eyes, arousing his remembrances of +history and firing his imagination of great events and persons; but +all these will fail to displace in his esteem the grand Palace of +Westminster, so stately in its simplicity, so strong in its perfect +grace! He will ride through the exquisite Park of Monceau,—one +of the loveliest spots in Paris,—and onward to the Bois de +Boulogne, with its sumptuous pomp of foliage, its romantic green +vistas, its many winding avenues, its hillside hermitage, its +cascades, and its affluent lakes whereon the white swans beat the +water with their joyous wings; but still his soul will turn, with +unshaken love and loyal preference to the sweetly sylvan solitude of +the gardens of Kensington and Kew. He will marvel in the museums of +the Louvre, the Luxembourg, and Cluny; and probably he will concede +that of paintings, whether ancient or modern, the French display is +larger and finer than the English; but he will vaunt the British +Museum as peerless throughout the world, and he will still prize his +National Gallery, with its originals of Hogarth, Reynolds, +Gainsborough, and Turner, its spirited, tender, and dreamy Murillos, +and its dusky glories of Rembrandt. He will admire, at the Théâtre +Français, the photographic perfection of French acting; but he will +be apt to reflect that English dramatic art, if it sometimes lacks +finish, often has the effect of nature; and he will certainly +perceive that the playhouse itself is not superior to either Her +Majesty's Theatre or Covent Garden. He will luxuriate in the Champs +Élysées, in the superb Boulevards, in the glittering pageant of +precious jewels that blazes in the Rue de la Paix and the Palais +Royal, and in that gorgeous panorama of shop-windows for which the +French capital is unrivalled and famous; and he will not deny that, +as to brilliancy of aspect, Paris is prodigious and +unequalled—the most radiant of cities—the sapphire in the +crown of Solomon. But, when all is seen, either that Louis the +Fourteenth created or Buonaparte pillaged,—when he has taken +his last walk in the gardens of the Tuileries, and mused, at the foot +of the statue of Caesar, on that Titanic strife of monarchy and +democracy of which France has seemed destined to be the perpetual +theatre,—sated with the glitter of showy opulence and tired +with the whirl of frivolous life he will gladly and gratefully turn +again to his sombre, mysterious, thoughtful, restful old London; and, +like the Syrian captain, though in the better spirit of truth and +right, declare that Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, are better +than all the waters of Israel.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_RBD" id="a_RBD"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0046.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Ribbon Border"></p> +<br> +<a name="a_CHIII" id="a_CHIII"></a><a name="a_CHIIIb" id= +"a_CHIIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER III</h3> +<h5 align="center">GREAT HISTORIC PLACES</h5> +<br> +<p>There is so much to be seen in London that the pilgrim scarcely +knows where to choose and certainly is perplexed by what Dr. Johnson +called "the multiplicity of agreeable consciousness." One spot to +which I have many times been drawn, and which the mention of Dr. +Johnson instantly calls to mind, is the stately and solemn place in +Westminster Abbey where that great man's ashes are buried. Side by +side, under the pavement of the Abbey, within a few feet of earth, +sleep Johnson, Garrick, Sheridan, Henderson, Dickens, Cumberland, and +Handel. Garrick's wife is buried in the same grave with her husband. +Close by, some brass letters on a little slab in the stone floor mark +the last resting-place of Thomas Campbell. Not far off is the body of +Macaulay; while many a stroller through the nave treads upon the +gravestone of that astonishing old man Thomas Parr, who lived in the +reigns of nine princes (1483-1635), and reached the great age of 152. +All parts of Westminster Abbey impress the reverential mind. It is an +experience very strange and full of awe suddenly to find your steps +upon the sepulchres of such illustrious men as Burke, Pitt, Fox, and +Grattan; and you come, with a thrill of more than surprise, upon such +still fresh antiquity as the grave of Anne Neville, the daughter of +Warwick and queen of Richard the Third. But no single spot in the +great cathedral can so enthral the imagination as that strip of +storied stone beneath which Garrick, Johnson, Sheridan, Henderson, +Cumberland, Dickens, Macaulay, and Handel sleep, side by side. This +writer, when lately he visited the Abbey, found a chair upon the +grave of Johnson, and sat down there to rest and muse. The letters on +the stone are fast wearing away; but the memory of that sturdy +champion of thought can never perish, as long as the votaries of +literature love their art and honour the valiant genius that +battled—through hunger, toil, and contumely—for its +dignity and renown. It was a tender and right feeling that prompted +the burial of Johnson close beside Garrick. They set out together to +seek their fortune in the great city. They went through privation and +trial hand in hand. Each found glory in a different way; and, +although parted afterward by the currents of fame and wealth, they +were never sundered in affection. It was fit they should at last find +their rest together, under the most glorious roof that greets the +skies of England. Fortune gave me a good first day at the Tower of +London. The sky lowered. The air was very cold. The wind blew with +angry gusts. The rain fell, now and then, in a chill drizzle. The +river was dark and sullen. If the spirits of the dead come back to +haunt any place they surely come back to haunt that one; and this was +a day for their presence. One dark ghost seemed near, at every +step—the ominous shade of the lonely Duke of Gloster. The +little room in which the princes are said to have been murdered, by +his command, was shown, and the oratory where king Henry the Sixth is +supposed to have met a violent death, and the council chamber, in +which Richard—after listening, in an ambush behind the +arras—denounced the wretched Hastings. The latter place is now +used as an armoury; but the same ceiling covers it that echoed the +bitter invective of Gloster and the rude clamour of his soldiers, +when their frightened victim was plucked forth and dragged +downstairs, to be beheaded on "a timber-log" in the courtyard. The +Tower is a place for such deeds, and you almost wonder that they do +not happen still, in its gloomy chambers. The room in which the +princes were killed (if killed indeed they were) is particularly +grisly in aspect. It is an inner room, small and dark. A barred +window in one of its walls fronts a window on the other side of the +passage by which you approach it. This is but a few feet from the +floor, and perhaps the murderers paused to look through it as they +went to their hellish work upon the children of king Edward. The +entrance was indicated to a secret passage by which this apartment +could be approached from the foot of the Tower. In one gloomy stone +chamber the crown jewels are exhibited, in a large glass case. One of +the royal relics is a crown of velvet and gold that was made for poor +Anne Boleyn. You may pass across the courtyard and pause on the spot +where that miserable woman was beheaded, and you may walk thence over +the ground that her last trembling footsteps traversed, to the round +tower in which, at the close, she lived. Her grave is in the chancel +of the little antique church, close by. I saw the cell of Raleigh, +and that direful chamber which is scrawled all over with the names +and emblems of prisoners who therein suffered confinement and +lingering agony, nearly always ending in death; but I saw no sadder +place than Anne Boleyn's tower. It seemed in the strangest way +eloquent of mute suffering. It seemed to exhale grief and to plead +for love and pity. Yet—what woman ever had greater love than +was lavished on her? And what woman ever trampled more royally and +recklessly upon human hearts?</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TTL" id="a_TTL"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0049.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Tower of London."></p> +<br> +<p>The Tower of London is degraded by being put to commonplace uses +and by being exhibited in a commonplace manner. They use the famous +White Tower now as a store-house for arms, and it contains about one +hundred thousand guns, besides a vast collection of old armour and +weapons. The arrangement of the latter was made by J. R. Planché, the +dramatic author,—famous as an antiquarian and a herald. [That +learned, able, brilliant, and honoured gentleman died, May 29, 1880, +aged 84.] Under his tasteful direction the effigies and gear of +chivalry are displayed in such a way that the observer may trace the +changes that war fashions have undergone, through the reigns of +successive sovereigns of England, from the earliest period until now. +A suit of mail worn by Henry the Eighth is shown, and also a suit +worn by Charles the First. The suggestiveness of both figures is +remarkable. In a room on the second floor of the White Tower they +keep many gorgeous oriental weapons, and they show the cloak in which +General Wolfe died, on the Plains of Abraham. It is a gray garment, +to which the active moth has given a share of his assiduous +attention. The most impressive objects to be seen there, however, are +the block and axe that were used in beheading the Scotch lords, +Kilmarnock, Balmerino, and Lovat, after the defeat of the pretender, +in 1746. The block is of ash, and there are big and cruel dents upon +it, showing that it was made for use rather than ornament. It is +harmless enough now, and this writer was allowed to place his head +upon it, in the manner prescribed for the victims of decapitation. +The door of Raleigh's bedroom is opposite to these baleful relics, +and it is said that his <i>History of the World</i> was written in +the room in which these implements are now such conspicuous objects +of gloom.† The place is gloomy and cheerless beyond +expression, and great must have been the fortitude of the man who +bore, in that grim solitude, a captivity of thirteen years—not +failing to improve it by producing a book so excellent for +quaintness, philosophy, and eloquence. A "beef-eater," arrayed in a +dark tunic, trousers trimmed with red, and a black velvet hat adorned +with bows of blue and red ribbon, precedes each group of visitors, +and drops information and the letter h, from point to point. The +centre of what was once the Tower green is marked with a brass plate, +naming Anne Boleyn and giving the date when she was there beheaded. +They found her body in an elm-wood box, made to hold arrows, and it +now rests, with the ashes of other noble sufferers, under the stones +of the church of St. Peter, about fifty feet from the place of +execution. The ghost of Anne Boleyn is said to haunt that part of the +Tower where she lived, and it is likewise whispered that the spectre +of Lady Jane Grey was seen, not long ago, on the anniversary of the +day of her execution [Obiit February 12, 1554], to glide out upon a +balcony adjacent to the room in which she lodged during nearly eight +months, at the last of her wasted, unfortunate, but gentle and noble +life. [That room was in the house of Thomas Brydges, brother and +deputy of Sir John Brydges, Lieutenant of the Tower, and its windows +command an unobstructed view of the Tower green, which was the place +of the block.] It could serve no good purpose to relate the +particulars of those visitations; but nobody doubts them—while +he is in the Tower. It is a place of mystery and horror, +notwithstanding all that the practical spirit of to-day has done to +make it trivial and to cheapen its grim glories by association with +the commonplace.</p> +<p><small>† Many of these relics have since been disposed in a +different way.—Raleigh was incarcerated in various parts of the +Tower, in the course of his several imprisonments.</small></p> +<br> +<a name="a_OWG" id="a_OWG"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0055.jpg" width="60%" alt= +"Old Water Gate."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_BBD" id="a_BBD"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0056.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Bird Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHIV" id="a_CHIV"></a><a name="a_CHIVb" id="a_CHIVb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER IV</h3> +<h5 align="center">RAMBLES IN LONDON</h5> +<br> +<p>All old cities get rich in association, as a matter of course and +whether they will or no; but London, by reason of its great extent, +as well as its great antiquity, is richer in association than any +modern place on earth. The stranger scarcely takes a step without +encountering a new object of interest. The walk along the Strand and +Fleet Street, in particular, is continually on storied ground. Old +Temple Bar still stands (July 1877), though "tottering to its fall," +and marks the junction of the two streets. The statues of Charles the +First and Charles the Second on its western front would be remarkable +anywhere, as characteristic portraits. You stand beside that arch and +quite forget the passing throng, and take no heed of the tumult +around, as you think of Johnson and Boswell leaning against the Bar +after midnight in the far-off times and waking the echoes of the +Temple Garden with their frolicsome laughter. The Bar is carefully +propped now, and they will nurse its age as long as they can; but it +is an obstruction to travel—and it must disappear. (It was +removed in the summer of 1878.) They will probably set it up, newly +built, in another place. They have left untouched a little piece of +the original scaffolding built around St. Paul's; and that fragment +of decaying wood may still be seen, high upon the side of the +cathedral. The Rainbow, the Mitre, the Cheshire Cheese, Dolly's +Chop-House, the Cock, and the Round Table—taverns or +public-houses that were frequented by the old wits—are still +extant (1877). The Cheshire Cheese is scarcely changed from what it +was when Johnson, Goldsmith, and their comrades ate beefsteak pie and +drank porter there, and the Doctor "tossed and gored several +persons," as it was his cheerful custom to do. The benches in that +room are narrow, incommodious, penitential; mere ledges of well-worn +wood, on which the visitor sits bolt upright, in difficult +perpendicular; but there is, probably, nothing on earth that would +induce the owner to alter them—and he is right.<br> +<a name="a_ACC" id="a_ACC"></a></p> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0057.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Approach to Cheshire Cheese."></p> +<br> +<p>The conservative principle in the English mind, if it has saved +some trash, has saved more treasure. At the foot of Buckingham +Street, in the Strand,—where was situated an estate of George +Villiers, first Duke of Buckingham, assassinated in 1628, whose tomb +may be seen in the chapel of Henry the Seventh in Westminster +Abbey,—still stands the slowly crumbling ruin of the old Water +Gate, so often mentioned as the place where accused traitors were +embarked for the Tower. The river, in former times, flowed up to that +gate, but the land along the margin of the Thames has been redeemed, +and the magnificent Victoria and Albert embankments now border the +river for a long distance on both sides. The Water Gate, in fact, +stands in a little park on the north bank of the Thames. Not far away +is the Adelphi Terrace, where Garrick lived and died (Obiit January +20, 1779, aged 63), and where, on October 1, 1822, his widow expired, +aged 98. The house of Garrick is let in "chambers" now. If you walk +up the Strand towards Charing Cross you presently come near to the +Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, which is one of the works of +James Gibbs, a pupil of Sir Christopher Wren, and entirely worthy of +the master's hand. The fogs have stained that building with such a +deft touch as shows the caprice of nature to be often better than the +best design of art. Nell Gwyn's name is connected with St. Martin. +Her funeral occurred in that church, and was pompous, and no less a +person than Tenison (afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury) preached +the funeral sermon.†</p> +<p><small>† This was made the occasion of a complaint against +him, to Queen Mary, who gently expressed her unshaken confidence in +his goodness and truth.</small></p> +<br> +<a name="a_TCH" id="a_TCH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0059.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Temple Church."></p> +<br> +<p>That prelate's dust reposes in Lambeth church, which can be seen, +across the river, from this part of Westminster. If you walk down the +Strand, through Temple Bar, you presently reach the Temple; and there +is no place in London where the past and the present are so strangely +confronted as they are here. The venerable church, so quaint with its +cone-pointed turrets, was sleeping in the sunshine when first I saw +it; sparrows were twittering around its spires and gliding in and out +of the crevices in its ancient walls; while from within a strain of +organ music, low and sweet, trembled forth, till the air became a +benediction and every common thought and feeling was purified away +from mind and heart. The grave of Goldsmith is close to the pathway +that skirts this church, on a terrace raised above the foundation of +the building and above the little graveyard of the Templars that +nestles at its base. As I stood beside the resting-place of that +sweet poet it was impossible not to feel both grieved and glad: +grieved at the thought of all he suffered, and of all that the poetic +nature must always suffer before it will utter its immortal music for +mankind: glad that his gentle spirit found rest at last, and that +time has given him the crown he would most have prized—the +affection of true hearts. A gray stone, coffin-shaped and marked with +a cross,—after the fashion of the contiguous tombs of the +Templars,—is imposed upon his grave.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SML" id="a_SML"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0061.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"St. Mary-le-Strand--The Strand."></p> +<br> +<p>One surface bears the inscription, "Here lies Oliver Goldsmith"; +the other presents the dates of his birth and death. (Born Nov. 10, +1728; died April 4, 1774.) I tried to call up the scene of his +burial, when, around the open grave, on that tearful April evening, +Johnson, Burke, Reynolds, Beauclerk, Boswell, Davies, Kelly, Palmer, +and the rest of that broken circle, may have gathered to witness</p> +<blockquote><small>"The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid,<br> +And the last rites that dust to dust conveyed."</small></blockquote> +<p>No place could be less romantic than Southwark is now; but there +are few places in England that possess a greater charm for the +literary pilgrim. Shakespeare lived there, and it was there that he +wrote for a theatre and made a fortune. Old London Bridge spanned the +Thames at this point, in those days, and was the only road to the +Surrey side of the river. The theatre stood near the end of the +bridge and was thus easy of access to the wits and beaux of London. +No trace of it now remains; but a public-house called the Globe, +which was its name, is standing near, and the old church of St. +Saviour—into which Shakespeare must often have +entered—still braves the storm and still resists the +encroachments of time and change. In Shakespeare's day there were +houses on each side of London Bridge; and as he walked on the bank of +the Thames he could look across to the Tower, and to Baynard Castle, +which had been the residence of Richard, Duke of Gloster, and could +see, uplifted high in air, the spire of old St. Paul's. The borough +of Southwark was then but thinly peopled. Many of its houses, as may +be seen in an old picture of the city, were surrounded by fields or +gardens; and life to its inhabitants must have been comparatively +rural. Now it is packed with buildings, gridironed with railways, +crowded with people, and to the last degree resonant and feverish +with action and effort. Life swarms, traffic bustles, and travel +thunders all round the cradle of the British drama. The old church of +St. Saviour alone preserves the sacred memory of the past. I made a +pilgrimage to that shrine, with Arthur Sketchley (George Rose), one +of the kindliest humourists in England. (Obiit November 13, 1882.) We +embarked at Westminster Bridge and landed close by the church in +Southwark, and we were so fortunate as to get permission to enter it +without a guide. The oldest part of it is the Lady +chapel—which, in English cathedrals, is almost invariably +placed behind the choir. Through this we strolled, alone and in +silence. Every footstep there falls upon a grave. The pavement is one +mass of gravestones; and through the tall, stained windows of the +chapel a solemn light pours in upon the sculptured names of men and +women who have long been dust. In one corner is an ancient stone +coffin—a relic of the Roman days of Britain. This is the place +in which Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, in the days of cruel +Queen Mary, held his ecclesiastical court and doomed many a +dissentient devotee to the rack and the fagot. Here was condemned +John Rogers,—afterwards burnt at the stake, in Smithfield. +Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth may often have entered this chapel. +But it is in the choir that the pilgrim pauses with most of +reverence; for there, not far from the altar, he stands at the graves +of Edmund Shakespeare, John Fletcher, and Philip Massinger.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_GMN" id="a_GMN"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0064.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Gower's Monument."></p> +<br> +<p>They apparently rest almost side by side, and only their names and +the dates of their death are cut in the tablets that mark their +sepulchres. Edmund Shakespeare, the younger brother of William, was +an actor in his company, and died in 1607, aged twenty-seven. The +great poet must have stood at that grave, and suffered and wept +there; and somehow the lover of Shakespeare comes very near to the +heart of the master when he stands in that place. Massinger was +buried there, March 18, 1638,—the parish register recording him +as "a stranger." Fletcher—of the Beaumont and Fletcher +alliance—was buried there, in 1625: Beaumont's grave is in the +Abbey. The dust of Henslowe the manager also rests beneath the +pavement of St. Saviour's. Bishop Gardiner was buried there, with +pompous ceremonial, in 1555,—but subsequently his remains were +removed to the cathedral at Winchester. The great prelate Lancelot +Andrews, commemorated by Milton, found his grave there, in 1626. The +royal poet King James the First, of Scotland, was married there, in +1423, to Jane, daughter of the Earl of Somerset and niece of Cardinal +Beaufort. In the south transept of the church is the tomb of John +Gower, the old poet—whose effigy, carved and painted, reclines +upon it and is not attractive. A formal, severe aspect he must have +had, if he resembled that image. The tomb has been moved from the +spot where it first stood—a proceeding made necessary by a fire +that destroyed part of the old church. It is said that Gower caused +the tomb to be erected during his lifetime, so that it might be in +readiness to receive his bones. The bones are lost, but the memorial +remains—sacred to the memory of the father of English song. +This tomb was restored by the Duke of Sutherland, in 1832.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_AMN" id="a_AMN"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0066.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Andrews Monument."></p> +<br> +<p>It is enclosed by a little grill made of iron spears, painted +brown and gilded at their points. I went into the new part of the +church, and, alone, knelt in one of the pews and long remained there, +overcome with thoughts of the past and of the transient, momentary +nature of this our earthly life and the shadows that we pursue.</p> +<p>One object of merriment attracts a passing glance in that old +church. There is a tomb in a corner of it that commemorates Dr. +Lockyer, a maker of patent physic, in the time of Charles the Second. +This elaborate structure presents an effigy of the doctor, together +with a sounding epitaph which declares that</p> +<blockquote><small>"His virtues and his pills are so well known<br> +That envy can't confine them under stone."</small></blockquote> +<p>Shakespeare once lived in Clink Street, in the borough of +Southwark. Goldsmith practised medicine there. Chaucer came there, +with his Canterbury Pilgrims, and lodged at the Tabard inn, which has +disappeared. It must have been a romantic region in the old times. It +is anything but romantic now.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_HLN" id="a_HLN"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0067.jpg" width="40%" alt= +"Hanging Lantern"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_OTI" id="a_OTI"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0068.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Old Tabard Inn, Southwark."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="SGD" id="SGD"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0069.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"St. George and the Dragon Border"></p> +<br> +<a name="a_CHV" id="a_CHV"></a><a name="a_CHVb" id="a_CHVb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER V</h3> +<h5 align="center">A VISIT TO WINDSOR</h5> +<br> +<p>If the beauty of England were only superficial it would produce +only a superficial effect. It would cause a passing pleasure and +would be forgotten. It certainly would not—as now in fact it +does—inspire a deep, joyous, serene and grateful contentment, +and linger in the mind, a gracious and beneficent remembrance. The +conquering and lasting potency of it resides not alone in loveliness +of expression but in loveliness of character. Having first greatly +blessed the British islands with the natural advantages of position, +climate, soil, and products, nature has wrought their development and +adornment as a necessary consequence of the spirit of their +inhabitants. The picturesque variety and pastoral repose of the +English landscape spring, in a considerable measure, from the +imaginative taste and the affectionate gentleness of the English +people. The state of the country, like its social constitution, flows +from principles within, which are constantly suggested, and it +steadily comforts and nourishes the mind with a sense of kindly +feeling, moral rectitude, solidity, and permanence.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_WCH" id="a_WCH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0070.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Windsor Castle."></p> +<br> +<p>Thus in the peculiar beauty of England the ideal is made the +actual—is expressed in things more than in words, and in things +by which words are transcended. Milton's "L'Allegro," fine as it is, +is not so fine as the scenery—the crystallised, embodied +poetry—out of which it arose. All the delicious rural verse +that has been written in England is only the excess and superflux of +her own poetic opulence: it has rippled from the hearts of her poets +just as the fragrance floats away from her hawthorn hedges. At every +step of his progress the pilgrim through English scenes is impressed +with this sovereign excellence of the accomplished fact, as +contrasted with any words that can be said in its celebration.</p> +<p>Among representative scenes that are eloquent with this +instructive meaning,—scenes easily and pleasurably accessible +to the traveller in what Dickens expressively called "the green, +English summer weather,"—is the region of Windsor. The chief +features of it have often been described; the charm that it exercises +can only be suggested. To see Windsor, moreover, is to comprehend as +at a glance the old feudal system, and to feel in a profound and +special way the pomp of English character and history. More than +this: it is to rise to the ennobling serenity that always accompanies +broad, retrospective contemplation of the current of human affairs. +In this quaint, decorous town—nestled at the base of that +mighty and magnificent castle which has been the home of princes for +more than five hundred years—the imaginative mind wanders over +vast tracts of the past and beholds as in a mirror the pageants of +chivalry, the coronations of kings, the strife of sects, the battles +of armies, the schemes of statesmen, the decay of transient systems, +the growth of a rational civilisation, and the everlasting march of +thought. Every prospect of the region intensifies this sentiment of +contemplative grandeur. As you look from the castle walls your gaze +takes in miles and miles of blooming country, sprinkled over with +little hamlets, wherein the utmost stateliness of learning and rank +is gracefully commingled with all that is lovely and soothing in +rural life. Not far away rise the "antique towers" of Eton—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Where grateful science still adores<br> +Her Henry's holy shade."</small></blockquote> +<p>It was in Windsor Castle that her Henry was born; and there he +often held his court; and it is in St. George's chapel that his ashes +repose. In the dim distance stands the church of Stoke-Pogis, about +which Gray used to wander,</p> +<blockquote><small>"Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's +shade."</small></blockquote> +<p>You recognise now a deeper significance than ever before in the +"solemn stillness" of the incomparable Elegy. The luminous twilight +mood of that immortal poem—its pensive reverie and solemn +passion—is inherent in the scene; and you feel that it was +there, and there only, that the genius of its exceptional +author—austerely gentle and severely pure, and thus in perfect +harmony with its surroundings—could have been moved to that +sublime strain of inspiration and eloquence. Near at hand, in the +midst of your reverie, the mellow organ sounds from the chapel of St. +George, where, under "fretted vault" and over "long-drawn aisle," +depend the ghostly, mouldering banners of ancient knights—as +still as the bones of the dead-and-gone monarchs that crumble in the +crypt below.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SGC" id="a_SGC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0073.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"St. George's Chapel, Windsor Castle."></p> +<br> +<p>In this church are many of the old kings and nobles of England. +The handsome and gallant Edward the Fourth here found his grave; and +near it is that of the accomplished Hastings—his faithful +friend, to the last and after. Here lies the dust of the stalwart, +impetuous, and savage Henry the Eighth, and here, at midnight, by the +light of torches, they laid beneath the pavement the mangled body of +Charles the First. As you stand on Windsor ramparts, pondering thus +upon the storied past and the evanescence of "all that beauty, all +that wealth e'er gave," your eyes rest dreamily on green fields far +below, through which, under tall elms, the brimming and sparkling +river flows on without a sound, and in which a few figures, dwarfed +by distance, flit here and there, in seeming aimless idleness; while, +warned homeward by impending sunset, the chattering birds circle and +float around the lofty towers of the castle; and delicate perfumes of +seringa and jasmine are wafted up from dusky, unknown depths at the +base of its ivied steep. At such an hour I stood on those ramparts +and saw the shy villages and rich meadows of fertile Berkshire, all +red and golden with sunset light; and at such an hour I stood in the +lonely cloisters of St. George's chapel, and heard the distant organ +sob, and saw the sunlight fade up the gray walls, and felt and knew +the sanctity of silence. Age and death have made this church +illustrious; but the spot itself has its own innate charm of mystical +repose.</p> +<blockquote><small>"No use of lanterns; and in one place lay<br> +Feathers and dust to-day and yesterday."</small></blockquote> +<br> +<a name="a_WFP" id="a_WFP"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0075.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Windsor Forest and Park."></p> +<br> +<p>The drive from the front of Windsor Castle is through a broad and +stately avenue, three miles in length, straight as an arrow and level +as a standing pool; and this white highway through the green and +fragrant sod is sumptuously embowered, from end to end, with double +rows of magnificent elms and oaks. The Windsor avenue, like the +splendid chestnut grove at Bushey Park, long famous among the +pageants of rural England, has often been described. It is after +leaving this that the rambler comes upon the rarer beauties of +Windsor Park and Forest. From the far end of the avenue—where, +in a superb position, the equestrian statue of King George the Third +rises on its massive pedestal of natural rock,—the road winds +away, through shaded dell and verdant glade, past great gnarled +beeches and under boughs of elm, and yew, and oak, till its silver +thread is lost in the distant woods. At intervals a sinuous pathway +strays off to some secluded lodge, half hidden in foliage—the +property of the Crown, and the rustic residence of a scion of the +royal race. In one of those retreats dwelt poor old George the Third, +in the days of his mental darkness; and the memory of the agonising +king seems still to cast a shadow on the mysterious and melancholy +house. They show you, under glass, in one of the lodge gardens, an +enormous grapevine, owned by the Queen—a vine which, from its +single stalwart trunk, spreads its teeming branches, laterally, more +than a hundred feet in each direction. So come use and thrift, hand +in hand with romance! Many an aged oak is passed, in your progress, +round which, "at still midnight," Herne the Hunter might yet take his +ghostly prowl, shaking his chain "in a most hideous and dreadful +manner." The wreck of the veritable Herne's Oak, it is said, was +rooted out, together with other ancient and decayed trees, in the +time of George the Third, and in somewhat too literal fulfilment of +his Majesty's misinterpreted command.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TCT" id="a_TCT"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0077.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Curfew Tower."></p> +<br> +<p>This great park is fourteen miles in circumference and contains +nearly four thousand acres, and many of the youngest trees that adorn +it are more than one hundred and fifty years old. Far in its heart +you stroll by Virginia Water—an artificial lake, but faultless +in its gentle beauty—and perceive it so deep and so breezy that +a full-rigged ship-of-war, with armament, can navigate its +wind-swept, curling billows. This lake was made by that sanguinary +Duke of Cumberland who led the English forces at Culloden. In the dim +groves that fringe its margin are many nests wherein pheasants are +bred, to fall by the royal shot and to supply the royal table: those +you may contemplate but not approach. At a point in your walk, +sequestered and lonely, they have set up and skilfully disposed the +fragments of a genuine ruined temple, brought from the remote +East—relic perchance of "Tadmor's marble waste," and certainly +a most solemn memorial of the morning twilight of time. Broken arch, +storm-stained pillar, and shattered column are here shrouded with +moss and ivy; and should you chance to see them as the evening +shadows deepen and the evening wind sighs mournfully in the grass +your fancy will not fail to drink in the perfect illusion that one of +the stateliest structures of antiquity has slowly crumbled where now +its fragments remain.</p> +<p>"Quaint" is a descriptive epithet that has been much abused, but +it may, with absolute propriety, be applied to Windsor. The devious +little streets there visible, and the carved and timber-crossed +buildings, often of great age, are uncommonly rich in the +expressiveness of imaginative character. The emotions and the fancy, +equally with the sense of necessity and the instinct of use, have +exercised their influence and uttered their spirit in the shaping and +adornment of the town. While it constantly feeds the eye—with +that pleasing irregularity of lines and forms which is so delicious +and refreshing—it quite as constantly nurtures the sense of +romance that ought to play so large a part in our lives, redeeming us +from the tyranny of the commonplace and intensifying all the high +feelings and noble aspirations that are possible to human nature. +England contains many places like Windsor; some that blend in even +richer amplitude the elements of quaintness, loveliness, and +magnificence. The meaning of them all is the same: that romance, +beauty, and gentleness are forever vital; that their forces are +within our souls, and ready and eager to find their way into our +thoughts, actions, and circumstances, and to brighten for every one +of us the face of every day; that they ought neither to be relegated +to the distant and the past nor kept for our books and day-dreams +alone; but—in a calmer and higher mood than is usual in this +age of universal mediocrity, critical scepticism, and miscellaneous +tumult—should be permitted to flow forth into our architecture, +adornments, and customs, to hallow and preserve our antiquities, to +soften our manners, to give us tranquillity, patience, and tolerance, +to make our country loveable for our own hearts, and so to enable us +to bequeath it, sure of love and reverence, to succeeding ages.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SOS" id="a_SOS"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0079.jpg" width="60%" alt= +"The Sign of the Swan."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHB" id="a_CHB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0080.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Cherub Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHVI" id="a_CHVI"></a><a name="a_CHVIb" id="a_CHVIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER VI</h3> +<h5 align="center">THE PALACE OF WESTMINSTER</h5> +<br> +<p>The American who, having been a careful and interested reader of +English history, visits London for the first time, half expects to +find the ancient city in a state of mild decay; and consequently he +is a little startled at first, upon realising that the present is +quite as vital as ever the past was, and that London antiquity is, in +fact, swathed in the robes of everyday action and very much alive. +When, for example, you enter Westminster Hall—"the great hall +of William Rufus"—you are beneath one of the most glorious +canopies in the world—one that was built by Richard the Second, +whose grave, chosen by himself, is in the Abbey, just across the +street from where you stand. But this old hall is now only a +vestibule to the palace of Westminster. The Lords and the Commons of +England, on their way to the Houses of Parliament, pass every day +over the spot on which Charles the First was tried and condemned, and +on which occurred the trial of Warren Hastings.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_WMH" id="a_WMH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0081.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Westminster Hall."></p> +<br> +<p>It is a mere thoroughfare—glorious though it be, alike in +structure and historic renown. The Palace Yard, near by, was the +scene of the execution of Sir Walter Raleigh. In Bishopsgate Street +stands Crosby House; the same to which, in Shakespeare's tragedy, the +Duke of Gloster requests the retirement of Lady Anne. It is a +restaurant now, and you may dine in the veritable throne-room of +Richard the Third. The house of Cardinal Wolsey in Fleet Street is +now a shop. Milton once lived in Golden Lane, and Golden Lane was a +sweet and quiet spot. It is a dingy and dismal street now, and the +visitor is glad to get out of it. To-day makes use of yesterday, all +the world over. It is not in London, certainly, that you find +anything—except old churches—mouldering in silence, +solitude, and neglect.</p> +<p>Those who see every day during the Parliamentary session the mace +that is borne through the lobby of the House of Commons, although +they are obliged, on every occasion, to uncover as it passes, do not, +probably, view that symbol with much interest. Yet it is the same +mace that Oliver Cromwell insulted† when he dissolved the +Parliament and cried out, "Take away that bauble!"</p> +<p><small>† An error. The House of Commons has had three +maces. The first one disappeared after the judicial slaughter of +Charles the First. The Cromwell mace was carried to the island of +Jamaica, and is there preserved in a museum at Kingston. The third is +the one now in use.</small></p> +<br> +<a name="a_TMC" id="a_TMC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0082.jpg" width="20%" alt= +"The Mace."></p> +<br> +<p>I saw it one day, on its passage to the table of the Commons, and +was glad to remove the hat of respect to what it signifies—the +power and majesty of the free people of England. The Speaker of the +House was walking behind it, very grand in his wig and gown, and the +members trooped in at his heels to secure their places by being +present at the opening prayer. A little later I was provided with a +seat, in a dim corner, in that august assemblage of British senators, +and could observe at ease their management of the public business. +The Speaker was on his throne; the mace was on its table; the hats of +the Commons were on their heads; and over this singular, animated, +impressive scene the waning light of a summer afternoon poured softly +down, through the high, stained, and pictured windows of one of the +most symmetrical halls in the world. It did not happen to be a day of +excitement. The Irish members had not then begun to impede the +transaction of business, for the sake of drawing attention to the +everlasting wrongs of Ireland. Yet it was a lively day. Curiosity on +the part of the Opposition and a respectful incertitude on the part +of Her Majesty's ministers were the prevailing conditions. I had +never before heard so many questions asked—outside of the +French grammar—and asked to so little purpose. Everybody wanted +to know, and nobody wanted to tell. Each inquirer took off his hat +when he rose to ask, and put it on again when he sat down to be +answered. Each governmental sphinx bared his brow when he emerged to +divulge, and covered it again when he subsided without divulging. The +superficial respect of these interlocutors for each other steadily +remained, however, of the most deferential and considerate +description; so that—without discourtesy—it was +impossible not to think of Byron's "mildest mannered man that ever +scuttled ship or cut a throat." Underneath this velvety, purring, +conventional manner the observer could readily discern the fires of +passion, prejudice, and strong antagonism. They make no parade in the +House of Commons. They attend to their business. And upon every topic +that is brought before their notice they have definite ideas, strong +convictions, and settled purposes. The topic of Army Estimates upon +this day seemed especially to arouse their ardour. Discussion of this +was continually diversified by cries of "Oh!" and of "Hear!" and of +"Order!" and sometimes those cries savoured more of derision than of +compliment. Many persons spoke, but no person spoke well. An +off-hand, matter-of-fact, shambling method of speech would seem to be +the fashion in the British House of Commons. I remembered the +anecdote that De Quincey tells, about Sheridan and the young member +who quoted Greek. It was easy to perceive how completely out of place +the sophomore orator would be, in that assemblage. Britons like +better to make speeches than to hear them, and they will never be +slaves to bad oratory. The moment a windy gentleman got the floor, +and began to read a manuscript respecting the Indian Government, as +many as forty Commons arose and noisily walked out of the House. Your +pilgrim likewise hailed the moment of his deliverance and was glad to +escape to the open air.</p> +<p>Books have been written to describe the Palace of Westminster; but +it is observable that this structure, however much its magnificence +deserves commemorative applause, is deficient, as yet, in the charm +of association. The old Palace of St. James, with its low, dusky +walls, its round turrets, and its fretted battlements, is more +impressive, because history has freighted it with meaning and time +has made it beautiful. But the Palace of Westminster is a splendid +structure. It covers eight acres of ground, on the bank of the +Thames; it contains eleven quadrangles and five hundred rooms; and +when its niches for statuary have been filled it will contain two +hundred and twenty-six statues. The monuments in St. Stephen's +Hall—into which you pass from Westminster Hall, which has been +incorporated into the Palace and is its only ancient and therefore +its most interesting feature—indicate, very eloquently, what a +superb art gallery this will one day become. The statues are the +images of Selden, Hampden, Falkland, Clarendon, Somers, Walpole, +Chatham, Mansfield, Burke, Fox, Pitt, and Grattan. Those of Mansfield +and Grattan present, perhaps, the most of character and power, making +you feel that they are indubitably accurate portraits, and winning +you by the charm of personality. There are statues, also, in +Westminster Hall, commemorative of the Georges, William and Mary, and +Anne; but it is not of these you think, nor of any local and everyday +object, when you stand beneath the wonderful roof of Richard the +Second. Nearly eight hundred years "their cloudy wings expand" above +that fabric, and copiously shed upon it the fragrance of old renown. +Richard the Second was deposed there: Cromwell was there installed +Lord Protector of England: John Fisher, Sir Thomas More, and +Strafford were there condemned: and it was there that the possible, +if not usual, devotion of woman's heart was so touchingly displayed +by her</p> +<blockquote><small>"Whose faith drew strength from death,<br> +And prayed her Russell up to God."</small></blockquote> +<p>No one can realise, without personal experience, the number and +variety of pleasures accessible to the resident of London. These may +not be piquant to him who has them always within his reach. I met +with several residents of the British capital who had always intended +to visit the Tower but had never done so. But to the stranger they +possess a constant and keen fascination. The Derby this year [1877] +was thought to be comparatively a tame race; but I know of one +spectator who saw it from the top of the grand stand and who thought +that the scene it presented was wonderfully brilliant. The sky had +been overcast with dull clouds till the moment when the race was won; +but just as Archer, rising in his saddle, lifted his horse forward +and gained the goal alone, the sun burst forth and shed upon the +downs a sheen of gold, and lit up all the distant hills, and all the +far-stretching roads that wind away from the region of Epsom like +threads of silver through the green. Carrier-pigeons were instantly +launched off to London, with the news of the victory of Silvio. There +was one winner on the grand stand who had laid bets on Silvio, for no +other reason than because that horse bore the prettiest name in the +list. The Derby, like Christmas, comes but once a year; but other +allurements are almost perennial.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_GHO" id="a_GHO"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0087.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Greenwich Hospital."></p> +<br> +<p>Greenwich, for instance, with its white-bait dinner, invites the +epicure during the best part of the London season. A favourite tavern +is the Trafalgar—in which each room is named after some magnate +of the old British navy; and Nelson, Hardy, and Rodney are household +words. Another cheery place of resort is The Ship. The Hospitals are +at Greenwich that Dr. Johnson thought to be too fine for a charity; +and back of these—which are ordinary enough now, in comparison +with modern structures erected for a kindred purpose—stands the +famous Observatory that keeps time for Europe. This place is hallowed +also by the grave of Clive and by that of Wolfe—to the latter +of whom, however, there is a monument in Westminster Abbey. Greenwich +makes one think of Queen Elizabeth, who was born there, who often +held her court there, and who often sailed thence, in her barge, up +the river to Richmond—her favourite retreat and the scene of +her last days and her pathetic death. Few spots can compare with +Richmond, in brilliancy of landscape. That place—the Shene of +old times—was long a royal residence. The woods and meadows +that you see from the terrace of the Star and Garter +tavern—spread upon a rolling plain as far as the eye can +reach—sparkle like emeralds; and the Thames, dotted with little +toy-like boats, shines with all the deep lustre of the blackest onyx. +Richmond, for those who honour genius and who love to walk in the +footsteps of renown, is full of interest. Dean Swift once had a house +there, the site of which is still indicated. Pope's rural home was in +the adjacent village of Twickenham,—where it may still be seen. +Horace Walpole's stately mansion of Strawberry Hill is not far off. +The poet Thomson long resided at Richmond, in a house now used as an +hospital, and there he died. Edmund Kean and the once famous Mrs. +Yates rest beneath Richmond church, and there also are the ashes of +Thomson. As I drove through the sweetly sylvan Park of Richmond, in +the late afternoon of a breezy summer day, and heard the whispering +of the great elms, and saw the gentle, trustful deer couched at ease +in the golden glades, I heard all the while, in the still chambers of +thought, the tender lament of Collins—which is now a prophecy +fulfilled:</p> +<blockquote><small>"Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore,<br> + When Thames in summer wreaths is drest;<br> +And oft suspend the dashing oar,<br> + To bid his gentle spirit +rest."</small></blockquote> +<br> +<a name="a_QEC" id="a_QEC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0090.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Queen Elizabeth's Cradle."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_PHB" id="a_PHB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0091.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Phoenix Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHVII" id="a_CHVII"></a><a name="a_CHVIIb" id= +"a_CHVIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER VII</h3> +<h5 align="center">WARWICK AND KENILWORTH</h5> +<br> +<p>All the way from London to Warwick it rained; not heavily, but +with a gentle fall. The gray clouds hung low over the landscape and +softly darkened it; so that meadows of scarlet and emerald, the +shining foliage of elms, gray turret, nestled cottage and limpid +river were as mysterious and evanescent as pictures seen in dreams. +At Warwick the rain had fallen and ceased, and the walk from the +station to the inn was on a road—or on a footpath by the +roadside—still hard and damp with the water it had absorbed. A +fresh wind blew from the fields, sweet with the rain and fragrant +with the odour of leaves and flowers. The streets of the ancient +town—entered through an old Norman arch—were deserted and +silent. It was Sunday when I first came to the country of +Shakespeare; and over all the region there brooded a sacred stillness +peculiar to the time and harmonious beyond utterance with the +sanctity of the place. As I strive, after many days, to call back and +to fix in words the impressions of that sublime experience, the same +awe falls upon me now that fell upon me then. Nothing else upon +earth—no natural scene, no relic of the past, no pageantry of +the present—can vie with the shrine of Shakespeare, in power to +impress, to humble, and to exalt the devout spirit that has been +nurtured at the fountain of his transcendent genius.</p> +<p>A fortunate way to approach Stratford-on-Avon is by Warwick and +Kenilworth. Those places are not on a direct line of travel; but the +scenes and associations that they successively present are such as +assume a symmetrical order, increase in interest, and grow to a +delightful culmination. Objects that Shakespeare himself must have +seen are still visible there; and little by little, in contact with +these, the pilgrim through this haunted region is mentally saturated +with that atmosphere of serenity and romance in which the youth of +Shakespeare was passed, and by which his works and his memory are +embalmed. No one should come abruptly upon the poet's home. The mind +needs to be prepared for the impression that awaits it; and in this +gradual approach it finds preparation, both suitable and delicious. +The luxuriance of the country, its fertile fields, its brilliant +foliage, its myriads of wild-flowers, its pomp of colour and of +physical vigour and bloom, do not fail to announce, to every mind, +howsoever heedless, that this is a fit place for the birth and +nurture of a great man. But this is not all. As you stroll in the +quaint streets of Warwick, as you drive to Kenilworth, as you muse in +that poetic ruin, as you pause in the old graveyard in the valley +below, as you meditate over the crumbling fragments of the ancient +abbey, at every step of the way you are haunted by a vague sense of +an impending grandeur; you are aware of a presence that fills and +sanctifies the scene. The emotion that is thus inspired is very +glorious; never to be elsewhere felt; and never to be forgotten.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_WAC" id="a_WAC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0089.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Warwick Castle."></p> +<br> +<p>The cyclopædias and the guide-books dilate, with much +particularity and characteristic eloquence, upon Warwick Castle and +other great features of Warwickshire, but the attribute that all such +records omit is the atmosphere; and this, perhaps, is rather to be +indicated than described. The prevailing quality of it is a certain +high and sweet solemnity—a feeling kindred with the placid, +happy melancholy that steals over the mind, when, on a sombre +afternoon in autumn, you stand in the churchyard, and listen, amid +rustling branches and sighing grass, to the low music of distant +organ and chanting choir. Peace, haunted by romance, dwells here, in +reverie. The great tower of Warwick, based in silver Avon and +pictured in its slumbering waters, seems musing upon the centuries +over which it has watched, and full of unspeakable knowledge and +thought. The dark and massive gateways of the town and the +timber-crossed fronts of its antique houses live on in the same +strange dream and perfect repose; and all along the drive to +Kenilworth are equal images of rest—of a rest in which there is +nothing supine or sluggish, no element of death or decay, but in +which passion, imagination, beauty, and sorrow, seized at their +topmost poise, seem crystallised in eternal calm. What opulence of +splendid life is vital for ever in Kenilworth's crumbling ruin there +are no words to say. What pomp of royal banners! what dignity of +radiant cavaliers! what loveliness of stately and exquisite ladies! +what magnificence of banquets! what wealth of pageantry! what lustre +of illumination! The same festal music that the poet Gascoigne heard +there, three hundred years ago, is still sounding on, to-day. The +proud and cruel Leicester still walks in his vaulted hall. The +imperious face of the Virgin Queen still from her dais looks down on +plumed courtiers and jewelled dames; and still the moonlight, +streaming through the turret-window, falls on the white bosom and the +great, startled, black eyes of Amy Robsart, waiting for her lover. +The gaze of the pilgrim, indeed, rests only upon old, gray, broken +walls, overgrown with green moss and ivy, and pierced by irregular +casements through which the sun shines, and the winds blow, and the +rains drive, and the birds fly, amid utter desolation. But silence +and ruin are here alike eloquent and awful; and, much as the place +impresses you by what remains, it impresses you far more by what has +vanished. Ambition, love, pleasure, power, misery, +tragedy—these are gone; and being gone they are immortal. I +plucked, in the garden of Kenilworth, one of the most brilliant red +roses that ever grew; and as I pressed it to my lips I seemed to +touch the lips of that superb, bewildering beauty who outweighed +England's crown (at least in story), and whose spirit is the +everlasting genius of the place.</p> +<p>There is a row of cottages opposite to the ruins of the castle, in +which contentment seems to have made her home. The ivy embowers them. +The roses cluster around their little windows. The greensward slopes +away, in front, from big, flat stones that are embedded in the mossy +sod before their doors. Down in the valley, hard by, your steps stray +through an ancient graveyard—in which stands the parish church, +a carefully restored building of the eleventh century, with tower, +and clock, and bell—and past a few fragments of the Abbey and +Monastery of St. Mary, destroyed in 1538. At many another point, on +the roads betwixt Warwick and Kenilworth and Stratford, I came upon +such nests of cosy, rustic quiet and seeming happiness. They build +their country houses low, in England, so that the trees overhang +them, and the cool, friendly, flower-gemmed earth—parent, and +stay, and bourne of mortal life—is tenderly taken into their +companionship. Here, at Kenilworth, as elsewhere, at such places as +Marlowe, Henley, Richmond, Maidenhead, Cookham, and the region round +about Windsor, I saw many a sweet nook where tired life might be +content to lay down its burden and enter into its rest. In all true +love of country—a passion that seems to be more deeply felt in +England than anywhere else upon the globe—there is love for the +literal soil itself: and surely that sentiment in the human heart is +equally natural and pious which inspires and perpetuates man's desire +that where he found his cradle he may also find his grave.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_OIN" id="a_OIN"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0095.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Old Inn."></p> +<br> +<p>Under a cloudy sky and through a landscape still wet and shining +with recent rain the drive to Stratford was a pleasure so exquisite +that at last it became a pain. Just as the carriage reached the +junction of the Warwick and Snitterfield roads a ray of sunshine, +streaming through a rift in the clouds, fell upon the neighbouring +hillside, scarlet with poppies, and lit the scene as with the glory +of a celestial benediction. This sunburst, neither growing larger nor +coming nearer, followed all the way to Stratford; and there, on a +sudden, the clouds were lifted and dispersed, and "fair daylight" +flooded the whole green countryside. The afternoon sun was still high +in heaven when I alighted at the Red Horse and entered the little +parlour of Washington Irving. They keep the room much as it was when +he left it; for they are proud of his gentle genius and grateful for +his commemorative words. In a corner stands [1877] the small, +old-fashioned haircloth arm-chair in which he sat, on that night of +memory and of musing which he has described in <i>The +Sketch-Book.</i> A brass plate is affixed to it, bearing his name; +and the visitor observes, in token of its age and service, that the +hair-cloth of its seat is considerably worn and frayed. Every +American pilgrim to Stratford sits in that chair; and looks with +tender interest on the old fireplace; and reads the memorials of +Irving that are hung upon the walls: and it is no small comfort there +to reflect that our illustrious countryman—whose name will be +remembered with honour, as long as literature is prized among +men—was the first, in modern days, to discover the beauties and +to interpret the poetry of the birthplace of Shakespeare.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_WIP" id="a_WIP"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0096.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Washington Irving's Parlour."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_FWS" id="a_FWS"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0097.jpg" width="50%" alt= +"From the Warwick Shield."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_RHB" id="a_RHB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0098.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Rose Hip Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHVIII" id="a_CHVIII"></a><a name="a_CHVIIIb" id= +"a_CHVIIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER VIII</h3> +<h5 align="center">FIRST VIEW OF STRATFORD-ON-AVON</h5> +<br> +<p>Once again, as it did on that delicious summer afternoon which is +for ever memorable in my life, the golden glory of the westering sun +burns on the gray spire of Stratford church, and on the ancient +graveyard below,—wherein the mossy stones lean this way and +that, in sweet and orderly confusion,—and on the peaceful +avenue of limes, and on the burnished water of silver Avon. The tall, +pointed, many-coloured windows of the church glint in the evening +light. A cool and fragrant wind is stirring the branches and the +grass. The small birds, calling to their mates or sporting in the +wanton pleasure of their airy life, are circling over the church roof +or hiding in little crevices of its walls. On the vacant meadows +across the river stretch away the long and level shadows of the +pompous elms. Here and there, upon the river's brink, are pairs of +what seem lovers, strolling by the reedy marge, or sitting upon the +low tombs, in the Sabbath quiet. As the sun sinks and the dusk +deepens, two figures of infirm old women, clad in black, pass with +slow and feeble steps through the avenue of limes, and vanish around +an angle of the church—that now stands all in shadow: and no +sound is heard but the faint rustling of the leaves.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_HTC" id="a_HTC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0099.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Holy Trinity Church."></p> +<br> +<p>Once again, as on that sacred night, the streets of Stratford are +deserted and silent under the star-lit sky, and I am standing, in the +dim darkness, at the door of the cottage in which Shakespeare was +born. It is empty, dark, and still; and in all the neighbourhood +there is no stir nor sign of life; but the quaint casements and +gables of this haunted house, its antique porch, and the great +timbers that cross its front are luminous as with a light of their +own, so that I see them with perfect vision. I stand there a long +time, and I know that I am to remember these sights for ever, as I +see them now. After a while, with lingering reluctance, I turn away +from this marvellous spot, and, presently passing through a little, +winding lane, I walk in the High Street of the town, and mark, at the +end of the prospect, the illuminated clock in the tower of the chapel +of the Holy Cross. A few chance-directed steps bring me to what was +New Place once, where Shakespeare died; and there again I pause, and +long remain in meditation, gazing into the enclosed garden, where, +under screens of wire, are certain strange fragments of lime and +stone. These—which I do not then know—are the remains of +the foundation of Shakespeare's house. The night wanes; and still I +walk in Stratford streets; and by and by I am standing on the bridge +that spans the Avon, and looking down at the thick-clustering stars +reflected in its black and silent stream. At last, under the roof of +the Red Horse, I sink into a troubled slumber, from which soon a +strain of celestial music—strong, sweet, jubilant, and +splendid—awakens me in an instant; and I start up in my +bed—to find that all around me is still as death; and then, +drowsily, far-off, the bell strikes three, in its weird and lonesome +tower.</p> +<p>Every pilgrim to Stratford knows, in a general way, what he will +there behold. Copious and frequent description of its Shakespearean +associations has made the place familiar to all the world. Yet these +Shakespearean associations keep a perennial freshness, and are +equally a surprise to the sight and a wonder to the soul. Though +three centuries old they are not stricken with age or decay. The +house in Henley Street, in which, according to accepted tradition, +Shakespeare was born, has been from time to time repaired; and so it +has been kept sound, without having been materially changed from what +it was in Shakespeare's youth. The kind ladies, Miss Maria and Miss +Caroline Chataway, who take care of it [1877], and with so much pride +and courtesy show it to the visitor, called my attention to a bit of +the ceiling of the upper chamber—the room of Shakespeare's +birth—which had begun to droop, and had been skilfully secured +with little iron laths. It is in this room that the numerous +autographs are scrawled over the ceiling and walls. One side of the +chimneypiece here is called "The Actor's Pillar," so richly is it +adorned with the names of actors; Edmund Kean's signature being among +them, and still legible. On one of the window-panes, cut with a +diamond, is the name of "W. Scott"; and all the panes are scratched +with signatures—making you think of Douglas Jerrold's remark on +bad Shakespearean commentators, that they resemble persons who write +on glass with diamonds, and obscure the light with a multitude of +scratches. The floor of this room, uncarpeted and almost snow-white +with much washing, seems still as hard as iron; yet its boards have +been hollowed by wear, and the heads of the old nails that fasten it +down gleam like polished silver.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_ING" id="a_ING"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0102.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"The Inglenook."></p> +<br> +<p>You can sit in an antique chair, in a corner of this room, and +think unutterable things. There is, certainly, no word that can even +remotely suggest the feeling with which you are then overwhelmed. You +can sit also in the room below, in the seat, in the corner of the +wide fireplace, that Shakespeare himself must often have occupied. +They keep but a few sticks of furniture in any part of the cottage. +One room is devoted to Shakespearean relics—more or less +authentic; one of which is a schoolboy's desk that was obtained from +the old grammar-school in Church Street in which Shakespeare was once +a pupil. At the back of the cottage, now isolated from contiguous +structures, is a pleasant garden, and at one side is a cosy, +luxurious little cabin—the home of order and of pious +decorum—for the ladies who are custodians of the Shakespeare +House. If you are a favoured visitor, you may receive from that +garden, at parting, all the flowers, prettily mounted upon a sheet of +paper, that poor Ophelia names, in the scene of her madness. "There's +rosemary, that's for remembrance: and there is pansies, that's for +thoughts: there's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for +you: there's a daisy:—I would give you some violets, but they +withered all when my father died."</p> +<p>The minute knowledge that Shakespeare had of plants and flowers, +and the loving appreciation with which he describes pastoral scenery, +are explained to the rambler in Stratford, by all that he sees and +hears. There is a walk across the fields to Shottery that the poet +must often have taken, in the days of his courtship of Anne Hathaway. +The path to this hamlet passes through pastures and gardens, necked +everywhere with those brilliant scarlet poppies that are so radiant +and so bewitching in the English landscape. To have grown up amid +such surroundings, and, above all, to have experienced amid them the +passion of love, must have been, for Shakespeare, the intuitive +acquirement of ample and specific knowledge of their manifold +beauties. It would be hard to find a sweeter rustic retreat than Anne +Hathaway's cottage is, even now. Tall trees embower it; and over its +porches, and all along its picturesque, irregular front, and on its +thatched roof, the woodbine and the ivy climb, and there are wild +roses and the maiden's blush. For the young poet's wooing no place +could be fitter than this. He would always remember it with +tender-joy.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_ASH" id="a_ASH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0104.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Approach to Shottery."></p> +<br> +<p>They show you, in that cottage, an old settle, by the fireside, +whereon the lovers may have sat together: it formerly stood outside +the door: and in the rude little chamber next the roof an antique, +carved bedstead, that Anne Hathaway once owned. This, it is thought, +continued to be Anne's home for several years of her married +life—her husband being absent in London, and sometimes coming +down to visit her, at Shottery. "He was wont," says John Aubrey, the +antiquary, writing in 1680, "to go to his native country once a +year." The last surviving descendant of the Hathaway +family—Mrs. Baker—lives in the house now, and welcomes +with homely hospitality the wanderers, from all lands, who +seek—in a sympathy and reverence most honourable to human +nature—the shrine of Shakespeare's love. There is one such +wanderer who will never forget the farewell clasp of that kind +woman's hand, and who has never parted with her gift of woodbine and +roses from the porch of Anne Hathaway's cottage.</p> +<p>In England it is living, more than writing about it, that is +esteemed by the best persons. They prize good writing, but they prize +noble living far more. This is an ingrained principle, and not an +artificial habit, and this principle doubtless was as potent in +Shakespeare's age as it is to-day. Nothing could be more natural than +that this great writer should think less of his works than of the +establishment of his home. He would desire, having won a fortune, to +dwell in his native place, to enjoy the companionship and esteem of +his neighbours, to participate in their pleasures, to help them in +their troubles, to aid in the improvement and embellishment of the +town, to deepen his hold upon the affections of all around him, and +to feel that, at last, honoured and lamented, his ashes would be laid +in the village church where he had worshipped—</p> +<br> +<blockquote><small>"Among familiar names to rest,<br> +And in the places of his youth."</small></blockquote> +<p>It was in 1597, twelve years after he went to London, that the +poet began to buy property in Stratford, and it was about eight years +after his first purchase that he finally settled there, at New Place. +[J. O. Halliwell-Phillips says that it was in 1609: There is a record +alleging that as late as that year Shakespeare still retained a +residence in Clink Street, Southwark.] This mansion was altered by +Sir Hugh Clopton, who owned it toward the middle of the eighteenth +century, and it was destroyed by the Rev. Francis Gastrell, in 1759. +The grounds, which have been reclaimed,—chiefly through the +zeal of J. O. Halliwell-Phillips,—are laid out according to the +model they are supposed to have presented when Shakespeare owned +them. His lawn, his orchard, and his garden are indicated; and a +scion of his mulberry is growing on the spot where that famous tree +once flourished. You can see a part of the foundation of the old +house. It was made of brick and timber, it seems to have had gables, +and no doubt it was fashioned with the beautiful curves and broken +lines of the Tudor architecture. They show, upon the lawn, a stone of +considerable size, that surmounted its door. The site—still a +central and commodious one—is on the corner of Chapel Street +and Chapel Lane; and on the opposite corner stands now, as it has +stood for eight hundred years, the chapel of the Holy Cross, with +square, dark tower, fretted parapet, pointed casements, and Norman +porch—one of the most romantic and picturesque little churches +in England. It was easy, when musing on that storied spot, to fancy +Shakespeare, in the gloaming of a summer day, strolling on the lawn, +beneath his elms, and listening to the soft and solemn music of the +chapel organ; or to think of him as stepping forth from his study, in +the late and lonesome hours of the night, and pausing to "count the +clock," or note the "exhalations whizzing in the air."</p> +<p>The funeral train of Shakespeare, on that dark day when it moved +from New Place to Stratford Church, had but a little way to go. The +river, surely, must have seemed to hush its murmurs, the trees to +droop their branches, the sunshine to grow dim—as that sad +procession passed! His grave is under the gray pavement of the +chancel, near the altar, and his wife and one of his daughters are +buried beside him. The pilgrim who reads upon the gravestone those +rugged lines of grievous entreaty and awful imprecation that guard +the poet's rest feels no doubt that he is listening to his living +voice—for he has now seen the enchanting beauty of the place, +and he has now felt what passionate affection it can inspire. Feeling +and not manner would naturally have prompted that abrupt, agonised +supplication and threat. Nor does such a pilgrim doubt, when gazing +on the painted bust, above the grave,—made by Gerard Jonson, +stonecutter,—that he beholds the authentic face of Shakespeare. +It is not the heavy face of the portraits that represent it. There is +a rapt, transfigured quality in it, that those copies do not convey. +It is thoughtful, austere, and yet benign. Shakespeare was a +hazel-eyed man, with auburn hair, and the colours that he wore were +scarlet and black. Being painted, and also being set up at a +considerable height on the church wall, the bust does not disclose +what is sufficiently perceptible in a cast from it—that it is +the copy of a mask from the dead face. One of the cheeks is a little +swollen and the tongue, slightly protruded, is caught between the +lips. The idle theory that the poet was not a gentleman of +consideration in his own time and place falls utterly and for ever +from the mind when you stand at his grave. No man could have a more +honourable or sacred place of sepulture; and while it illustrates the +profound esteem of the community in which he lived it testifies to +the religious character by which that esteem was confirmed. "I +commend my soul into the hands of God, my Creator, hoping, and +assuredly believing, through the only merits of Jesus Christ, my +Saviour, to be made partaker of life everlasting." So said +Shakespeare, in his last Will, bowing in humble reverence the +mightiest mind—as vast and limitless in the power to comprehend +as to express!—that ever wore the garments of +mortality.†</p> +<p><small>† It ought perhaps to be remarked that this prelude +to Shakespeare's Will may not have been intended by him as a +profession of faith, but may have been signed simply as a legal +formula. His works denote a mind of high and broad spiritual +convictions, untrammelled by creed or doctrine. His inclination, +probably, was toward the Roman Catholic church, because of the poetry +that is in it: but such a man as Shakespeare would have viewed all +religious beliefs in a kindly spirit, and would have made no emphatic +professions. The Will was executed on March 25, 1616. It covers three +sheets of paper; it is not in Shakespeare's hand-writing, but each +sheet bears his signature. It is in the British Museum.</small></p> +<p>Once again there is a sound of organ music, very low and soft, in +Stratford Church, and the dim light, broken by the richly stained +windows, streams across the dusky chancel, filling the still air with +opal haze and flooding those gray gravestones with its mellow +radiance. Not a word is spoken; but, at intervals, the rustle of the +leaves is audible in a sighing wind. What visions are these, that +suddenly fill the region! What royal faces of monarchs, proud with +power, or pallid with anguish! What sweet, imperial women, gleeful +with happy youth and love, or wide-eyed and rigid in tearless woe! +What warriors, with serpent diadems, defiant of death and hell! The +mournful eyes of Hamlet; the wild countenance of Lear; Ariel with his +harp, and Prospero with his wand! Here is no death! All these, and +more, are immortal shapes; and he that made them so, although his +mortal part be but a handful of dust in yonder crypt, is a glorious +angel beyond the stars.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_DVS" id="a_DVS"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0109.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Distant View of Stratford."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_PEB" id="a_PEB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0110.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Paired Eagle Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHIX" id="a_CHIX"></a><a name="a_CHIXb" id="a_CHIXb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER IX</h3> +<h5 align="center">LONDON NOOKS AND CORNERS</h5> +<br> +<p>Those persons upon whom the spirit of the past has power—and +it has not power upon every mind!—are aware of the mysterious +charm that invests certain familiar spots and objects, in all old +cities. London, to observers of this class, is a never-ending +delight. Modern cities, for the most part, reveal a definite and +rather a commonplace design. Their main avenues are parallel. Their +shorter streets bisect their main avenues. They are diversified with +rectangular squares. Their configuration, in brief, suggests the +sapient, utilitarian forethought of the land-surveyor and civil +engineer. The ancient British capital, on the contrary, is the +expression—slowly and often narrowly made—of many +thousands of characters. It is a city that has happened—and the +stroller through the old part of it comes continually upon the +queerest imaginable alleys, courts, and nooks. Not far from Drury +Lane Theatre, for instance, hidden away in a clump of dingy houses, +is a dismal little graveyard—the same that Dickens has chosen, +in his novel of <i>Bleak House,</i> as the sepulchre of little Jo's +friend, the first love of the unfortunate Lady Dedlock. It is a +doleful spot, draped in the robes of faded sorrow, and crowded into +the twilight of obscurity by the thick-clustering habitations of +men.† The Cripplegate church, St. Giles's, a less lugubrious +spot and less difficult of access, is nevertheless strangely +sequestered, so that it also affects the observant eye as equally one +of the surprises of London. I saw it, for the first time, on a gray, +sad Sunday, a little before twilight, and when the service was going +on within its venerable walls. The footsteps of John Milton were +sometimes on the threshold of the Cripplegate, and his grave is in +the nave of that ancient church. A simple flat stone marks that +sacred spot, and many a heedless foot tramples over that hallowed +dust. From Golden Lane, which is close by, you can see the tower of +this church; and, as you walk from the place where Milton lived to +the place where his ashes repose, you seem, with a solemn, +awe-stricken emotion, to be actually following in his funeral train. +At St. Giles's occurred the marriage of Cromwell.‡ I +remembered—as I stood there and conjured up that scene of +golden joy and hope—the place of the Lord Protector's +coronation in Westminster Hall; the place, still marked, in +Westminster Abbey, where his body was buried; and old Temple Bar, on +which (if not on Westminster Hall) his mutilated corse was finally +exposed to the blind rage of the fickle populace. A little +time—a very little time—serves to gather up equally the +happiness and the anguish, the conquest and the defeat, the greatness +and the littleness of human life, and to cover them all with +silence.</p> +<small>† That place has been renovated and is no longer a +disgrace.</small> +<p><small>‡ The church of St. Giles was built in 1117 by Queen +Maud. It was demolished in 1623 and rebuilt in 1731. The tomb of +Richard Pendrell, who saved Charles the Second, after Worcester +fight, in 1651, is in the churchyard.</small></p> +<p>But not always with oblivion. Those quaint churches, and many +other mouldering relics of the past, in London, are haunted with +associations that never can perish out of remembrance. In fact the +whole of the old city impresses you as densely invested with an +atmosphere of human experience, dark, sad, and lamentable. Walking, +alone, in ancient quarters of it, after midnight, I was aware of the +oppressive sense of tragedies that have been acted and misery that +has been endured in its dusky streets and melancholy houses. They do +not err who say that the spiritual life of man leaves its influence +in the physical objects by which he is surrounded. Night-walks in +London will teach you that, if they teach you nothing else. I went +more than once into Brooke Street, Holborn, and traced the desolate +footsteps of poor Thomas Chatterton to the scene of his self-murder +and agonised, pathetic, deplorable death. It is more than a century +(1770), since that "marvellous boy" was driven to suicide by neglect, +hunger, and despair. They are tearing down the houses on one side of +Brooke Street now (1877); it is doubtful which house was No. 4, in +the attic of which Chatterton died, and doubtful whether it remains: +his grave—a pauper's grave, that was made in a workhouse +burial-ground, in Shoe Lane, long since obliterated—is unknown; +but his presence hovers about that region; his strange and touching +story tinges its commonness with the mystical moonlight of romance; +and his name is blended with it for ever.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_WHG" id="a_WHG"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0113.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Whitehall Gateway."></p> +<br> +<p>On another night I walked from St. James's Palace to Whitehall +(the York Place of Cardinal Wolsey), and viewed the ground that +Charles the First must have traversed, on his way to the scaffold. +The story of the slaughter of that king, always sorrowful to +remember, is very grievous to consider, when you realise, upon the +actual scene of his ordeal and death, his exalted fortitude and his +bitter agony. It seemed as if I could almost hear his voice, as it +sounded on that fateful morning, asking that his body might be more +warmly clad, lest, in the cold January air, he should shiver, and so, +before the eyes of his enemies, should seem to be trembling with +fear. The Puritans, having brought that poor man to the place of +execution, kept him in suspense from early morning till after two +o'clock in the day, while they debated over a proposition to spare +his life—upon any condition they might choose to +make—that had been sent to them by his son, Prince Charles. Old +persons were alive in London, not very long ago, who remembered +having seen, in their childhood, the window, in the end of the +Whitehall Banquet House—now a Chapel Royal and all that remains +of the ancient palace—through which the doomed monarch walked +forth to the block. It was long ago walled up, and the palace has +undergone much alteration since the days of the Stuarts. In the rear +of Whitehall stands a bronze statue of James the Second, by Roubiliac +(whose marbles are numerous, in the Abbey and elsewhere in London, +and whose grave is in the church of St. Martin), one of the most +graceful works of that spirited sculptor. The figure is finely +modelled. The face is dejected and full of reproach. The right hand +points, with a truncheon, toward the earth. It is impossible to +mistake the ruminant, melancholy meaning of this memorial; and +equally it is impossible to walk without both thought that instructs +and emotion that elevates through a city which thus abounds with +traces of momentous incident and representative experience.</p> +<p>The literary pilgrim in London has this double +advantage—that while he communes with the past he may enjoy in +the present. Yesterday and to-day are commingled here, in a way that +is almost ludicrous. When you turn from Roubiliac's statue of James +your eyes rest upon the retired house of Disraeli. If you walk in +Whitehall, toward the Palace of Westminster, some friend may chance +to tell you how the great Duke of Wellington walked there, in the +feebleness of his age, from the Horse Guards to the House of Lords; +and with what pleased complacency the old warrior used to boast of +his skill in threading a crowded thoroughfare,—unaware that the +police, acting by particular command, protected his revered person +from errant cabs and pushing pedestrians. As I strolled one day past +Lambeth Palace it happened that the palace gates were suddenly +unclosed and that His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury came forth, +on horseback, from that episcopal residence, and ambled away towards +the House of Lords. It is the same arched portal through which, in +other days, passed out the stately train of Wolsey. It is the same +towered palace that Queen Elizabeth looked upon as her barge swept +past, on its watery track to Richmond. It is for ever associated with +the memory of Thomas Cromwell.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_LPL" id="a_LPL"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0117.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Lambeth Palace."></p> +<br> +<p>In the church, hard by, rest the ashes of men distinguished in the +most diverse directions—Jackson, the clown; and Tenison, the +archbishop, the "honest, prudent, laborious, and benevolent" primate +of William the Third, who was thought worthy to succeed in office the +illustrious Tillotson. The cure of souls is sought here with just as +vigorous energy as when Tillotson wooed by his goodness and charmed +by his winning eloquence. Not a great distance from this spot you +come upon the college at Dulwich that Edward Alleyn founded, in the +time of Shakespeare, and that still subsists upon the old actor's +endowment. It is said that Alleyn—who was a man of fortune, and +whom a contemporary epigram styles the best actor of his +day—gained the most of his money by the exhibition of bears. +But, howsoever gained, he made a good use of it. His tomb is in the +centre of the college. Here may be seen one of the best +picture-galleries in England. One of the cherished paintings in that +collection is the famous portrait, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, of Mrs. +Siddons as the Tragic Muse—remarkable for its colour, and +splendidly expositive of the boldness of feature, brilliancy of +countenance, and stately grace of posture for which its original was +distinguished. Another represents two renowned beauties of their +day—the Linley sisters—who became Mrs. Sheridan and Mrs. +Tickel. You do not wonder, as you look on those fair faces, sparkling +with health, arch with merriment, lambent with sensibility, and soft +with goodness and feeling, that Sheridan should have fought duels for +such a prize as the lady of his love; or that those fascinating +creatures, favoured alike by the Graces and the Muse, should in their +gentle lives have been, "like Juno's swans, coupled and inseparable." +Mary, Mrs. Tickel, died first; and Moore, in his <i>Life of +Sheridan,</i> has preserved a lament for her, written by Eliza, Mrs. +Sheridan, which—for deep, true sorrow and melodious +eloquence—is worthy to be named with Thomas Tickel's monody on +Addison or Cowper's memorial lines on his mother's +picture:—</p> +<br> +<blockquote><small>"Shall all the wisdom of the world combined<br> +Erase thy image, Mary, from my mind,<br> +Or bid me hope from others to receive<br> +The fond affection thou alone couldst give?<br> +Ah no, my best beloved, thou still shalt be<br> +My friend, my sister, all the world to me!"<br></small></blockquote> +<p>Precious also among the gems of the Dulwich gallery are certain +excellent specimens of the gentle, dreamy style of Murillo. The +pilgrim passes on, by a short drive, to Sydenham, and dines at the +Crystal Palace—and still he finds the faces of the past and the +present confronted, in a manner that is almost comic. Nothing could +be more aptly representative of the practical, ostentatious phase of +the spirit of to-day than is this enormous, opulent, and glittering +"palace made of windows." Yet I saw there the carriage in which +Napoleon Buonaparte used to drive, at St. Helena—a vehicle as +sombre and ghastly as were the broken fortunes of its death-stricken +master; and, sitting at a table close by, I saw the son of +Buonaparte's fiery champion, William Hazlitt.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_DCO" id="a_DCO"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0121.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Dulwich College."><br></p> +<p>It was a gray and misty evening. The plains below the palace +terraces were veiled in shadow, through which, here and there, +twinkled the lights of some peaceful villa. Far away the spires and +domes of London, dimly seen, pierced the city's nightly pall of +smoke. It was a dream too sweet to last. It ended when all the +illuminations were burnt out; when the myriads of red and green and +yellow stars had fallen; and all the silver fountains had ceased to +play.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TCI" id="a_TCI"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0123.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Crown Inn, Dulwich."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_PAB" id="a_PAB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0124.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Paisley Border"></p> +<br> +<a name="a_CHX" id="a_CHX"></a><a name="a_CHXb" id="a_CHXb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER X</h3> +<h5 align="center">RELICS OF LORD BYRON</h5> +<br> +<p>The Byron Memorial Loan Collection, that was displayed at the +Albert Memorial Hall, for a short time in the summer of 1877, did not +attract much attention: yet it was a vastly impressive show of +relics. The catalogue names seventy-four objects, together with +thirty-nine designs for a monument to Byron. The design that has been +chosen presents a seated figure, of the young sailor-boy type. The +right hand supports the chin; the left, resting on the left knee, +holds an open book and a pencil. The dress consists of a loose shirt, +open at the throat and on the bosom, a flowing neckcloth, and wide, +marine trousers. Byron's dog, Boatswain—commemorated in the +well-known misanthropic epitaph—</p> +<blockquote><small>"To mark a friend's remains these stones +arise,<br> +I never knew but one, and here he lies"—</small></blockquote> +<p>is shown, in effigy, at the poet's feet. The treatment of the +subject, in this model, certainly deserves to be called free, but the +general effect of the work is finical. The statue will probably be +popular; but it will give no adequate idea of the man. Byron was both +massive and intense; and this image is no more than the usual hero of +nautical romance. (It was dedicated in May, 1880, and it stands in +Hamilton Gardens, near Hyde Park Corner, London.)</p> +<p>It was the treasure of relics, however, and not the statuary, that +more attracted notice. The relics were exhibited in three glass +cases, exclusive of large portraits. It is impossible to make the +reader—supposing him to revere this great poet's genius and to +care for his memory—feel the thrill of emotion that was aroused +by actual sight, and almost actual touch, of objects so intimately +associated with the living Byron. Five pieces of his hair were shown, +one of which was cut off, after his death, by Captain +Trelawny—the remarkable gentleman who says that he uncovered +the legs of the corse, in order to ascertain the nature and extent of +their deformity. All those locks of hair are faded and all present a +mixture of gray and auburn. Byron's hair was not, seemingly, of a +fine texture, and it turned gray early in life. Those tresses were +lent to the exhibition by Lady Dorchester, John Murray, H. M. +Robinson, D.D., and E. J. Trelawny. A strangely interesting memorial +was a little locket of plain gold, shaped like a heart, that Byron +habitually wore. Near to this was the crucifix found in his bed at +Missolonghi, after his death. It is about ten inches long and is made +of ebony. A small bronze figure of Christ is displayed upon it, and +at the feet of the figure are cross-bones and a skull, of the same +metal. A glass beaker, that Byron gave to his butler, in 1815, +attracted attention by its portly size and, to the profane fancy, +hinted that his lordship had formed a liberal estimate of that +butler's powers of suction. Four articles of head-gear occupied a +prominent place in one of the cabinets. Two are helmets that Byron +wore when he was in Greece, in 1824—and very queer must have +been his appearance when he wore them. One is light blue, the other +dark green; both are faded; both are fierce with brass ornaments and +barbaric with brass scales like those of a snake. A comelier object +is the poet's "boarding-cap"—a leather slouch, turned up with +green velvet and studded with brass nails. Many small articles of +Byron's property were scattered through the cases. A corpulent little +silver watch, with Arabic numerals upon its face, and a meerschaum +pipe, not much coloured, were among them. The cap that he sometimes +wore, during the last years of his life,—the one depicted in a +well-known sketch of him by Count D'Orsay,—was exhibited, and +so was D'Orsay's portrait. The cap is of green velvet, not much +tarnished, and is encircled by a gold band and faced by an ugly +visor. The face in the sketch is supercilious and defiant. A better, +and obviously truer sketch is that made by Cattermole, which also was +in this exhibition. Strength in despair and a dauntless spirit that +shines through the ravages of irremediable suffering are the +qualities of this portrait; and they make it marvellously effective. +Thorwaldsen's fine bust of Byron, made for Hobhouse, and also the +celebrated Phillips portrait—that Scott said was the best +likeness of Byron ever painted—occupied places in this group. +The copy of the New Testament that Lady Byron gave to her husband, +and that he, in turn, presented to Lady Caroline Lamb, was there, and +is a pocket volume, bound in black leather, with the inscription, +"From a sincere and anxious friend," written in a stiff, formal hand, +across the fly-leaf. A gold ring that the poet constantly wore, and +the collar of his dog Boatswain—a discoloured band of brass, +with sharply jagged edges—should also be named as among the +most interesting of the relics.</p> +<p>But the most remarkable objects of all were the manuscripts. These +comprise the original draft of the third canto of "Childe Harold," +written on odd bits of paper, during Byron's journey from London to +Venice, in 1816; the first draft of the fourth canto, together with a +clean copy of it; the notes to "Marino Faliero"; the concluding stage +directions—much scrawled and blotted—in "Heaven and +Earth"; a document concerning the poet's matrimonial trouble; and +about fifteen of his letters. The passages seen are those beginning +"Since my young days of passion, joy, or pain"; "To bear unhurt what +time cannot abate"; and in canto fourth the stanzas 118 to 129 +inclusive. The writing is free and strong, and it still remains +legible although the paper is yellow with age. Altogether those +relics were touchingly significant of the strange, dark, sad career +of a wonderful man. Yet, as already said, they attracted but little +notice. The memory of Byron seems darkened, as with the taint of +lunacy. "He did strange things," one Englishman said to me; "and +there was something queer about him." The London house in which he +was born, in Holies Street, Cavendish Square, is marked with a +tablet,—according to a custom instituted by a society of arts. +(It was torn down in 1890 and its site is now occupied by a shop, +bearing the name of John Lewis & Co.) Two houses in which he +lived, No. 8 St. James Street, near the old palace, and No. 139 +Piccadilly, are not marked. The house of his birth was occupied in +1877 by a descendant of Elizabeth Fry, the philanthropist.</p> +<p>The custom of marking the houses associated with great names is +obviously a good one, and it ought to be adopted in other countries. +Two buildings, one in Westminster and one in the grounds of the South +Kensington Museum, bear the name of Franklin; and I also saw memorial +tablets to Dryden and Burke in Gerrard Street, to Dryden in Fetter +Lane, to Mrs. Siddons in Baker Street, to Sir Joshua Reynolds and to +Hogarth in Leicester Square, to Garrick in the Adelphi Terrace, to +Louis Napoleon, and to many other renowned individuals. The room that +Sir Joshua occupied as a studio is now an auction mart. The stone +stairs leading up to it are much worn, but they remain as they were +when, it may be imagined, Burke, Johnson, Goldsmith, Langton, +Beauclerk, and Boswell walked there, on many a festive night in the +old times. It is a breezy, slate-coloured evening in July. I look +from the window of a London house that fronts a spacious park. Those +great elms, which in their wealth of foliage and irregular and +pompous expanse of limb are finer than all other trees of their +class, fill the prospect, and nod and murmur in the wind. Through a +rift in their heavy-laden boughs is visible a long vista of green +field, in which many children are at play. Their laughter and the +rustle of leaves, with now and then the click cf a horse's hoofs upon +the road near by, make up the music of this hallowed hour. The sky is +a little overcast but not gloomy. As I muse upon this delicious scene +the darkness slowly gathers, the stars come out, and presently the +moon rises, and blanches the meadow with silver light. Such has been +the English summer, with scarce a hint of either heat or storm.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_ORW" id="a_ORW"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0129.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Oriel Window."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CTF" id="a_CTF"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0130.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Cherub Tooting Flower Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXI" id="a_CHXI"></a><a name="a_CHXIb" id="a_CHXIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XI</h3> +<h5 align="center">WESTMINSTER ABBEY</h5> +<br> +<p>It is strange that the life of the past, in its unfamiliar remains +and fading traces, should so far surpass the life of the present, in +impressive force and influence. Human characteristics, although +manifested under widely different conditions, were the same in old +times that they are now. It is not in them, surely, that we are to +seek for the mysterious charm that hallows ancient objects and the +historical antiquities of the world. There is many a venerable, +weather-stained church in London, at sight of which your steps falter +and your thoughts take a wistful, melancholy turn—though then +you may not know either who built it, or who has worshipped in it, or +what dust of the dead is mouldering in its vaults. The spirit which +thus instantly possesses and controls you is not one of association, +but is inherent in the place. Time's shadow on the works of man, like +moonlight on a landscape, gives only graces to the +view—tingeing them, the while, with sombre sheen—and +leaves all blemishes in darkness. This may suggest the reason that +relics of bygone years so sadly please and strangely awe us, in the +passing moment; or it may be that we involuntarily contrast their +apparent permanence with our own evanescent mortality, and so are +dejected with a sentiment of dazed helplessness and solemn grief. +This sentiment it is—allied to bereaved love and a natural wish +for remembrance after death—that has filled Westminster Abbey, +and many another holy mausoleum, with sculptured memorials of the +departed; and this, perhaps, is the subtle power that makes us linger +beside them, "with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls."</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TWA" id="a_TWA"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0131.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Westminster Abbey, from the Triforium."></p> +<br> +<p>When the gentle angler Izaak Walton went into Westminster Abbey to +visit the grave of Casaubon, he scratched his initials on the +scholar's monument, where the record, "I. W., 1658," may still be +read by the stroller in Poets' Corner. One might well wish to follow +that example, and even thus to associate his name with the great +cathedral. And not in pride but in humble reverence! Here if anywhere +on earth self-assertion is rebuked and human eminence set at nought. +Among all the impressions that crowd upon the mind in this wonderful +place that which oftenest recurs and longest remains is the +impression of man's individual insignificance. This is salutary, but +it is also dark. There can be no enjoyment of the Abbey till, after +much communion with the spirit of the place, your soul is soothed by +its beauty rather than overwhelmed by its majesty, and your mind +ceases from the vain effort to grasp and interpret its tremendous +meaning. You cannot long endure, and you never can express, the sense +of grandeur that is inspired by Westminster Abbey; but, when at +length its shrines and tombs and statues become familiar, when its +chapels, aisles, arches, and cloisters are grown companionable, and +you can stroll and dream undismayed "through rows of warriors and +through walks of kings," there is no limit to the pensive memories +they awaken and the poetic fancies they prompt.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_HVC" id="a_HVC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0133.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Henry VII. Chapel."></p> +<br> +<p>In this church are buried, among generations of their nobles and +courtiers, fourteen monarchs of England—beginning with the +Saxon Sebert and ending with George the Second. Fourteen queens rest +here, and many children of the royal blood who never came to the +throne. Here, confronted in a haughty rivalry of solemn pomp, rise +the equal tombs of Elizabeth Tudor and Mary Stuart. Queen Eleanor's +dust is here, and here, too, is the dust of the grim Queen Mary. In +one little chapel you may pace, with but half a dozen steps, across +the graves of Charles the Second, William and Mary, and Queen Anne +and her consort Prince George. At the tomb of Henry the Fifth you may +see the helmet, shield, and saddle that were worn by the valiant +young king at Agincourt; and close by—on the tomb of Margaret +Woodeville, daughter of Edward the Fourth—the sword and shield +that were borne, in royal state, before the great Edward the Third, +five hundred years ago. The princes who are said to have been +murdered in the Tower are commemorated here by an altar, set up by +Charles the Second, whereon the inscription—blandly and almost +humorously oblivious of the incident of Cromwell—states that it +was erected in the thirtieth year of Charles's reign. Richard the +Second, deposed and assassinated, is here entombed; and within a few +feet of him are the relics of his uncle, the able and powerful Duke +of Gloster, treacherously ensnared and betrayed to death. Here also, +huge, rough, and gray, is the stone sarcophagus of Edward the First, +which, when opened, in 1771, disclosed the skeleton of departed +majesty, still perfect, wearing robes of gold tissue and crimson +velvet, and having a crown on the head and a sceptre in the hand. So +sleep, in jewelled darkness and gaudy decay, what once were monarchs! +And all around are great lords, holy prelates, famous statesmen, +renowned soldiers, and illustrious poets. Burleigh, Pitt, Fox, Burke, +Canning, Newton, Barrow, Wilberforce—names forever +glorious!—are here enshrined in the grandest sepulchre on +earth.</p> +<p>The interments that have been effected in and around the Abbey +since the remote age of Edward the Confessor must number thousands; +but only about six hundred are named in the guide-books. In the south +transept, which is Poets' Corner, rest Chaucer, Spenser, Drayton, +Cowley, Dryden, Beaumont, Davenant, Prior, Gay, Congreve, Rowe, Dr. +Johnson, Campbell, Macaulay, and Dickens. Memorials to many other +poets and writers have been ranged on the adjacent walls and pillars; +but these are among the authors that were actually buried in this +place. Ben Jonson is not here, but—in an upright posture, it is +said—under the north aisle of the Abbey; Addison is in the +chapel of Henry the Seventh, at the foot of the monument of Charles +Montague, the great Earl of Halifax; and Bulwer is in the chapel of +St. Edmund. Garrick, Sheridan, Henderson, Cumberland, Handel, Parr, +Sir Archibald Campbell, and the once so mighty Duke of Argyle are +almost side by side; while in St. Edward's chapel sleep Anne of +Cleves, the divorced wife of Henry the Eighth, and Anne Neville, +queen of Richard the Third.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_CEC" id="a_CEC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0136.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Chapel of Edward the Confessor."></p> +<br> +<p>Betterton and Spranger Barry are in the cloisters—where may +be read, in four little words, the most touching epitaph in the +Abbey: "Jane Lister—dear child." There are no monuments to +either Byron, Shelley, Swift, Pope, Bolingbroke, Keats, Cowper, +Moore, or Young; but Mason and Shadwell are commemorated; and Barton +Booth is splendidly inurned; while hard by, in the cloisters, a place +was found for Mrs. Cibber, Tom Brown, Anne Bracegirdle, Anne +Oldfield, and Aphra Behn. The destinies have not always been +stringently fastidious as to the admission of lodgers to this sacred +ground. The pilgrim is startled by some of the names that he finds in +Westminster Abbey, and pained by reflection on the absence of some +that he will seek in vain. Yet he will not fail to moralise, as he +strolls in Poets' Corner, upon the inexorable justice with which time +repudiates fictitious reputations and twines the laurel on only the +worthiest brows. In well-nigh five hundred years of English +literature there have lived only about a hundred and ten poets whose +names survive in any needed chronicle; and not all of those possess +life outside of the library. To muse over the literary memorials in +the Abbey is also to think upon the seeming caprice of chance with +which the graves of the British poets have been scattered far and +wide throughout the land.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TPC" id="a_TPC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0138.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Poets' Corner."></p> +<br> +<p>Gower, Fletcher, and Massinger (to name but a few of them) rest in +Southwark; Sydney and Donne in St. Paul's cathedral; More (his head, +that is, while his body moulders in the Tower chapel) at Canterbury; +Drummond in Lasswade church; Dorset at Withyham, in Sussex; Waller at +Beaconsfield; Wither, unmarked, in the church of the Savoy; Milton in +the church of the Cripplegate—where his relics, it is said, +were despoiled; Swift at Dublin, in St. Patrick's cathedral; Young at +Welwyn; Pope at Twickenham; Thomson at Richmond; Gray at Stoke-Pogis; +Watts in Bunhill-Fields; Collins in an obscure little church at +Chichester—though his name is commemorated by a tablet in +Chichester cathedral; Cowper in Dereham church; Goldsmith in the +garden of the Temple; Savage at Bristol; Burns at Dumfries; Rogers at +Hornsey; Crabbe at Trowbridge; Scott in Dryburgh abbey; Coleridge at +Highgate; Byron in Hucknall church, near Nottingham; Moore at +Bromham; Montgomery at Sheffield; Heber at Calcutta; Southey in +Crossthwaite churchyard, near Keswick; Wordsworth and Hartley +Coleridge side by side in the churchyard of Grasmere; and Clough at +Florence—whose lovely words may here speak for all of +them—</p> +<blockquote><small>"One port, methought, alike they sought,<br> + One purpose held, where'er they fare:<br> +O bounding breeze, O rushing seas.<br> + At last, at last, unite them +there!"</small></blockquote> +<p>But it is not alone in the great Abbey that the rambler in London +is impressed by poetic antiquity and touching historic +association—always presuming that he has been a reader of +English literature and that his reading has sunk into his mind. +Little things, equally with great ones, commingled in a medley, +luxuriant and delicious, so people the memory of such a pilgrim that +all his walks will be haunted. The London of to-day, to be sure (as +may be seen in Macaulay's famous third chapter, and in Scott's +<i>Fortunes of Nigel),</i> is very little like even the London of +Charles the Second, when the great fire had destroyed eighty-nine +churches and thirteen thousand houses, and when what is now Regent +Street was a rural solitude in which sportsmen sometimes shot the +woodcock.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TNA" id="a_TNA"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0140.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The North Ambulatory."></p> +<br> +<p>Yet, though much of the old capital has vanished and more of it +has been changed, many remnants of its historic past exist, and many +of its streets and houses are fraught with a delightful, romantic +interest. It is not forgotten that sometimes the charm resides in the +eyes that see, quite as much as in the object that is seen. The +storied spots of London may not be appreciable by all who look upon +them every day. The cab-drivers in the region of Kensington Palace +Road may neither regard, nor even notice, the house in which +Thackeray lived and died. The shop-keepers of old Bond Street may, +perhaps, neither care nor know that in this famous avenue was enacted +the woeful death-scene of Laurence Sterne. The Bow Street runners are +quite unlikely to think of Will's Coffee House, and Dryden, or +Button's, and Addison, as they pass the sites of those vanished +haunts of wit and revelry in the days of Queen Anne. The fashionable +lounger through Berkeley Square, when perchance he pauses at the +corner of Bruton Street, will not discern Colley Cibber, in wig and +ruffles, standing at the parlour window and drumming with his hands +on the frame. The casual passenger, halting at the Tavistock, will +not remember that this was once Macklin's Ordinary, and so conjure up +the iron visage and ferocious aspect of the first great Shylock of +the British stage, formally obsequious to his guests, or striving to +edify them, despite the banter of the volatile Foote, with discourse +upon "the Causes of Duelling in Ireland." The Barbican does not to +every one summon the austere memory of Milton; nor Holborn raise the +melancholy shade of Chatterton; nor Tower Hill arouse the gloomy +ghost of Otway; nor Hampstead lure forth the sunny figure of Steele +and the passionate face of Keats; nor old Northumberland Street +suggest the burly presence of "rare Ben Jonson"; nor opulent +Kensington revive the stately head of Addison; nor a certain window +in Wellington Street reveal in fancy's picture the rugged lineaments +and splendid eyes of Dickens.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TSH" id="a_TSH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0142.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Spaniards, Hampstead."></p> +<br> +<p>Yet London never disappoints; and for him who knows and feels its +history these associations, and hundreds like to these, make it +populous with noble or strange or pathetic figures, and diversify the +aspect of its vital present with pictures of an equally vital past. +Such a wanderer discovers that in this vast capital there is +literally no end to the themes that are to stir his imagination, +touch his heart, and broaden his mind. Soothed already by the equable +English climate and the lovely English scenery, he is aware now of an +influence in the solid English city that turns his intellectual life +to perfect tranquillity. He stands amid achievements that are +finished, careers that are consummated, great deeds that are done, +great memories that are immortal; he views and comprehends the sum of +all that is possible to human thought, passion, and labour; and +then,—high over mighty London, above the dome of St. Paul's +cathedral, piercing the clouds, greeting the sun, drawing into itself +all the tremendous life of the great city and all the meaning of its +past and present,—the golden cross of Christ!</p> +<br> +<a name="a_DSP" id="a_DSP"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0143.jpg" width="60%" alt= +"Dome of St. Paul's"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_LFB" id="a_LFB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0144.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Leaf and Flower Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXII" id="a_CHXII"></a><a name="a_CHXIIb" id= +"a_CHXIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<h5 align="center">SHAKESPEARE'S HOME</h5> +<br> +<p>It is the everlasting glory of Stratford-upon-Avon that it was the +birthplace of Shakespeare. Situated in the heart of Warwickshire, +which has been called "the garden of England," it nestles cosily in +an atmosphere of tranquil loveliness and is surrounded with +everything that soft and gentle rural scenery can provide to soothe +the mind and to nurture contentment. It stands upon a plain, almost +in the centre of the island, through which, between the low green +hills that roll away on either side, the Avon flows downward to the +Severn. The country in its neighbourhood is under perfect +cultivation, and for many miles around presents the appearance of a +superbly appointed park. Portions of the land are devoted to crops +and pasture; other portions are thickly wooded with oak, elm, willow, +and chestnut; the meadows are intersected by hedges of fragrant +hawthorn, and the region smiles with flowers. Old manor-houses, +half-hidden among the trees, and thatched cottages embowered with +roses are sprinkled through the surrounding landscape; and all the +roads that converge upon this point—from Birmingham, Warwick, +Shipton, Bidford, Alcester, Evesham, Worcester, and other contiguous +towns—wind, in sun and shadow, through a sod of green velvet, +swept by the cool, sweet winds of the English summer.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TGR" id="a_TGR"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0145.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Grange."></p> +<br> +<p>Such felicities of situation and such accessories of beauty, +however, are not unusual in England; and Stratford, were it not +hallowed by association, though it would always hold a place among +the pleasant memories of the traveller, would not have become a +shrine for the homage of the world. To Shakespeare it owes its +renown; from Shakespeare it derives the bulk of its prosperity. To +visit Stratford is to tread with affectionate veneration in the +footsteps of the poet. To write about Stratford is to write about +Shakespeare.</p> +<p>More than three hundred years have passed since the birth of that +colossal genius and many changes have occurred in his native town +within that period. The Stratford of Shakespeare's time was built +principally of timber, and it contained about fourteen hundred +inhabitants. To-day its population numbers more than eight thousand. +New dwellings have arisen where once were fields of wheat, glorious +with the shimmering lustre of the scarlet poppy. Many of the older +buildings have been altered. Manufacture has been stimulated into +prosperous activity. The Avon has been spanned by a new bridge, of +iron—a path for pedestrians, adjacent to Clopton's bridge of +stone. (The iron bridge was opened November 23, 1827. The Clopton +Bridge was 376 yards long and about 16 yards wide. Alterations of the +west end of it were made in 1814.) The streets have been levelled, +swept, rolled and garnished till they look like a Flemish drawing, of +the Middle Ages. Even the Shakespeare cottage, the old Harvard house +in High Street, and the two old churches—authentic and splendid +memorials of a distant and storied past—have been "restored." +If the poet could walk again through his accustomed haunts, though he +would see the same smiling country round about, and hear, as of old, +the ripple of the Avon murmuring in its summer sleep, his eyes would +rest on but few objects that once he knew. Yet, there are the paths +that Shakespeare often trod; there stands the house in which he was +born; there is the school in which he was taught; there is the +cottage in which he wooed his sweetheart; there are the traces and +relics of the mansion in which he died; and there is the church that +keeps his dust, so consecrated by the reverence of mankind</p> +<blockquote><small>"That kings for such a tomb would wish to +die."</small></blockquote> +<p>In shape the town of Stratford somewhat resembles a large cross, +which is formed by High Street, running nearly north and south, and +Bridge Street and Wood Street, running nearly east and west. From +these, which are main avenues, radiate many and devious branches. A +few of the streets are broad and straight but many of them are narrow +and crooked. High and Bridge streets intersect each other at the +centre of the town, and there stands the market house, an ugly +building, of the period of George the Fourth, with belfry and +illuminated clock, facing eastward toward the old stone bridge, with +fourteen arches,—the bridge that Sir Hugh Clopton built across +the Avon, in the reign of Henry the Seventh. A cross once stood at +the corner of High Street and Wood Street, and near the cross was a +pump and a well. From that central point a few steps will bring the +traveller to the birthplace of Shakespeare.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SHB" id="a_SHB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0148.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Shakespeare's Birthplace in Henley Street."></p> +<br> +<p>It is a little, two-story cottage, of timber and plaster, on the +north side of Henley Street, in the western part of the town. It must +have been, in its pristine days, finer than most of the dwellings in +its neighbourhood. The one-story house, with attic windows, was the +almost invariable fashion of building, in English country towns, till +the seventeenth century. This cottage, besides its two stories, had +dormer-windows, a pent-house over its door, and altogether was built +and appointed in a manner both luxurious and substantial. Its age is +unknown; but the history of Stratford reaches back to a period three +hundred years antecedent to William the Conqueror, and fancy, +therefore, is allowed ample room to magnify its antiquity. It was +bought, or occupied, by Shakespeare's father in 1555, and in it he +resided till his death, in 1601, when it descended by inheritance to +the poet. Such is the substance of the complex documentary evidence +and of the emphatic tradition that consecrate this cottage as the +house in which Shakespeare was born. The point has never been +absolutely settled. John Shakespeare, the father, was the owner in +1564 not only of the house in Henley Street but of another in +Greenhill Street. William Shakespeare might have been born at either +of those dwellings. Tradition, however, has sanctified the Henley +Street cottage; and this, accordingly, as Shakespeare's cradle, will +be piously guarded to a late posterity. It has already survived +serious perils and vicissitudes. By Shakespeare's will it was +bequeathed to his sister Joan—Mrs. William Hart—to be +held by her, under the yearly rent of twelvepence, during her life, +and at her death to revert to his daughter Susanna and her +descendants. His sister Joan appears to have been living there at the +time of his decease, in 1616. She is known to have been living there +in 1639—twenty-three years later,—and doubtless she +resided there till her death, in 1646. The estate then passed to +Susanna—Mrs. John Hall,—from whom in 1649 it descended to +her grandchild, Lady Barnard, who left it to her kinsmen, Thomas and +George Hart, grandsons of Joan. In this line of descent it +continued—subject to many of those infringements which are +incidental to poverty—till 1806, when William Shakespeare Hart, +the seventh in collateral kinship from the poet, sold it to Thomas +Court, from whose family it was at last purchased for the British +nation. Meantime the property, which originally consisted of two +tenements and a considerable tract of adjacent land, had, little by +little, been curtailed of its fair proportions by the sale of its +gardens and orchards. The two tenements—two in one, that +is—had been subdivided. A part of the building became an +inn—at first called "The Maidenhead," afterward "The Swan," and +finally "The Swan and Maidenhead." Another part became a butcher's +shop. The old dormer-windows and the pent-house disappeared. A new +brick casing was foisted upon the tavern end of the structure. In +front of the butcher's shop appeared a sign announcing "William +Shakespeare was born in this house: N.B.—A Horse and Taxed Cart +to Let." Still later appeared another legend, vouching that "the +immortal Shakespeare was born in this house." From 1793 till 1820 +Thomas and Mary Hornby, connections by marriage with the Harts, lived +in the Shakespeare cottage—now at length become the resort of +literary pilgrims,—and Mary Hornby, who set up to be a poet and +wrote tragedy, comedy, and philosophy, took delight in exhibiting its +rooms to visitors. During the reign of that eccentric custodian the +low ceilings and whitewashed walls of its several chambers became +covered with autographs, scrawled thereon by many enthusiasts, +including some of the most famous persons in Europe. In 1820 Mary +Hornby was requested to leave the premises. She did not wish to go. +She could not endure the thought of a successor. "After me, the +deluge!" She was obliged to abdicate; but she conveyed away all the +furniture and relics alleged to be connected with Shakespeare's +family, and she hastily whitewashed the cottage walls. Only a small +part of the wall of the upper room, the chamber in which "nature's +darling" first saw the light, escaped that act of spiteful sacrilege. +On the space behind its door may still be read many names, with dates +affixed, ranging back from 1820 to 1729. Among them is that of Dora +Jordan, the beautiful and fascinating actress, who wrote it there +June 2, 1809. Much of Mary Hornby's whitewash, which chanced to be +unsized, was afterward removed, so that her work of obliteration +proved only in part successful. Other names have been added to this +singular, chaotic scroll of worship. Byron, Scott,† Rogers, +Thackeray, Kean, Tennyson, and Dickens are among the votaries there +and thus recorded.</p> +<p><small>† Sir Walter Scott visited Shakespeare's birthplace +in August, 1821, and at that time scratched his name on the +window-pane. He had previously, in 1815, visited Kenilworth. He was +in Stratford again in 1828, and on April 8 he went to Shakespeare's +grave, and subsequently drove to Charlecote. The visit of Lord Byron +has been incorrectly assigned to the year 1816. It occurred on August +28, possibly in 1812.</small></p> +<p>The successors of Mary Hornby guarded their charge with pious +care. The precious value of the old Shakespeare cottage grew more and +more evident to the English people. Washington Irving made his +pilgrimage to Stratford and recounted it in his beautiful +<i>Sketch-Book.</i> Yet it was not till P. T. Barnum, from the United +States, arrived with a proposition to buy the Shakespeare house and +convey it to America that the literary enthusiasm of Great Britain +was made to take a practical shape, and this venerated and +inestimable relic became, in 1847, a national possession. In 1856 +John Shakespeare, of Worthington Field, near Ashby-de-la-Zouche, gave +a large sum of money to restore it; and within the next two years, +under the superintendence of Edward Gibbs and William Holtom of +Stratford, it was isolated by the demolition of the cottages at its +sides and in the rear, repaired wherever decay was visible, and set +in perfect order.</p> +<p>The builders of this house must have done their work thoroughly +well, for even after all these years of rough usage and of slow but +incessant decline the great timbers remain solid, the plastered walls +are firm, the huge chimney-stack is as permanent as a rock, and the +ancient flooring only betrays by the channelled aspect of its boards, +and the high polish on the heads of the nails which fasten them down, +that it belongs to a period of remote antiquity. The cottage stands +close upon the margin of the street, according to ancient custom of +building throughout Stratford; and, entering through a little porch, +the pilgrim stands at once in that low-ceiled, flag-stoned room, with +its wide fire-place, so familiar in prints of the chimney-corner of +Shakespeare's youthful days. Within the fire-place, on either side, +is a seat fashioned in the brick-work; and here, as it is pleasant to +imagine, the boy-poet often sat, on winter nights, gazing dreamily +into the flames, and building castles in that fairyland of fancy +which was his celestial inheritance. You presently pass from this +room by a narrow, well-worn staircase to the chamber above, which is +shown as the place of the poet's birth. An antiquated chair, of the +sixteenth century, stands in the right-hand corner. At the left is a +small fire-place. Around the walls are visible the great beams which +are the framework of the building—beams of seasoned oak that +will last forever. Opposite to the door of entrance is a threefold +casement (the original window) full of narrow panes of glass scrawled +all over with names that their worshipful owners have written with +diamonds. The ceiling is so low that you can easily touch it with +uplifted hand. A portion of it is held in place by a network of +little iron laths. This room, and indeed the whole structure, is as +polished and orderly as any waxen, royal hall in the Louvre, and it +impresses observation much like old lace that has been treasured up, +in lavender or jasmine. These walls, which no one is now permitted to +mar, were naturally the favourite scroll of the Shakespeare votaries +of long ago. Every inch of the plaster bears marks of the pencil of +reverence. Hundreds of names are written there—some of them +famous but most of them obscure, and all destined to perish where +they stand. On the chimney-piece at the right of the fireplace, which +is named The Actor's Pillar, many actors have inscribed their +signatures. Edmund Kean wrote his name there—with what soulful +veneration and spiritual sympathy it is awful even to try to imagine. +Sir Walter Scott's name is scratched with a diamond on the +window—"W. Scott." That of Thackeray appears on the ceiling, +and upon the beam across the centre is that of Helen Faucit. The name +of Eliza Vestris is written near the fireplace. Mark Lemon and +Charles Dickens are together on the opposite wall. Byron wrote his +name there, but it has disappeared. The list would include, among +others, Elliston, Buckstone, G. V. Brooke, Charles Kean, Charles +Mathews, and Fanny Fitzwilliam. But it is not of these offerings of +fealty that you think when you sit and muse alone in that mysterious +chamber. As once again I conjure up that strange and solemn scene, +the sunshine rests in checkered squares upon the ancient floor, the +motes swim in the sunbeams, the air is very cold, the place is hushed +as death, and over it all there broods an atmosphere of grave +suspense and mystical desolation—a sense of some tremendous +energy stricken dumb and frozen into silence and past and gone +forever.</p> +<p>Opposite to the birthchamber, at the rear, there is a small +apartment, in which is displayed "the Stratford Portrait" of the +poet. This painting is said to have been owned by the Clopton family, +and to have fallen into the hands of William Hunt, town clerk of +Stratford, who bought the mansion of the Cloptons in 1758. The +adventures through which it passed can only be conjectured. It does +not appear to have been valued, and although it remained in the house +it was cast away among lumber and rubbish. In process of time it was +painted over and changed into a different subject. Then it fell a +prey to dirt and damp. There is a story that the little boys of the +tribe of Hunt were accustomed to use it as a target for their arrows. +At last, after the lapse of a century, the grandson of William Hunt +showed it by chance to Simon Collins, an artist, who surmised that a +valuable portrait might perhaps exist beneath its muddy surface. It +was carefully cleaned. A thick beard was removed, and the face of +Shakespeare emerged upon the canvas. It is not pretended that this +portrait was painted in Shakespeare's time. The close resemblance +that it bears,—in attitude, dress, colours, and other +peculiarities,—to the painted bust of the poet in Stratford +church seems to indicate that it is a modern copy of that work. Upon +a brass plate affixed to it is the following inscription: "This +portrait of Shakespeare, after being in the possession of Mr. William +Oakes Hunt, town-clerk of Stratford, and his family, for upwards of a +century, was restored to its original condition by Mr. Simon Collins +of London, and, being considered a portrait of much interest and +value, was given by Mr. Hunt to the town of Stratford-upon-Avon, to +be preserved in Shakespeare's house, 23d April, 1862." There, +accordingly, it remains, and, in association with several other +dubious presentments of the poet, cheerfully adds to the mental +confusion of the pilgrim who would form an accurate image of +Shakespeare's appearance. Standing in its presence it was worth while +to reflect that there are only two authentic representations of +Shakespeare in existence—the Droeshout portrait and the Gerard +Jonson bust. They may not be perfect works of art; they may not do +justice to the original; but they were seen and accepted by persons +to whom Shakespeare had been a living companion. The bust was +sanctioned by his children; the portrait was sanctioned by his friend +Ben Jonson, and by his brother actors Heminge and Condell, who +prefixed it, in 1623, to the first folio of his works. Standing among +the relics that have been gathered into a museum in an apartment on +the ground-floor of the cottage it was essential also to remember how +often "the wish is father to the thought" that sanctifies the +uncertain memorials of the distant past. Several of the most +suggestive documents, though, which bear upon the sparse and shadowy +record of Shakespeare's life are preserved in this place. Here is a +deed, made in 1596, which proves that this house was his father's +residence. Here is the only letter addressed to him that is known to +exist—the letter of Richard Quiney (1598) asking for the loan +of thirty pounds. Here is a declaration in a suit, in 1604, to +recover the price of some malt that he had sold to Philip Rogers. +Here is a deed, dated 1609, on which is the autograph of his brother +Gilbert, who represented him, at Stratford, in his business affairs, +while he was absent in London, and who, surviving, it is dubiously +said, almost till the period of the Restoration, talked, as a very +old man, of the poet's impersonation of Adam in <i>As You Like +It.</i> (Possibly the reference of that legend is not to Gilbert but +to a son of his. Gilbert would have been nearly a century old when +Charles the Second came to the throne.) Here likewise is shown a gold +seal ring, found many years ago in a field near Stratford church, on +which, delicately engraved, appear the letters W. S., entwined with a +true lovers' knot. It may have belonged to Shakespeare. The +conjecture is that it did, and that,—since on the last of the +three sheets which contain his will the word "seal" is stricken out +and the word "hand" substituted,—he did not seal that document +because he had only just then lost this ring. The supposition is, at +least, ingenious. It will not harm the visitor to accept it. Nor, as +he stands poring over the ancient, decrepit school-desk which has +been lodged in this museum, from the grammar-school, will it greatly +tax his credulity to believe that the "shining morning face" of the +boy Shakespeare once looked down upon it, in the irksome quest of his +"small Latin and less Greek." They call it Shakespeare's desk. It is +old, and it is known to have been in the school of the guild three +hundred years ago. There are other relics, more or less indirectly +connected with the great name that is here commemorated. The +inspection of them all would consume many days; the description of +them would occupy many pages. You write your name in the visitors' +book at parting, and perhaps stroll forth into the garden of the +cottage, which encloses it at the sides and in the rear, and there, +beneath the leafy boughs of the English lime, while your footsteps +press "the grassy carpet of this plain," behold growing all around +you the rosemary, pansies, fennel, columbines, rue, daisies, and +violets, which make the imperishable garland on Ophelia's grave, and +which are the fragrance of her solemn and lovely memory.</p> +<p>Thousands of times the wonder must have been expressed that while +the world knows so much about Shakespeare's mind it should know so +little about his life. The date of his birth, even, is established by +an inference. The register of Stratford church shows that he was +baptised there in 1564, on April 26. It was customary to baptise +infants on the third day after their birth. It is presumed that the +custom was followed in this instance, and hence it is deduced that +Shakespeare was born on April 23—a date which, making allowance +for the difference between the old and new styles of reckoning time, +corresponds to our third of May. Equally by an inference it is +established that the boy was educated in the free grammar-school. The +school was there; and any boy of the town, who was seven years old +and able to read, could get admission to it. Shakespeare's father, an +alderman of Stratford (elected chief alderman, October 10, 1571), and +then a man of worldly substance, though afterward he became poor, +would surely have wished that his children should grow up in +knowledge. To the ancient school-house, accordingly, and the adjacent +chapel of the guild—which are still extant, at the south-east +corner of Chapel Lane and Church Street—the pilgrim confidently +traces the footsteps of the poet. Those buildings are of singular, +picturesque quaintness. The chapel dates back to about the middle of +the thirteenth century. It was a Roman Catholic institution, founded +in 1296, under the patronage of the Bishop of Worcester, and +committed to the pious custody of the guild of Stratford. A hospital +was connected with it in those days, and Robert de Stratford was its +first master. New privileges and confirmation were granted to the +guild by Henry the Sixth, in 1403 and 1429. The grammar-school, +established on an endowment of lands and tenements by Thomas Jolyffe, +was set up in association with it in 1482. Toward the end of the +reign of Henry the Seventh the whole of the chapel, excepting the +chancel, was torn down and rebuilt under the munificent direction of +Sir Hugh Clopton, Lord Mayor of London and Stratford's chief citizen +and benefactor. Under Henry the Eighth, when came the stormy times of +the Reformation, the priests were driven out, the guild was +dissolved, and the chapel was despoiled. Edward the Sixth, however, +granted a new charter to this ancient institution, and with especial +precautions reinstated the school. The chapel itself was occasionally +used as a schoolroom when Shakespeare was a boy, and until as late as +the year 1595; and in case the lad did go thither (in 1571) as a +pupil, he must have been from childhood familiar with the series of +grotesque paintings upon its walls, presenting, in a pictorial +panorama, the history of the Holy Cross, from its origin as a tree at +the beginning of the world to its exaltation at Jerusalem. Those +paintings were brought to light in 1804 in the course of a renovation +of the chapel which then occurred, when the walls were relieved of +thick coatings of whitewash, laid on them long before, in Puritan +times, either to spoil or to hide from the spoiler. They are not +visible now, but they were copied and have been engraved. The +drawings of them, by Fisher, are in the collection of Shakespearean +Rarities made by J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps. This chapel and its +contents constitute one of the few remaining spectacles at Stratford +that bring us face to face with Shakespeare. During the last seven +years of his life he dwelt almost continually in his house of New +Place, on the corner immediately opposite to this church. The +configuration of the excavated foundations of that house indicates +what would now be called a deep bay-window in its southern front. +There, probably, was Shakespeare's study; and through that casement, +many and many a time, in storm and in sunshine, by night and by day, +he must have looked out upon the grim, square tower, the embattled +stone wall, and the four tall Gothic windows of that mysterious +temple. The moment your gaze falls upon it, the low-breathed, +horror-stricken words of Lady Macbeth murmur in your +memory:—</p> +<blockquote> +<small> "The raven +himself is hoarse<br> +That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan<br> +Under my battlements."</small></blockquote> +<p>New Place, Shakespeare's home at the time of his death and the +house in which he died, stood on the north-east corner of Chapel +Street and Chapel Lane. Nothing now remains of it but a portion of +its foundations—long buried in the earth, but found and exhumed +in comparatively recent days. Its gardens have been redeemed, through +the zealous and devoted exertions of J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps and +have been restored to what is thought to have been almost their +condition when Shakespeare owned them. The crumbling fragments of the +foundation are covered with screens of wood and wire. A +mulberry-tree, a scion of the famous mulberry that Shakespeare is +known to have planted, is growing on the lawn. There is no authentic +picture in existence that shows New Place as it was when Shakespeare +left it, but there is a sketch of it as it appeared in 1740. The +house was made of brick and timber, and was built by Sir Hugh Clopton +nearly a century before it became by purchase the property of the +poet. Shakespeare bought it in 1597, and in it he passed, +intermittently, a considerable part of the last nineteen years of his +life. It had borne the name of New Place before it came into his +possession. The Clopton family parted with it in 1563, and it was +subsequently owned by families of Bott and Underhill. At +Shakespeare's death it was inherited by his eldest daughter, Susanna, +wife of Dr. John Hall. In 1643, Mrs. Hall, then seven years a widow, +being still its owner and occupant, Henrietta Maria, queen to Charles +the First, who had come to Stratford with a part of the royal army, +resided for three days at New Place, which, therefore, must even then +have been the most considerable private residence in the town. (The +queen arrived at Stratford on July 11 and on July 13 she went to +Kineton.) Mrs. Hall, dying in 1649, aged sixty-six, left it to her +only child, Elizabeth, then Mrs. Thomas Nashe, who afterward became +Lady Barnard, wife to Sir John Barnard, of Abingdon, and in whom the +direct line of Shakespeare ended. After her death the estate was +purchased by Sir Edward Walker, in 1675, who ultimately left it to +his daughter's husband, Sir John Clopton (1638-1719), and so it once +more passed into the hands of the family of its founder. A second Sir +Hugh Clopton (1671-1751) owned it at the middle of the eighteenth +century, and under his direction it was repaired, decorated, and +furnished with a new front. That proved the beginning of the end of +this old structure, as a relic of Shakespeare; for this owner, dying +in 1751, bequeathed it to his son-in-law, Henry Talbot, who in 1753 +sold it to the most universally execrated iconoclast of modern times, +the Rev. Francis Gastrell, vicar of Frodsham, in Cheshire, by whom it +was destroyed. Mr. Gastrell was a man of fortune, and he certainly +was one of insensibility. He knew little of Shakespeare; but he knew +that the frequent incursion, into his garden, of strangers who came +to sit beneath "Shakespeare's mulberry" was a troublesome annoyance. +He struck, therefore, at the root of the vexation and cut down the +tree. That was in 1756. The wood was purchased by Thomas Sharp, a +watchmaker of Stratford, who subsequently made the solemn declaration +that he carried it to his home and converted it into toys and kindred +memorial relics. The villagers of Stratford, meantime, incensed at +the barbarity of Mr. Gastrell, took their revenge by breaking his +windows. In this and in other ways the clergyman was probably made to +realise his local unpopularity. It had been his custom to reside +during a part of each year in Lichfield, leaving some of his servants +in charge of New Place. The overseers of Stratford, having lawful +authority to levy a tax, for the maintenance of the poor, on every +house in the town valued at more than forty shillings a year, did not +neglect to make a vigorous use of their privilege in the case of Mr. +Gastrell. The result of their exactions in the sacred cause of +charity was significant. In 1759 Mr. Gastrell declared that the house +should never be taxed again, pulled down the building, sold the +materials of which it had been composed, and left Stratford forever. +He repaired to Lichfield and there died. In the house adjacent to the +site of what was once Shakespeare's home has been established a +museum of Shakespearean relics. Among them is a stone mullion, found +on the site, which may have belonged to a window of the original +mansion. This estate, bought from different owners and restored to +its Shakespearean condition, became on April 17, 1876, the property +of the corporation of Stratford. The tract of land is not large. The +visitor may traverse the whole of it in a few minutes, although if he +obey his inclination he will linger there for hours. The enclosure is +an irregular rectangle, about two hundred feet long. The lawn is +perfect. The mulberry is extant and tenacious, and wears its honours +in contented vigour. Other trees give grateful shade to the grounds, +and the voluptuous red roses, growing all around in rich profusion, +load the air with fragrance. Eastward, at a little distance, flows +the Avon. Not far away rises the graceful spire of the Holy Trinity. +A few rooks, hovering in the air and wisely bent on some facetious +mischief, send down through the silver haze of the summer morning +their sagacious yet melancholy caw. The windows of the gray chapel +across the street twinkle, and keep their solemn secret. On this spot +was first waved the mystic wand of Prospero. Here Ariel sang of dead +men's bones turned into pearl and coral in the deep caverns of the +sea. Here arose into everlasting life Hermione, "as tender as infancy +and grace." Here were created Miranda and Perdita, twins of heaven's +own radiant goodness,—</p> +<blockquote> +<small> "Daffodils<br> + +That come before the swallow dares, and take<br> +The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,<br> +But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes<br> +Or Cytherea's breath."</small></blockquote> +<p>To endeavour to touch upon the larger and more august aspect of +Shakespeare's life—when, as his wonderful sonnets betray, his +great heart had felt the devastating blast of cruel passions and the +deepest knowledge of the good and evil of the universe had been borne +in upon his soul—would be impious presumption. Happily to the +stroller in Stratford every association connected with him is gentle +and tender. His image, as it rises there, is of smiling boyhood or +sedate and benignant maturity; always either joyous or serene, never +passionate, or turbulent, or dark. The pilgrim thinks of him as a +happy child at his father's fireside; as a wondering school-boy in +the quiet, venerable close of the old guild chapel, where still the +only sound that breaks the silence is the chirp of birds or the +creaking of the church vane; as a handsome, dauntless youth, sporting +by his beloved river or roaming through field and forest many miles +around; as the bold, adventurous spirit, bent on frolic and mischief, +and not averse to danger, leading, perhaps, the wild lads of his +village in their poaching depredations on the chace of Charlecote; as +the lover, strolling through the green lanes of Shottery, hand in +hand with the darling of his first love, while round them the +honeysuckle breathed out its fragrant heart upon the winds of night, +and overhead the moonlight, streaming through rifts of elm and +poplar, fell on their pathway in showers of shimmering silver; and, +last of all, as the illustrious poet, rooted and secure in his +massive and shining fame, loved by many, and venerated and mourned by +all, borne slowly through Stratford churchyard, while the golden +bells were tolled in sorrow and the mourning lime-trees dropped their +blossoms on his bier, to the place of his eternal rest. Through all +the scenes incidental to this experience the worshipper of +Shakespeare's genius may follow him every step of the way.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_AHC" id="a_AHC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0165.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Anne Hathaway's Cottage."></p> +<br> +<p>The old foot-path across the fields to Shottery remains +accessible. Wild-flowers are blooming along its margin. The gardens +and meadows through which it winds are sprinkled with the gorgeous +scarlet of the poppy. The hamlet of Shottery is less than a mile from +Stratford, stepping toward the sunset; and there, nestled beneath the +elms, and almost embowered in vines and roses, stands the cottage in +which Anne Hathaway was wooed and won. This is even more antiquated +in appearance than the birthplace of Shakespeare, and more obviously +a relic of the distant past. It is built of wood and plaster, ribbed +with massive timbers, and covered with a thatch roof. It fronts +southward, presenting its eastern end to the road. Under its eaves, +peeping through embrasures cut in the thatch, are four tiny +casements, round which the ivy twines and the roses wave softly in +the wind of June. The western end of the structure is higher than the +eastern, and the old building, originally divided into two tenements, +is now divided into three. In front of it is a straggling garden. +There is a comfortable air of wildness, yet not of neglect, in its +appointments and surroundings. The place is still the abode of labour +and lowliness. Entering its parlour you see a stone floor, a wide +fireplace, a broad, hospitable hearth, with cosy chimney-corners, and +near this an old wooden settle, much decayed but still serviceable, +on which Shakespeare may often have sat, with Anne at his side. The +plastered walls of this room here and there reveal portions of an oak +wainscot. The ceiling is low. This evidently was the farm-house of a +substantial yeoman, in the days of Henry the Eighth. The Hathaways +had lived in Shottery for forty years prior to Shakespeare's +marriage. The poet, then undistinguished, had just turned eighteen, +while his bride was nearly twenty-six, and it has been foolishly said +that she acted ill in wedding her boy-lover. They were married in +November, 1582, and their first child, Susanna, came in the following +May. Anne Hathaway must have been a wonderfully fascinating woman, or +Shakespeare would not so have loved her; and she must have loved him +dearly—as what woman, indeed, could help it?—or she would +not thus have yielded to his passion. There is direct testimony to +the beauty of his person; and in the light afforded by his writings +it requires no extraordinary penetration to conjecture that his +brilliant mind, sparkling humour, tender fancy, and impetuous spirit +must have made him, in his youth, a paragon of enchanters. It is not +known where they lived during the first years after their marriage. +Perhaps in this cottage at Shottery. Perhaps with Hamnet and Judith +Sadler, for whom their twins, born in 1585, were named Hamnet and +Judith. Her father's house assuredly would have been chosen for +Anne's refuge, when presently (in 1585-86), Shakespeare was obliged +to leave his wife and children, and go away to London to seek his +fortune. He did not buy New Place till 1597, but it is known that in +the meantime he came to his native town once every year. It was in +Stratford that his son Hamnet died, in 1596. Anne and her children +probably had never left the town. They show a bedstead and other bits +of furniture, together with certain homespun sheets of everlasting +linen, that are kept as heirlooms in the garret of the Shottery +cottage. Here is the room that may often have welcomed the poet when +he came home from his labours in the great city. It is a homely and +humble place, but the sight of it makes the heart thrill with a +strange and incommunicable awe. You cannot wish to speak when you are +standing there. You are scarcely conscious of the low rustling of the +leaves outside, the far-off sleepy murmur of the brook, or the faint +fragrance of woodbine and maiden's-blush that is wafted in at the +open casement and that swathes in nature's incense a memory sweeter +than itself.</p> +<p>Associations may be established by fable as well as by fact. There +is but little reason to believe the legendary tale, first recorded by +Rowe, that Shakespeare, having robbed the deer-park of Sir Thomas +Lucy of Charlecote (there was not a park at Charlecote then, but +there was one at Fullbrooke), was so severely persecuted by that +magistrate that he was compelled to quit Stratford and shelter +himself in London. Yet the story has twisted itself into all the +lives of Shakespeare, and whether received or rejected has clung to +the house of Charlecote. That noble mansion—a genuine specimen, +despite a few modern alterations, of the architecture of Queen +Elizabeth's time—is found on the west bank of the Avon, about +three miles north-east from Stratford. It is a long, rambling, +three-storied palace—as finely quaint as old St. James's in +London, and not altogether unlike that edifice, in general +character—with octagon turrets, gables, balustrades, Tudor +casements, and great stacks of chimneys, so closed in by elms of +giant growth that you can scarce distinguish it, through the foliage, +till you are close upon it.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_CHR" id="a_CHR"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0169.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Charlecote."></p> +<br> +<p>It was erected in 1558 by Thomas Lucy, who in 1578 was Sheriff of +Warwickshire, who was elected to the Parliaments of 1571 and 1584, +and who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1565. The porch to this +building was designed by John of Padua. There is a silly ballad in +existence, idly attributed to Shakespeare, which, it is said, was +found affixed to Lucy's gate, and gave him great offence. He must +have been more than commonly sensitive to low abuse if he could have +been annoyed by such a manifestly scurrilous ebullition of the +blackguard and the blockhead,—supposing, indeed, that he ever +saw it. The ballad, proffered as the work of Shakespeare, is a +forgery. There is but one existing reason to think that the poet ever +cherished a grudge against the Lucy family, and that is the coarse +allusion to the "luces" which is found in the <i>Merry Wives of +Windsor.</i> There was apparently, a second Sir Thomas Lucy, later +than the Sheriff, who was more of the Puritanic breed, while +Shakespeare evidently was a Cavalier. It is possible that in a +youthful frolic the poet may have poached on Sheriff Lucy's +preserves. Even so, the affair was trivial. It is possible, too, that +in after years he may have had reason to dislike the +ultra-Puritanical neighbour. Some memory of the tradition will, of +course, haunt the traveller's thoughts as he strolls by Hatton Rock +and through the villages of Hampton and Charlecote. But this +discordant recollection is soon smoothed away by the peaceful +loveliness of the ramble—past aged hawthorns that Shakespeare +himself may have seen, and under the boughs of beeches, limes, and +drooping willows, where every footstep falls on wild-flowers, or on a +cool green turf that is softer than Indian silk and as firm and +elastic as the sand of the sea-beaten shore. Thought of Sir Thomas +Lucy will not be otherwise than kind, either, when the stranger in +Charlecote church reads the epitaph with which the old knight +commemorated his wife: "All the time of her Lyfe a true and faithfull +servant of her good God; never detected of any crime or vice; in +religion most sound; in love to her husband most faithfull and true. +In friendship most constant. To what in trust was committed to her +most secret; in wisdom excelling; in governing her House and bringing +up of Youth in the feare of God that did converse with her most rare +and singular; a great maintainer of hospitality; greatly esteemed of +her betters; misliked of none unless the envious. When all is spoken +that can be said, a Woman so furnished and garnished with Virtue as +not to be bettered, and hardly to be equalled of any; as she lived +most virtuously, so she dyed most godly. Set down by him that best +did know what hath been written to be true. Thomas Lucy." A narrow +formalist he may have been, and a severe magistrate in his dealings +with scapegrace youths, and perhaps a haughty and disagreeable +neighbour; but there is a touch of manhood, high feeling, and +virtuous and self-respecting character in those lines, that instantly +wins the response of sympathy. If Shakespeare really shot the deer of +Thomas Lucy the injured gentleman had a right to feel annoyed. +Shakespeare, boy or man, was not a saint, and those who so account +him can have read his works to but little purpose. He can bear the +full brunt of his faults. He does not need to be canonised.</p> +<p>The ramble to Charlecote—one of the prettiest walks about +Stratford—was, it may surely be supposed, often taken by +Shakespeare. Many another ramble was possible to him and no doubt was +made. He would cross the mill bridge (new in 1599), which spans the +Avon a little way to the south of the church. A quaint, sleepy mill +no doubt it was—necked with moss and ivy—and the gaze of +Shakespeare assuredly dwelt on it with pleasure.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_MWA" id="a_MWA"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0172.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Meadow Walk by the Avon."></p> +<br> +<p>His footsteps may be traced, also, in fancy, to the region of the +old college building, demolished in 1799, which stood in the southern +part of Stratford, and was the home of his friend John Combe, factor +of Fulke Greville, Earl of Warwick. Still another of his walks must +have tended northward through Welcombe, where he was the owner of +land, to the portly manor of Clopton, or to the home of William, +nephew of John-a-Combe, which stood where the Phillips mansion stands +now. On what is called the Ancient House, which stands on the west +side of High Street, he may often have looked, as he strolled past to +the Red Horse. That picturesque building, dated 1596, survives, +notwithstanding some modern touches of rehabilitation, as a beautiful +specimen of Tudor architecture in one at least of its most charming +traits, the carved and timber-crossed gable. It is a house of three +stories, containing parlour, sitting-room, kitchen, and several +bedrooms, besides cellars and brew-shed; and when sold at auction, +August 23, 1876, it brought £400. In that house was born John +Harvard, who founded Harvard University. There are other dwellings +fully as old in Stratford, but they have been covered with stucco and +otherwise changed. This is a genuine piece of antiquity and it vies +with the grammar-school and the hall of the Guild, under the +pent-house of which the poet would pass whenever he went abroad from +New Place. Julius Shaw, one of the five witnesses to his will, lived +in the house next to the present New Place Museum, and there, it is +reasonable to think, Shakespeare would often pause, for a word with +his friend and neighbour. In the little streets by the riverside, +which are ancient and redolent of the past, his image seems steadily +familiar. In Dead Lane (once also called Walker Street, now called +Chapel Lane) he owned a cottage, bought of Walter Getley in 1602, and +only destroyed within the present century. These and kindred shreds +of fact, suggesting the poet as a living man and connecting him, +however vaguely, with our everyday experience, are seized with +peculiar zest by the pilgrim in Stratford. Such a votary, for +example, never doubts that Shakespeare was a frequenter, in leisure +or convivial hours, of the ancient Red Horse inn. It stood there, in +his day, as it stands now, on the north side of Bridge Street, +westward from the Avon. There are many other taverns in the +town—the Shakespeare, a delightful resort, the Falcon, the Rose +and Crown, the old Red Lion, and the Swan's Nest, being a few of +them,—-but the Red Horse takes precedence of all its kindred, +in the fascinating because suggestive attribute of antiquity. +Moreover it was the Red Horse that harboured Washington Irving, the +pioneer of American worshippers at the shrine of Shakespeare; and the +American explorer of Stratford would cruelly sacrifice his peace of +mind if he were to repose under any other roof. The Red Horse is a +rambling, three-story building, entered through an archway that leads +into a long, straggling yard, adjacent to offices and stables. On one +side of the entrance is found the smoking-room; on the other is the +coffee-room. Above are the bed-rooms. It is a thoroughly +old-fashioned inn—such a one as we may suppose the Boar's Head +to have been, in the time of Prince Henry; such a one as untravelled +Americans only know in the pages of Dickens. The rooms are furnished +in neat, homelike style, and their associations readily deck them +with the fragrant garlands of memory. When Drayton and Jonson came +down to visit "gentle Will" at Stratford they could scarcely have +omitted to quaff the humming ale of Warwickshire in that cosy +parlour. When Queen Henrietta Maria was ensconced at New Place the +general of the royal forces quartered himself at the Red Horse, and +then doubtless there was enough and to spare of revelry within its +walls. A little later the old house was soundly peppered by Roundhead +bullets and the whole town was overrun with the close-cropped, +psalm-singing soldiers of the Commonwealth. In 1742 Garrick and +Macklin lodged in the Red Horse, and thither again came Garrick in +1769, to direct the Shakespeare Jubilee, which was then most dismally +accomplished but which is always remembered to the great actor's +credit and honour. Betterton, no doubt, lodged there when he came to +Stratford in quest of reminiscences of Shakespeare. The visit of +Washington Irving, supplemented with his delicious chronicle, has led +to what might be called almost the consecration of the parlour in +which he sat and the chamber (No. 15) in which he slept. They still +keep the poker—now marked "Geoffrey Crayon's +sceptre"—with which, as he sat there in long, silent, ecstatic +meditation, he prodded the fire in the narrow, tiny grate. They keep +also the chair in which he sat—a plain, straight-backed +arm-chair, with a haircloth seat, marked, on a brass plate, with his +renowned and treasured name. Thus genius can sanctify even the +humblest objects,</p> +<blockquote><small>"And shed a something of celestial light<br> +Round the familiar face of every day."</small></blockquote> +<p>To pass rapidly in review the little that is known of +Shakespeare's life is, nevertheless, to be impressed not only by its +incessant and amazing literary fertility but by the quick succession +of its salient incidents. The vitality must have been enormous that +created in so short a time such a number and variety of works of the +first class. The same quick spirit would naturally have kept in +agitation all the elements of his daily experience. Descended from an +ancestor who had fought for the Red Rose on Bosworth Field, he was +born to repute as well as competence, and during his early childhood +he received instruction and training in a comfortable home. He +escaped the plague that was raging in Stratford when he was an +infant, and that took many victims. He went to school when seven +years old and left it when about fourteen. He then had to work for +his living—his once opulent father having fallen into +misfortune—and he became an apprentice to a butcher, or else a +lawyer's clerk (there were seven lawyers in Stratford at that time), +or else a schoolteacher. Perhaps he was all three—and more. It +is conjectured that he saw the players who from time to time acted in +the Guildhall, under the auspices of the corporation of Stratford; +that he attended the religious entertainments that were customarily +given in the not distant city of Coventry; and that in particular he +witnessed the elaborate and sumptuous pageants with which in 1575 the +Earl of Leicester welcomed Queen Elizabeth to Kenilworth Castle. He +married at eighteen; and, leaving a wife and three children in +Stratford, he went up to London at twenty-two. His entrance into +theatrical life followed—in what capacity it is impossible to +say. One dubious account says that he held horses for the public at +the theatre door; another that he got employment as a prompter to the +actors. It is certain that he had not been in the theatrical business +long before he began to make himself known. At twenty-eight he was a +prosperous author. At twenty-nine he had acted with Burbage before +Queen Elizabeth; and while Spenser had extolled him in the "Tears of +the Muses," the hostile Greene had disparaged him in the +"Groat's-worth of Wit." At thirty-three he had acquired wealth enough +to purchase New Place, the principal residence in his native town, +where now he placed his family and established his +home,—himself remaining in London, but visiting Stratford at +frequent intervals. At thirty-four he was heard of as the actor of +Knowell in Ben Jonson's comedy of <i>Every Man in his +Humour</i>† and he received the glowing encomium of Meres in +<i>Wits Treasury.</i> At thirty-eight he had written <i>Hamlet</i> +and <i>As You Like It,</i> and moreover he had now become the owner +of more estate in Stratford, costing £320. At forty-one he made his +largest purchase, buying for £440 the "unexpired term of a moiety of +the interest in a lease granted in 1554 for ninety-two years of the +tithes of Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe." In the meantime he had +smoothed the declining years of his father and had followed him with +love and duty to the grave. Other domestic bereavements likewise +befell him, and other worldly cares and duties were laid upon his +hands, but neither grief nor business could check the fertility of +his brain. Within the next ten years he wrote, among other great +plays, <i>Othello, Lear, Macbeth,</i> and <i>Coriolanus.</i></p> +<p><small>† Jonson's famous comedy was first acted in 1598, +"By the then Lord Chamberlain his servants." Knowell is designated as +"an old gentleman." The Jonson Folio of 1692 names as follows the +principal comedians who acted in that piece: "Will. Shakespeare. Aug. +Philips. Hen. Condel. Will. Slye. Will. Kempe. Ric. Burbadge. Joh. +Hemings. Tho. Pope. Chr. Beston. Joh. Duke."</small></p> +<br> +<p>At about forty-eight he seems to have disposed of his interest in +the two London theatres with which he had been connected, the +Blackfriars and the Globe, and shortly afterwards, his work as we +possess it being well-nigh completed, he retired finally to his +Stratford home. That he was the comrade of many bright spirits who +glittered in "the spacious times" of Elizabeth several of them have +left personal testimony. That he was the king of them all is shown in +his works. The Sonnets seem to disclose that there was a mysterious, +almost a tragical, passage in his life, and that he was called to +bear the burden of a great and perhaps a calamitous personal +grief—one of those griefs, which, being caused by sinful love, +are endless in the punishment they entail. Happily, however, no +antiquarian student of Shakespeare's time has yet succeeded in coming +near to the man. While he was in London he used to frequent the +Falcon Tavern, in Southwark, and the Mermaid, and he lived at one +time in St. Helen's parish, Aldersgate, and at another time in Clink +Street, Southwark. As an actor his name has been associated with his +characters of Adam, Friar Lawrence, and the Ghost of King Hamlet, and +a contemporary reference declared him "excellent in the quality he +professes." Some of his manuscripts, it is possible, perished in the +fire that consumed the Globe theatre in 1613. He passed his last days +in his home at Stratford, and died there, somewhat suddenly, on his +fifty-second birthday. That event, it may be worth while to observe, +occurred within thirty-three years of the execution of Charles the +First, under the Puritan Commonwealth of Oliver Cromwell. The Puritan +spirit, intolerant of the play-house and of all its works, must then +have been gaining formidable strength. His daughter Susanna, aged +thirty-three at the time of his death, survived him thirty-three +years. His daughter Judith, aged thirty-one at the time of his death, +survived him forty-six years. The whisper of tradition says that both +were Puritans. If so the strange and seemingly unaccountable +disappearance of whatever play-house papers he may have left at +Stratford should not be obscure. This suggestion is likely to have +been made before; and also it is likely to have been supplemented +with a reference to the great fire in London in 1666—(which in +consuming St. Paul's cathedral burned an immense quantity of books +and manuscripts that had been brought from all the threatened parts +of the city and heaped beneath its arches for safety)—as +probably the final and effectual holocaust of almost every piece of +print or writing that might have served to illuminate the history of +Shakespeare. In his personality no less than in the fathomless +resources of his genius he baffles scrutiny and stands for ever +alone.</p> +<blockquote><small>"Others abide our question; thou art free:<br> +We ask, and ask; thou smilest and art still—<br> +Out-topping knowledge."</small></blockquote> +<p>It is impossible to convey an adequate suggestion of the +prodigious and overwhelming sense of peace that falls upon the soul +of the pilgrim in Stratford church. All the cares and struggles and +trials of mortal life, all its failures, and equally all its +achievements, seem there to pass utterly out of remembrance. It is +not now an idle reflection that "the paths of glory lead but to the +grave." No power of human thought ever rose higher or went further +than the thought of Shakespeare. No human being, using the best +weapons of intellectual achievement, ever accomplished so much. Yet +here he lies—who was once so great! And here also, gathered +around him in death, lie his parents, his children, his descendants, +and his friends. For him and for them the struggle has long since +ended. Let no man fear to tread the dark pathway that Shakespeare has +trodden before him. Let no man, standing at this grave, and seeing +and feeling that all the vast labours of that celestial genius end +here at last in a handful of dust, fret and grieve any more over the +puny and evanescent toils of to-day, so soon to be buried in +oblivion! In the simple performance of duty and in the life of the +affections there may be permanence and solace. The rest is an +"insubstantial pageant." It breaks, it changes, it dies, it passes +away, it is forgotten; and though a great name be now and then for a +little while remembered, what can the remembrance of mankind signify +to him who once wore it? Shakespeare, there is reason to believe, set +precisely the right value alike upon contemporary renown and the +homage of posterity. Though he went forth, as the stormy impulses of +his nature drove him, into the great world of London, and there laid +the firm hand of conquest upon the spoils of wealth and power, he +came back at last to the peaceful home of his childhood; he strove to +garner up the comforts and everlasting treasures of love at his +hearthstone; he sought an enduring monument in the hearts of friends +and companions; and so he won for his stately sepulchre the garland +not alone of glory but of affection. Through the high eastern window +of the chancel of Holy Trinity church the morning sunshine, broken +into many-coloured light, streams in upon the grave of Shakespeare +and gilds his bust upon the wall above it. He lies close by the +altar, and every circumstance of his place of burial is eloquent of +his hold upon the affectionate esteem of his contemporaries. The line +of graves beginning at the north wall of the chancel and extending +across to the south seems devoted entirely to Shakespeare and his +family, with but one exception.† The pavement that covers them +is of that blue-gray slate or freestone which in England is sometimes +called black marble. In the first grave under the north wall rests +Shakespeare's wife. The next is that of the poet himself, bearing the +world-famed words of blessing and imprecation. Then comes the grave +of Thomas Nashe, husband to Elizabeth. Hall, the poet's +granddaughter, who died April 4, 1647. Next is that of Dr. John Hall +(obiit November 25, 1635), husband to his daughter Susanna, and close +beside him rests Susanna herself, who was buried on July 11, 1649. +The gravestones are laid east and west, and all but one present +inscriptions. That one is under the south wall, and possibly it +covers the dust of Judith—Mrs. Thomas Quiney—the youngest +daughter of Shakespeare, who, surviving her three children and thus +leaving no descendants, died in 1662. Upon the gravestone of Susanna +an inscription has been intruded commemorative of Richard Watts, who +is not, however, known to have had any relationship with either +Shakespeare or his descendants.</p> +<small>† "The poet knew," says J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps, +"that as a tithe-owner he would necessarily be buried in the +chancel."</small> +<p>Shakespeare's father, who died in 1601, and his mother, Mary +Arden, who died in 1608, were buried in or near this church. (The +register says, under Burials, "September 9, 1608, Mayry Shaxspere, +wydowe.") His infant sisters Joan, Margaret, and Anne, and his +brother Richard, who died, aged thirty-nine, in 1613, may also have +been laid to rest in this place. Of the death and burial of his +brother Gilbert there is no record. His sister Joan, the +second—Mrs. Hart—would naturally have been placed with +her relatives. His brother Edmund, dying in 1607, aged twenty-seven, +is under the pavement of St. Saviour's church in Southwark. The boy +Hamnet, dying before his father had risen into local eminence, rests, +probably, in an undistinguished grave in the churchyard. (The +register records his burial on August 11, 1596.) The family of +Shakespeare seems to have been short-lived and it was soon +extinguished. He himself died at fifty-two. Judith's children +perished young. Susanna bore but one child—Elizabeth—who +became successively Mrs. Nashe and Lady Barnard, and she, dying in +1670, was buried at Abingdon, near Oxford. She left no children by +either husband, and in her the race of Shakespeare became extinct. +That of Anne Hathaway also has nearly disappeared, the last living +descendant of the Hathaways being Mrs. Baker, the present occupant of +Anne's cottage at Shottery. Thus, one by one, from the pleasant +gardened town of Stratford, they went to take up their long abode in +that old church, which was ancient even in their infancy, and which, +watching through the centuries in its monastic solitude on the shore +of Avon, has seen their lands and houses devastated by flood and +fire, the places that knew them changed by the tooth of time, and +almost all the associations of their lives obliterated by the +improving hand of destruction.</p> +<p>One of the oldest and most interesting Shakespearean documents in +existence is the narrative, by a traveller named Dowdall, of his +observations in Warwickshire, and of his visit, on April 10, 1693, to +Stratford church. He describes therein the bust and the tombstone of +Shakespeare, and he adds these remarkable words: "The clerk that +showed me this church is above eighty years old. He says that not +one, for fear of the curse above said, dare touch his gravestone, +though his wife and daughter did earnestly desire to be laid in the +same grave with him." Writers in modern days have been pleased to +disparage that inscription and to conjecture that it was the work of +a sexton and not of the poet; but no one denies that it has +accomplished its purpose in preserving the sanctity of Shakespeare's +rest. Its rugged strength, its simple pathos, its fitness, and its +sincerity make it felt as unquestionably the utterance of Shakespeare +himself, when it is read upon the slab that covers him. There the +musing traveller full well conceives how dearly the poet must have +loved the beautiful scenes of his birthplace, and with what intense +longing he must have desired to sleep undisturbed in the most sacred +spot in their bosom. He doubtless had some premonition of his +approaching death. Three months before it came he made his will. A +little later he saw the marriage of his younger daughter. Within less +than a month of his death he executed the will, and thus set his +affairs in order. His handwriting in the three signatures to that +paper conspicuously exhibits the uncertainty and lassitude of +shattered nerves. He was probably quite worn out. Within the space, +at the utmost, of twenty-five years, he had written thirty-seven +plays, one hundred and fifty-four sonnets, and two or more long +poems; had passed through much and painful toil and through bitter +sorrow; had made his fortune as author and actor; and had +superintended, to excellent advantage, his property in London and his +large interests in Stratford and its neighbourhood. The proclamation +of health with which the will begins was doubtless a formality of +legal custom. The story that he died of drinking too hard at a merry +meeting with Drayton and Ben Jonson is idle gossip. If in those last +days of fatigue and presentiment he wrote the epitaph that has ever +since marked his grave, it would naturally have taken the plainest +fashion of speech. Such is its character; and no pilgrim to the +poet's shrine could wish to see it changed:—</p> +<br> +<blockquote><small>"Good frend for Iesvs sake forbeare,<br> +To digg the dvst encloased heare;<br> +Blese be y<sup>e</sup> man y<sup>t</sup> spares thes stones<br> +And cvrst be he y<sup>t</sup> moves my bones."</small></blockquote> +<p>It was once surmised that the poet's solicitude lest his bones +might be disturbed in death grew out of his intention to take with +him into the grave a confession that the works which now follow him +were written by another hand. Persons have been found who actually +believe that a man who was great enough to write <i>Hamlet</i> could +be little enough to feel ashamed of it, and, accordingly, that +Shakespeare was only hired to play at authorship, as a screen for the +actual author. It might not, perhaps, be strange that a desire for +singularity, which is one of the worst literary crazes of this +capricious age, should prompt to the rejection of the conclusive and +overwhelming testimony to Shakespeare's genius that has been left by +Shakespeare's contemporaries, and that shines forth in all that is +known of his life. It is strange that a doctrine should get itself +asserted which is subversive of common reason and contradictory to +every known law of the human mind. This conjectural confession of +poetic imposture has never been exhumed. The grave is known to have +been disturbed, in 1796, when alterations were made in the +church,† and there came a time in the present century when, as +they were making repairs in the chancel pavement (the chancel was +renovated in 1835), a rift was accidently made in the Shakespeare +vault. Through this, though not without misgiving, the sexton peeped +in upon the poet's remains. He saw nothing but dust.</p> +<p><small>† It was the opinion—not conclusive but +interesting—of the late J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps that at one +or other of these "restorations" the original tombstone of +Shakespeare was removed and another one, from the yard of a modern +stone-mason, put in its place. Dr. Ingleby, in his book on +<i>Shakespeare's Bones,</i> 1883, asserts that the original stone was +removed. I have compared Shakespeare's tombstone with that of his +wife, and with others in the chancel, but I have not found the +discrepancy observed by Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, and I think there is +no reason to believe that the original tombstone has ever been +disturbed. The letters upon it were, probably, cut deeper in +1835.</small></p> +<p>The antique font from which the infant Shakespeare may have +received the water of Christian baptism is still preserved in this +church. It was thrown aside and replaced by a new one about the +middle of the seventeenth century. Many years afterward it was found +in the charnel-house. When that was destroyed, in 1800, it was cast +into the churchyard. In later times the parish clerk used it as a +trough to his pump. It passed then through the hands of several +successive owners, till at last, in days that had learned to value +the past and the associations connected with its illustrious names, +it found its way back again to the sanctuary from which it had +suffered such a rude expulsion. It is still a handsome stone, though +broken, soiled, and marred.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_AFN" id="a_AFN"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0186.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Remains of the Old Font at which, probably, Shakespeare was christened, now in the Nave of Stratford Church."></p> +<br> +<p>On the north wall of the chancel, above his grave and near to "the +American window," is placed Shakespeare's monument. It is known to +have been erected there within seven years after his death. It +consists of a half-length effigy, placed beneath a fretted arch, with +entablature and pedestal, between two Corinthian columns of black +marble, gilded at base and top. Above the entablature appear the +armorial bearings of Shakespeare—a pointed spear on a bend +sable and a silver falcon on a tasselled helmet supporting a spear. +Over this heraldic emblem is a death's-head, and on each side of it +sits a carved cherub, one holding a spade, the other an inverted +torch. In front of the effigy is a cushion, upon which both hands +rest, holding a scroll and a pen. Beneath is an inscription in Latin +and English, supposed to have been furnished by the poet's +son-in-law, Dr. Hall. The bust was cut by Gerard Jonson, a native of +Amsterdam and by occupation a "tomb-maker," who lived in Southwark +and possibly had seen the poet. The material is a soft stone, and the +work, when first set up, was painted in the colours of life. Its +peculiarities indicate that it was copied from a mask of the features +taken after death. Some persons believe (upon slender and dubious +testimony) that this mask has since been found, and busts of +Shakespeare have been based upon it, by W. R. O'Donovan and by +William Page. In September, 1764, John Ward, grandfather of Mrs. +Siddons, having come to Stratford with a theatrical company, gave a +performance of <i>Othello,</i> in the Guildhall, and devoted its +proceeds to reparation of the Gerard Jonson effigy, then somewhat +damaged by time.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SHM" id="a_SHM"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0188.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Shakespeare's Monument."></p> +<br> +<p>The original colours were then carefully restored and freshened. +In 1793, under the direction of Malone, this bust, together with the +image of John-a-Combe—a recumbent statue upon a tomb close to +the east wall of the chancel—was coated with white paint. From +that plight it was extricated, in 1861, by the assiduous skill of +Simon Collins, who immersed it in a bath which took off the white +paint and restored the colours. The eyes are painted light hazel, the +hair and pointed beard auburn, the face and hands flesh-tint. The +dress consists of a scarlet doublet, with a rolling collar, closely +buttoned down the front, worn under a loose black gown without +sleeves. The upper part of the cushion is green, the lower part +crimson, and this object is ornamented with gilt tassels. The stone +pen that used to be in the right hand of the bust was taken from it, +toward the end of the last century, by a young Oxford student, and, +being dropped by him upon the pavement, was broken. A quill pen has +been put in its place. This is the inscription beneath the +bust:—</p> +<blockquote><small>Ivdicio Pylivm, genio Socratem, arte Maronem,<br> +Terra tegit, popvlvs mæret, Olympvs habet.<br> +<br> +Stay, passenger, why goest thov by so fast?<br> +Read, if thov canst, whom enviovs Death hath plast<br> +Within this monvment: S<small>HAKSPEARE</small>: with whome<br> +Qvick Natvre dide; whose name doth deck y<sup>s</sup> tombe<br> +Far more than cost; sieth all y<sup>t</sup> he hath writt<br> +Leaves living art bvt page to serve his witt.<br> +<br> +Obiit Ano. Doi. 1616. Ætatis 53. Die. 23. Ap.</small></blockquote> +<p>The erection of the old castles, cathedrals, monasteries, and +churches of England was accomplished, little by little, with +laborious toil protracted through many years. Stratford church, +probably more than seven centuries old, presents a mixture of +architectural styles, in which Saxon simplicity and Norman grace are +beautifully mingled. Different parts of the structure were built at +different times. It is fashioned in the customary crucial form, with +a square tower, an octagon stone spire, (erected in 1764, to replace +a more ancient one, made of oak and covered with lead), and a fretted +battlement all around its roof. Its windows are diversified, but +mostly Gothic. The approach to it is across a churchyard thickly sown +with graves, through a lovely green avenue of lime-trees, leading to +a porch on its north side. This avenue of foliage is said to be the +copy of one that existed there in Shakespeare's day, through which he +must often have walked, and through which at last he was carried to +his grave. Time itself has fallen asleep in that ancient place. The +low sob of the organ only deepens the awful sense of its silence and +its dreamless repose. Yews and elms grow in the churchyard, and many +a low tomb and many a leaning stone are there, in the shadow, gray +with moss and mouldering with age. Birds have built their nests in +many crevices in the timeworn tower, round which at sunset you may +see them circle, with chirp of greeting or with call of anxious +discontent. Near by flows the peaceful river, reflecting the gray +spire in its dark, silent, shining waters. In the long and lonesome +meadows beyond it the primroses stand in their golden ranks among the +clover, and the frilled and fluted bell of the cowslip, hiding its +single drop of blood in its bosom, closes its petals as the night +comes down.</p> +<p>Northward, at a little distance from the Church of the Holy +Trinity, stands, on the west bank of the Avon, the building that will +always be famous as the Shakespeare Memorial. The idea of the +Memorial was suggested in 1864, incidentally to the ceremonies which +then commemorated the three-hundredth anniversary of the poet's +birth. Ten years later the site for this structure was presented to +the town by Charles Edward Flower, one of its most honoured +inhabitants. Contributions of money were then asked, and were given. +Americans as well as Englishmen contributed. On April 23, 1877, the +first stone of the Memorial was laid. On April 23, 1880, the building +was dedicated. The fabric comprises a theatre, a library, and a +picture-gallery. In the theatre the plays of Shakespeare are annually +represented, in a manner as nearly perfect as possible. In the +library and picture-gallery are to be assembled all the books upon +Shakespeare that have been published, and all the choice paintings +that can be obtained to illustrate his life and his works. As the +years pass this will naturally become a principal depository of +Shakespearean objects. A dramatic college may grow up, in association +with the Shakespeare theatre. The gardens that surround the Memorial +will augment their loveliness in added expanse of foliage and in +greater wealth of floral luxuriance. The mellow tinge of age will +soften the bright tints of the red brick that mainly composes the +building. On its cone-shaped turrets ivy will clamber and moss will +nestle. When a few generations have passed, the old town of Stratford +will have adopted this now youthful stranger into the race of her +venerated antiquities. The same air of poetic mystery that rests now +upon his cottage and his grave will diffuse itself around his +Memorial; and a remote posterity, looking back to the men and the +ideas of to-day, will remember with grateful pride that +English-speaking people of the nineteenth century, although they +could confer no honour upon the great name of Shakespeare, yet +honoured themselves in consecrating this votive temple to his +memory.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_GAW" id="a_GAW"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0192.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Gable Window"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_VPC" id="a_VPC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0193.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Victory with Paired Chargers Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXIII" id="a_CHXIII"></a><a name="a_CHXIIIb" id= +"a_CHXIIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XIII</h3> +<h5 align="center">UP TO LONDON 1882</h5> +<br> +<p>About the middle of the night the great ship comes to a pause, off +the coast of Ireland, and, looking forth across the black waves and +through the rifts in the rising mist, we see the low and lonesome +verge of that land of trouble and misery. A beautiful white light +flashes now and then from the shore, and at intervals the mournful +booming of a solemn bell floats over the sea. Soon is heard the +rolling click of oars, and then two or three dusky boats glide past +the ship, and hoarse voices hail and answer. A few stars are visible +in the hazy sky, and the breeze from the land brings off, in fitful +puffs, the fragrant balm of grass and clover, mingled with the salt +odours of sea-weed and slimy rocks. There is a sense of mystery over +the whole wild scene; but we realise now that human companionship is +near, and that the long and lonely ocean voyage is ended.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_PVP" id="a_PVP"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0194.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Peveril Peak."></p> +<br> +<p>Travellers who make the run from Liverpool to London by the +Midland Railway pass through the vale of Derby and skirt around the +stately Peak that Scott has commemorated in his novel of Peveril. It +is a more rugged country than is seen in the transit by the +Northwestern road, but not more beautiful. You see the storied +mountain, in its delicacy of outline and its airy magnificence of +poise, soaring into the sky—its summit almost lost in the smoky +haze—and you wind through hillside pastures and meadow-lands +that are curiously intersected with low, zigzag stone walls; and +constantly, as the scene changes, you catch glimpses of green lane +and shining river; of dense copses that cast their cool shadow on the +moist and gleaming emerald sod; of long white roads that stretch away +like cathedral aisles and are lost beneath the leafy arches of elm +and oak; of little church towers embowered in ivy; of thatched +cottages draped with roses; of dark ravines, luxuriant with a wild +profusion of rocks and trees; and of golden grain that softly waves +and whispers in the summer wind; while, all around, the grassy banks +and glimmering meadows are radiant with yellow daisies, and with that +wonderful scarlet of the poppy that gives an almost human glow of +life and loveliness to the whole face of England. After some hours of +such a pageant—so novel, so fascinating, so fleeting, so +stimulative of eager curiosity and poetic desire—it is a relief +at last to stand in the populous streets and among the grim houses of +London, with its surging tides of life, and its turmoil of effort, +conflict, exultation, and misery. How strange it seems—yet, at +the same time, how homelike and familiar! There soars aloft the great +dome of St. Paul's cathedral, with its golden cross that flashes in +the sunset! There stands the Victoria tower—fit emblem of the +true royalty of the sovereign whose name it bears. And there, more +lowly but more august, rise the sacred turrets of the Abbey. It is +the same old London—the great heart of the modern +world—the great city of our reverence and love. As the wanderer +writes these words he hears the plashing of the fountains in +Trafalgar Square and the evening chimes that peal out from the spire +of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, and he knows himself once more at the +shrine of his youthful dreams.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SPM" id="a_SPM"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0196.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"St. Paul's from Maiden Lane."></p> +<br> +<p>To the observant stranger in London few sights can be more +impressive than those that illustrate the singular manner in which +the life of the present encroaches upon the memorials of the past. +Old Temple Bar has gone,—a sculptured griffin, at the junction +of Fleet Street and the Strand, denoting where once it stood. (It has +been removed to Theobald's Park, near Waltham, and is now the lodge +gate of the grounds of Sir Henry Meux.) The Midland Railway trains +dash over what was once St. Pancras churchyard—the burial-place +of Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin, and of many other British +worthies—and passengers looking from the carriages may see the +children of the neighbourhood sporting among the few tombs that yet +remain in that despoiled cemetery. Dolly's Chop-House, intimately +associated with the wits of the reign of Queen Anne, has been +destroyed. The ancient tavern of The Cock, immortalised by Tennyson, +in his poem of Will Waterproof's Monologue, is soon to +disappear,—with its singular wooden vestibule that existed +before the time of the Plague and that escaped the great fire of +1666. On the site of Northumberland House stands the Grand Hotel. The +gravestones that formerly paved the precinct of Westminster Abbey +have been removed, to make way for grassy lawns intersected with +pathways. In Southwark, across the Thames, the engine-room of the +brewery of Messrs. Barclay & Perkins occupies the site of the +Globe Theatre, in which most of Shakespeare's plays were first +produced. One of the most venerable and beautiful churches in London, +that of St. Bartholomew the Great,—a gray, mouldering temple, +of the twelfth century, hidden away in a corner of +Smithfield,—is desecrated by the irruption of an adjacent shop, +the staircase hall of which breaks cruelly into the sacred edifice +and impends above the altar. On July 12, 1882, the present writer, +walking in the churchyard of St. Paul's, Covent Garden,—the +sepulchre of William Wycherley, Robert Wilks, Charles Macklin, Joseph +Haines, Thomas King, Samuel Butler, Thomas Southerne, Edward Shuter, +Dr. Arne, Thomas Davies, Edward Kynaston, Richard Estcourt, William +Havard, and many other renowned votaries of literature and the +stage,—found workmen building a new wall to sustain the +enclosure, and almost every stone in the cemetery uprooted and +leaning against the adjacent houses. Those monuments, it was said, +would be replaced; but it was impossible not to consider the chances +of error in a new mortuary deal—and the grim witticism of Rufus +Choate, about dilating with the wrong emotion, came then into +remembrance, and did not come amiss.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_CHH" id="a_CHH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0199.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Charter House."></p> +<br> +<p>Facts such as these, however, bid us remember that even the relics +of the past are passing away, and that cities, unlike human +creatures, may grow to be so old that at last they will become new. +It is not wonderful that London should change its aspect from one +decade to another, as the living surmount and obliterate the dead. +Thomas Sutton's Charter-House School, founded in 1611, when +Shakespeare and Ben Jonson were still writing, was reared upon ground +in which several thousand corses were buried, during the time of the +Indian pestilence of 1348; and it still stands and +nourishes—though not as vigorously now as might be wished. Nine +thousand new houses, it is said, are built in the great capital every +year, and twenty-eight miles of new street are thus added to it. On a +Sunday I drove for three hours through the eastern part of London +without coming upon a single trace of the open fields. On the west, +all the region from Kensington to Richmond is settled for most part +of the way; while northward the city is stretching its arms toward +Hampstead, Highgate, and tranquil and blooming Finchley. Truly the +spirit of this age is in strong contrast with that of the time of +Henry the Eighth when (1530), to prevent the increasing size of +London, all new buildings were forbidden to be erected "where no +former hath been known to have been." The march of improvement +nowadays carries everything before it: even British conservatism is +at some points giving way: and, noting the changes that have occurred +here within only five years, I am persuaded that those who would see +what remains of the London of which they have read and +dreamed—the London of Dryden and Pope, of Addison, Sheridan, +and Byron, of Betterton, Garrick, and Edmund Kean—will, as time +passes, find more and more difficulty both in tracing the footsteps +of fame, and in finding that sympathetic, reverent spirit which +hallows the relics of genius and renown.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_CSM" id="a_CSM"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0201.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Church Steeple Centered on Moon"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_WGH" id="a_WGH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0202.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Windy Gargoyle Heads Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXIV" id="a_CHXIV"></a><a name="a_CHXIVb" id= +"a_CHXIVb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XIV</h3> +<h5 align="center">OLD CHURCHES OF LONDON</h5> +<br> +<p>Sight-seeing, merely for its own sake, is not to be commended. +Hundreds of persons roam through the storied places of England, +carrying nothing away but the bare sense of travel. It is not the +spectacle that benefits, but the meaning of the spectacle. In the +great temples of religion, in those wonderful cathedrals that are the +glory of the old world, we ought to feel, not merely the physical +beauty but the perfect, illimitable faith, the passionate, incessant +devotion, which alone made them possible. The cold intellect of a +sceptical age, like the present, could never create such a majestic +cathedral as that of Canterbury. Not till the pilgrim feels this +truth has he really learned the lesson of such places,—to keep +alive in his heart the capacity of self-sacrifice, of toil and of +tears, for the grandeur and beauty of the spiritual life. At the +tombs of great men we ought to feel something more than a +consciousness of the crumbling clay that moulders +within,—something more even than knowledge of their memorable +words and deeds: we ought, as we ponder on the certainty of death and +the evanescence of earthly things, to realise that art at least is +permanent, and that no creature can be better employed than in noble +effort to make the soul worthy of immortality. The relics of the +past, contemplated merely because they are relics, are nothing. You +tire, in this old land, of the endless array of ruined castles and of +wasting graves; you sicken at the thought of the mortality of a +thousand years, decaying at your feet, and you long to look again on +roses and the face of childhood, the ocean and the stars. But not if +the meaning of the past is truly within your sympathy; not if you +perceive its associations as feeling equally with knowledge; not if +you truly know that its lessons are not of death but of life! To-day +builds over the ruins of yesterday, as well in the soul of man as on +the vanishing cities that mark his course. There need be no regret +that the present should, in this sense, obliterate the past.</p> +<p>Much, however, as London has changed, and constantly as it +continues to change, many objects still remain, and long will +continue to remain, that startle and impress the sensitive mind. +Through all its wide compass, by night and day, flows and beats a +turbulent, resounding tide of activity, and hundreds of trivial and +vacuous persons, sordid, ignorant, and commonplace tramp to and fro +amid its storied antiquities, heedless of their existence. Through +such surroundings, but finding here and there a sympathetic guide or +a friendly suggestion, the explorer must make his way,—lonely +in the crowd, and walking like one who lives in a dream. Yet he never +will drift in vain through a city like this. I went one night into +the cloisters of Westminster Abbey—that part, the South Walk, +which is still accessible after the gates have been closed. The stars +shone down upon the blackening walls and glimmering windows of the +great cathedral; the grim, mysterious arches were dimly lighted; the +stony pathways, stretching away beneath the venerable building, +seemed to lose themselves in caverns of darkness; not a sound was +heard but the faint rustling of the grass upon the cloister green. +Every stone there is the mark of a sepulchre; every breath of the +night wind seemed the whisper of a gliding ghost. There, among the +crowded graves, rest Anne Oldfield and Anne Bracegirdle,—in +Queen Anne's reign such brilliant luminaries of the stage,—and +there was buried the dust of Aaron Hill, poet and dramatist, once +manager of Drury Lane, who wrote <i>The Fair Inconstant</i> for +Barton Booth, and some notably felicitous love-songs. There, too, are +the relics of Susanna Maria Arne (Mrs. Theo. Cibber), Mrs. Dancer, +Thomas Betterton, and Spranger Barry. Sitting upon the narrow ledge +that was the monks' rest, I could touch, close at hand, the tomb of a +mitred abbot, while at my feet was the great stone that covers +twenty-six monks of Westminster who perished by the Plague nearly six +hundred years ago. It would scarcely be believed that the doors of +dwellings open upon that gloomy spot; that ladies may sometimes be +seen tending flowers upon the ledges that roof those cloister walks. +Yet so it is; and in such a place, at such a time, you comprehend +better than before the self-centred, serious, ruminant, romantic +character of the English mind,—which loves, more than anything +else in the world, the privacy of august surroundings and a sombre +and stately solitude. It hardly need be said that you likewise obtain +here a striking sense of the power of contrast. I was again aware of +this, a little later, when, seeing a dim light in St. Margaret's +church near by, I entered that old temple and found the men of the +choir at their rehearsal, and presently observed on the wall a brass +plate which announces that Sir Walter Raleigh was buried here, in the +chancel,—after being decapitated for high treason in the Palace +Yard outside. Such things are the surprises of this historic capital. +This inscription begs the reader to remember Raleigh's virtues as +well as his faults,—a plea, surely, that every man might well +wish should be made for himself at last. I thought of the verses that +the old warrior-poet is said to have left in his Bible, when they led +him out to die—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Even such is time; that takes in trust<br> + Our youth, our joys, our all we have,<br> +And pays us nought but age and dust;<br> + Which, in the dark and silent grave,<br> +When we have wandered all our ways,<br> + Shuts up the story of our days.—<br> +But from this earth, this grave, this dust,<br> + My God shall raise me up, I +trust."</small></blockquote> +<p>This church contains a window commemorative of Raleigh, presented +by Americans, and inscribed with these lines, by Lowell—</p> +<blockquote><small>"The New World's sons, from England's breast we +drew<br> + Such milk as bids remember whence we +came;<br> +Proud of her past, wherefrom our future grew,<br> + This window we inscribe with Raleigh's +name."</small></blockquote> +<p>It also contains a window commemorative of Caxton, presented by +the printers and publishers of London, which is inscribed with these +lines by Tennyson—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Thy prayer was Light—more Light—while +Time shall last,<br> + Thou sawest a glory growing on the night,<br> +But not the shadows which that light would cast<br> + Till shadows vanish in the Light of +Light."</small></blockquote> +<p>In St. Margaret's—a storied haunt, for shining names alike +of nobles and poets—was also buried John Skelton, another of +the old bards (obiit 1529), the enemy and satirist of Cardinal Wolsey +and Sir Thomas More, one of whom he described as "madde Amaleke," and +the other as "dawcock doctor." Their renown has managed to survive +those terrific shafts; but at least this was a falcon who flew at +eagles. Here the poet Campbell was married,—October 11, 1803. +Such old churches as this—guarding so well their treasures of +history—are, in a special sense, the traveller's blessings. At +St. Giles's, Cripplegate, the janitor is a woman; and she will point +out to you the lettered stone that formerly marked the grave of +Milton. It is in the nave, but it has been moved to a place about +twelve feet from its original position,—the remains of the +illustrious poet being, in fact, beneath the floor of a pew, on the +left of the central aisle, about the middle of the church: albeit +there is a story, possibly true, that, on an occasion when this +church was repaired, in August, 1790, the coffin of Milton suffered +profanation, and his bones were dispersed.</p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_SGCF" id="a_SGCF"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0207.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"St. Giles', Cripplegate."></p> +<br> +<p>Among the monuments hard by is a fine marble bust of Milton, +placed against the wall, and it is said, by way of enhancing its +value, that George the Third came here to see it.† Several of +the neighbouring inscriptions are of astonishing quaintness. The +adjacent churchyard—an eccentric, sequestered, lonesome bit of +grassy ground, teeming with monuments, and hemmed in with houses, +terminates, at one end, in a piece of the old Roman wall of London +(A.D. 306),—an adamantine structure of cemented +flints—which has lasted from the days of Constantine, and which +bids fair to last forever. I shall always remember that strange nook +with the golden light of a summer morning shining upon it, the birds +twittering among its graves, and all around it such an atmosphere of +solitude and rest as made it seem, though in the heart of the great +city, a thousand miles from any haunt of man. (It was formally opened +as a garden for public recreation on July 8, 1891.)</p> +<p><small>† This memorial bears the following inscription: +"John Milton. Author of 'Paradise Lost.' Born, December 1608. Died, +November 1674. His father, John Milton, died, March 1646. They were +both interred in this church."</small></p> +<p>St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, an ancient and venerable temple, the +church of the priory of the nuns of St. Helen, built in the +thirteenth century, is full of relics of the history of England. The +priory, which adjoined this church, has long since disappeared and +portions of the building have been restored; but the noble Gothic +columns and the commemorative sculpture remain unchanged. Here are +the tombs of Sir John Crosby, who built Crosby Place (1466), Sir +Thomas Gresham, who founded both Gresham College and the Royal +Exchange in London, and Sir William Pickering, once Queen Elizabeth's +Minister to Spain and one of the amorous aspirants for her royal +hand; and here, in a gloomy chapel, stands the veritable altar at +which, it is said, the Duke of Gloster received absolution, after the +disappearance of the princes in the Tower. Standing at that altar, in +the cool silence of the lonely church and the waning light of +afternoon, it was easy to conjure up his slender, slightly misshapen +form, decked in the rich apparel that he loved, his handsome, +aquiline, thoughtful face, the drooping head, the glittering eyes, +the nervous hand that toyed with the dagger, and the stealthy +stillness of his person, from head to foot, as he knelt there before +the priest and perhaps mocked both himself and heaven with the form +of prayer.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SJC" id="a_SJC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0210.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Sir John Crosby's Monument."></p> +<br> +<p>Every place that Richard touched is haunted by his magnetic +presence. In another part of the church you are shown the tomb of a +person whose will provided that the key of his sepulchre should be +placed beside his body, and that the door should be opened once a +year, for a hundred years. It seems to have been his expectation to +awake and arise; but the allotted century has passed and his bones +are still quiescent.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_GRMN" id="a_GRMN"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0211.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Gresham's Monument."></p> +<br> +<p>How calmly they sleep—those warriors who once filled the +world with the tumult of their deeds! If you go into St. Mary's, in +the Temple, you will stand above the dust of the Crusaders and see +the beautiful copper effigies of them, recumbent on the marble +pavement, and feel and know, as perhaps you never did before, the +calm that follows the tempest. St. Mary's was built in 1240 and +restored in 1828. It would be difficult to find a lovelier specimen +of Norman architecture—at once massive and airy, perfectly +simple, yet rich with beauty, in every line and scroll.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_GOLD" id="a_GOLD"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0212.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Goldsmith's House."></p> +<br> +<p>There is only one other church in Great Britain, it is said, which +has, like this, a circular vestibule. The stained glass windows, both +here and at St. Helen's, are very glorious. The organ at St. Mary's +was selected by Jeffreys, afterwards infamous as the wicked judge. +The pilgrim who pauses to muse at the grave of Goldsmith may often +hear its solemn, mournful tones. I heard them thus, and was thinking +of Dr. Johnson's tender words, when he first learned that Goldsmith +was dead: "Poor Goldy was wild—very wild—but he is so no +more." The room in which he died, a heart-broken man at only +forty-six, was but a little way from the spot where he +sleeps.† The noises of Fleet Street are heard there only as a +distant murmur. But birds chirp over him, and leaves flutter down +upon his tomb, and every breeze that sighs around the gray turrets of +the ancient Temple breathes out his requiem.</p> +<p><small>† No. 2 Brick Court, Middle Temple.—In 1757-58 +Goldsmith was employed by a chemist, near Fish Street Hill. When he +wrote his Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe +he was living in Green Arbour Court, "over Break-neck Steps." At a +lodging in Wine Office Court, Fleet Street, he wrote The Vicar of +Wakefield. Afterwards he had lodgings at Canonbury House, Islington, +and in 1764, in the Library Staircase of the Inner +Temple.</small></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_BCC" id="a_BCC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0213.jpg" width="60%" alt= +"A Bit from Clare Court"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_PEAB" id="a_PEAB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0214.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Peacock Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXV" id="a_CHXV"></a><a name="a_CHXVb" id="a_CHXVb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XV</h3> +<h5 align="center">LITERARY SHRINES OF LONDON</h5> +<br> +<p>The mind that can reverence historic associations needs no +explanation of the charm that such associations possess. There are +streets and houses in London which, for pilgrims of this class, are +haunted with memories and hallowed with an imperishable +light—that not even the dreary commonness of everyday life can +quench or dim. Almost every great author in English literature has +here left behind him some personal trace, some relic that brings us +at once into his living presence. In the time of +Shakespeare,—of whom it may be noted that wherever you find him +at all you find him in select and elegant neighbourhoods,—St. +Helen's parish was a secluded and peaceful quarter of the town; and +there the poet had his residence, convenient to the theatre in +Blackfriars, in which he is known to have owned a share. It is said +that he dwelt at number 134 Aldersgate Street (the house has been +demolished), and in that region,—amid all the din of traffic +and all the strange adjuncts of a new age,—those who love him +are in his company. Milton was born in a court adjacent to Bread +Street, Cheapside, and the explorer comes upon him as a resident in +St. Bride's churchyard,—where the poet Lovelace was +buried,—and at the house which is now No. 19 York Street, +Westminster (in later times occupied by Bentham and by Hazlitt), and +in Jewin Street, Aldersgate. When secretary to Cromwell he lived in +Scotland Yard, where now is the headquarters of the London police. +His last home was in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields, but the visitor +to that spot finds it covered by the Artillery barracks. Walking +through King Street, Westminster, you will not forget Edmund Spenser, +who died there, in grief and destitution, a victim to the same +inhuman spirit of Irish ruffianism that is still disgracing humanity +and troubling the peace of the world. Everybody remembers Ben +Jonson's terse record of that calamity: "The Irish having robbed +Spenser's goods and burnt his house and a little child new-born, he +and his wife escaped, and after he died, for lack of bread, in King +Street." Jonson himself is closely and charmingly associated with +places that may still be seen. He passed his boyhood near Charing +Cross—having been born in Hartshorn Lane, now Northumberland +Street—and went to the parish school of St. +Martin-in-the-Fields; and those who roam around Lincoln's Inn will +call to mind that this great poet helped to build it—a trowel +in one hand and Horace in the other. His residence, in his days of +fame, was just outside of Temple Bar—but all that neighbourhood +is new at the present time.</p> +<p>The Mermaid, which he frequented—with Shakespeare, Fletcher, +Herrick, Chapman, and Donne—was in Bread Street, but no trace +of it remains; and a banking-house stands now on the site of the +Devil Tavern, in Fleet Street, where the Apollo Club, which he +founded, used to meet. The famous inscription, "O rare Ben Jonson," +is three times cut in the Abbey—once in Poets' Corner and twice +in the north aisle where he was buried, the smaller of the two slabs +marking the place of his vertical grave.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_BCM" id="a_BCM"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0216.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"A Bit from Clare Market."></p> +<br> +<p>Dryden once dwelt in a narrow, dingy, quaint house, in Fetter +Lane,—the street in which Dean Swift has placed the home of +Gulliver, and where now (1882) the famous Doomsday Book is +kept,—but later he removed to a finer dwelling, in Gerrard +Street, Soho, which was the scene of his death. Both buildings are +marked with mural tablets and neither of them seems to have undergone +much change. (The house in Fetter Lane is gone—1891.) Edmund +Burke's house, also in Gerrard Street, is a beer-shop; but his memory +hallows the place, and an inscription upon it proudly announces that +here he lived. Dr. Johnson's house in Gough Square bears likewise a +mural tablet, and, standing at its time-worn threshold, the visitor +needs no effort of fancy to picture that uncouth figure shambling +through the crooked lanes that lead into this queer, sombre, +melancholy retreat. In that house he wrote the first Dictionary of +the English language and the immortal letter to Lord Chesterfield. In +Gough Square lived and died Hugh Kelly, dramatist, author of <i>The +School of Wives</i> and <i>The Man of Reason</i>, and one of the +friends of Goldsmith, at whose burial he was present. The historical +antiquarian society that has marked many of the literary shrines of +London has rendered a great service. The houses associated with +Reynolds and Hogarth, in Leicester Square, Byron, in Holies Street, +Benjamin Franklin and Peter the Great, in Craven Street, Campbell, in +Duke Street, St. James's, Garrick, in the Adelphi Terrace, Michael +Farraday, in Blandford Street, and Mrs. Siddons, in Baker Street, are +but a few of the historic spots which are thus commemorated. Much, +however, remains to be done. One would like to know, for instance, in +which room in "The Albany" it was that Byron wrote +<i>Lara</i>† in which of the houses of Buckingham Street +Coleridge had his lodging while he was translating +<i>Wallenstein;</i> whereabouts in Bloomsbury Square was the +residence of Akenside, who wrote <i>The Pleasures of Imagination,</i> +and of Croly, who wrote <i>Salathiel;</i> or where it was that Gray +lived, when he established himself close by Russell Square, in order +to be one of the first—as he continued to be one of the most +constant—students at the then newly opened British Museum +(1759).</p> +<p><small>† Byron was born at No. 34 Holies Street, Cavendish +Square. While he was at school in Dulwich Grove his mother lived in a +house in Sloane Terrace. Other houses associated with him are No. 8 +St. James Street; a lodging in Bennet Street; No. 2 "The +Albany"—a lodging that he rented of Lord Althorpe, and entered +on March 28, 1814; and No. 139 Piccadilly, where his daughter, Ada, +was born, and where Lady Byron left him. This, at present, is the +home of the genial scholar Sir Algernon Borthwick (1893). John +Murray's house, where Byron's fragment of Autobiography was burned, +is in Albemarle Street. Byron's body, when brought home from Greece, +lay in state at No. 25 Great George Street, Westminster, before being +taken north, to Hucknall-Torkard church, in Nottinghamshire, for +burial.</small></p> +<p>These, and such as these, may seem trivial things; but Nature has +denied an unfailing source of innocent happiness to the man who can +find no pleasure in them. For my part, when rambling in Fleet Street +it is a special delight to remember even so slight an incident as +that recorded of the author of the <i>Elegy in a Country +Churchyard</i>,—that he once saw there his satirist, Dr. +Johnson, rolling and puffing along the sidewalk, and cried out to a +friend, "Here comes Ursa Major." For the true lovers of literature +"Ursa Major" walks oftener in Fleet Street to-day than any living +man.</p> +<p>A good thread of literary research might be profitably followed by +him who should trace the footsteps of all the poets that have held, +in England, the office of laureate. John Kay was laureate in the +reign of Edward IV.; Andrew Bernard in that of Henry VII.; John +Skelton in that of Henry VIII.; and Edmund Spenser in that of +Elizabeth.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_FS1" id="a_FS1"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0219.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Fleet Street in 1780."></p> +<br> +<p>Since then the succession has included the names of Samuel Daniel, +Michael Drayton, Ben Jonson, Sir William Davenant, John Dryden, +Thomas Shadwell, Nahum Tate, Nicholas Rowe, Lawrence Eusden, Colley +Cibber, William Whitehead, Thomas Wharton, Henry James Pye, Robert +Southey, William Wordsworth, and Alfred Tennyson—who, until his +death, in 1892, wore, in spotless renown, that</p> +<blockquote><small>"Laurel greener from the brows<br> +Of him that utter'd nothing base."</small></blockquote> +<p>Most of those bards were intimately associated with London, and +several of them are buried in the Abbey. It is, indeed, because so +many storied names are written upon gravestones that the explorer of +the old churches of London finds so rich a harvest of impressive +association and lofty thought. Few persons visit them, and you are +likely to find yourself comparatively alone in rambles of this kind. +I went one morning into St. Martin—once "in the fields," now in +one of the busiest thoroughfares at the centre of the city—and +found there only a pew-opener preparing for the service, and an +organist playing an anthem. It is a beautiful structure, with its +graceful spire and its columns of weather-beaten stone, curiously +stained in gray and sooty black, and it is almost as famous for +theatrical names as St. Paul's, Covent Garden, or St. George's, +Bloomsbury, or St. Clement Danes. Here, in a vault beneath the +church, was buried the bewitching and affectionate Nell Gwyn; here is +the grave of James Smith, joint author with his brother +Horace—who was buried at Tunbridge Wells—of <i>The +Rejected Addresses;</i> here rests Yates, the original Sir Oliver +Surface; and here were laid the ashes of the romantic and sprightly +Mrs. Centlivre, and of George Farquhar, whom neither youth, genius, +patient labour, nor sterling achievement could save from a life of +misfortune and an untimely and piteous death. A cheerier association +of this church is with Thomas Moore, the poet of Ireland, who was +here married.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_GIS" id="a_GIS"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0221.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Gray's Inn Square."></p> +<br> +<p>At St. Giles-in-the-Fields, again, are the graves of George +Chapman, who translated Homer, Andrew Marvel, who wrote such lovely +lyrics of love, Rich, the manager, who brought out Gay's <i>Beggar's +Opera</i>, and James Shirley, the fine old dramatist and poet, whose +immortal couplet has been so often murmured in such solemn haunts as +these—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Only the actions of the just<br> +Smell sweet and blossom in the dust."</small></blockquote> +<p>Shirley lived in Gray's Inn when he was writing his plays, and he +was fortunate in the favour of queen Henrietta Maria, wife to Charles +the First; but when the Puritan times arrived he fell into misfortune +and poverty and became a school-teacher in Whitefriars. In 1666 he +was living in or near Fleet Street, and his home was one of the many +dwellings that were destroyed in the great fire. Then he fled, with +his wife, into the parish of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, where, overcome +with grief and terror, they both died, within twenty-four hours of +each other, and were buried in the same grave.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SGH" id="a_SGH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0222.jpg" width="60%" alt= +"Shield with Gargoyle Head"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_RAB" id="a_RAB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0223.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Raise Arms Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXVI" id="a_CHXVI"></a><a name="a_CHXVIb" id= +"a_CHXVIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XVI</h3> +<h5 align="center">A HAUNT OF EDMUND KEAN</h5> +<br> +<p>To muse over the dust of those about whom we have read so +much—the great actors, thinkers, and writers, the warriors and +statesmen for whom the play is ended and the lights are put +out—is to come very near to them, and to realise more deeply +than ever before their close relationship with our own humanity; and +we ought to be wiser and better for this experience. It is good, +also, to seek out the favourite haunts of our heroes, and call them +up as they were in their lives. One of the happiest accidents of a +London stroll was the finding of the Harp Tavern,† in Russell +Street, Covent Garden, near the stage door of Drury Lane theatre, +which was the accustomed resort of Edmund Kean.</p> +<p><small>† An account of the Harp, in the <i>Victuallers' +Gazette</i>, says that this tavern has had within its doors every +actor of note since the days of Garrick, and many actresses, also, of +the latter part of the eighteenth century; and it mentions, as +visitants there, Dora Jordan, Nance Oldfield, Anne Bracegirdle, Kitty +Clive, Harriet Mellon, Barton Booth, Quin, Cibber, Macklin, Grimaldi, +Eliza Vestris, and Miss Stephens—who became Countess of +Essex.</small></p> +<p>Carpenters and masons were at work upon it when I entered, and it +was necessary almost to creep amid heaps of broken mortar and rubbish +beneath their scaffolds, in order to reach the interior rooms. Here, +at the end of a narrow passage, was a little apartment, perhaps +fifteen feet square, with a low ceiling and a bare floor, in which +Kean habitually took his pleasure, in the society of fellow-actors +and boon companions, long ago. A narrow, cushioned bench against the +walls, a few small tables, a chair or two, a number of churchwarden +pipes on the mantlepiece, and portraits of Disraeli and Gladstone, +constituted the furniture. A panelled wainscot and dingy red paper +covered the walls, and a few cobwebs hung from the grimy ceiling. By +this time the old room has been made neat and comely; but then it +bore the marks of hard usage and long neglect, and it seemed all the +more interesting for that reason.</p> +<p>Kean's seat is at the right, as you enter, and just above it a +mural tablet designates the spot,—which is still further +commemorated by a death-mask of the actor, placed on a little shelf +of dark wood and covered with glass. No better portrait could be +desired; certainly no truer one exists. In life this must have been a +glorious face. The eyes are large and prominent, the brow is broad +and fine, the mouth wide and obviously sensitive, the chin delicate, +and the nose long, well set, and indicative of immense force of +character. The whole expression of the face is that of refinement and +of great and desolate sadness. Kean, as is known from the testimony +of one who acted with him,† was always at his best in passages +of pathos.</p> +<p><small>† The mother of Jefferson, the comedian, described +Edmund Kean in this way. She was a member of the company at the +Walnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, when he acted there, and it was +she who sang for him, when he acted The Stranger, the well-known +lines, by Sheridan,—</small><br></p> +<blockquote><small>"I have a silent sorrow here,<br> +A grief I'll ne'er impart;<br> +It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,<br> +But it consumes my heart."</small></blockquote> +<p>To hear him speak Othello's farewell was to hear the perfect music +of heart-broken despair. To see him when, as The Stranger, he +listened to the song, was to see the genuine, absolute reality of +hopeless sorrow. He could, of course, thrill his hearers in the +ferocious outbursts-of Richard and Sir Giles, but it was in +tenderness and grief that he was supremely great; and no one will +wonder at that who looks upon his noble face—so eloquent of +self-conflict and suffering—even in this cold and colourless +mask of death. It is easy to judge and condemn the sins of a weak, +passionate humanity; but when we think of such creatures of genius as +Edmund Kean and Robert Burns, we ought to consider what demons in +their own souls those wretched men were forced to fight, and by what +agonies they expiated their vices and errors. This little tavern-room +tells the whole mournful story, with death to point the moral, and +pity to breathe its sigh of unavailing regret.</p> +<p>Many of the present frequenters of the Harp are elderly men, whose +conversation is enriched with memories of the stage and with ample +knowledge and judicious taste in literature and art. They naturally +speak with pride of Kean's association with their favourite resort. +Often in that room the eccentric genius has put himself in pawn, to +exact from the manager of Drury Lane theatre the money needed to +relieve the wants of some brother actor. Often his voice has been +heard there, in the songs that he sang with so much feeling and +sweetness and such homely yet beautiful skill. In the circles of the +learned and courtly he never was really at home; but here he filled +the throne and ruled the kingdom of the revel, and here no doubt +every mood of his mind, from high thought and generous emotion to +misanthropical bitterness and vacant levity, found its unfettered +expression. They show you a broken panel in the high wainscot, which +was struck and smashed by a pewter pot that he hurled at the head of +a person who had given him offence; and they tell you at the same +time,—as, indeed, is historically true,—that he was the +idol of his comrades, the first in love, pity, sympathy, and +kindness, and would turn his back, any day, for the least of them, on +the nobles who sought his companionship. There is no better place +than this in which to study the life of Edmund Kean. Old men have +been met with here who saw him on the stage, and even acted with him. +The room is the weekly meeting-place and habitual nightly tryst of an +ancient club, called the City of Lushington, which has existed since +the days of the Regency, and of which these persons are members. The +City has its Mayor, Sheriff, insignia, record-book, and system of +ceremonials; and much of wit, wisdom, and song may be enjoyed at its +civic feasts. The names of its four wards—Lunacy, Suicide, +Poverty, and Juniper—are written up in the four corners of the +room, and whoever joins must select his ward. Sheridan was a member +of it, and so was the Regent; and the present landlord of the Harp +(Mr. M'Pherson) preserves among his relics the chairs in which those +gay companions sat, when the author presided over the initiation of +the prince. It is thought that this club grew out of the society of +The Wolves, which was formed by Kean's adherents, when the elder +Booth arose to disturb his supremacy upon the stage. But there is no +malice in it now. Its purposes are simply convivial and literary, and +its tone is that of thorough good-will.†</p> +<p><small>† A coloured print of this room may be found in that +eccentric book <i>The Life of an Actor,</i> by Pierce Egan: +1825.</small></p> +<p>One of the gentlest and most winning traits in the English +character is its instinct of companionship as to literature and art. +Since the days of the Mermaid the authors and actors of London have +dearly loved and deeply enjoyed such odd little fraternities of wit +as are typified, not inaptly, by the City of Lushington. There are no +rosier hours in my memory than those that were passed, between +midnight and morning, in the cosy clubs in London. And when dark days +come, and foes harass, and the troubles of life annoy, it will be +sweet to think that in still another sacred retreat of friendship, +across the sea, the old armour is gleaming in the festal lights, +where one of the gentlest spirits that ever wore the laurel of +England's love smiles kindly on his comrades and seems to murmur the +charm of English hospitality—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Let no one take beyond this threshold hence<br> +Words uttered here in friendship's confidence."</small></blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_TFB" id="a_TFB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0228.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Three Flower Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXVII" id="a_CHXVII"></a><a name="a_CHXVIIb" id= +"a_CHXVIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XVII</h3> +<h5 align="center">STOKE-POGIS AND THOMAS GRAY</h5> +<br> +<p>It is a cool afternoon in July, and the shadows are falling +eastward on fields of waving grain and lawns of emerald velvet. +Overhead a few light clouds are drifting, and the green boughs of the +great elms are gently stirred by a breeze from the west. Across one +of the more distant fields a flock of sable rooks—some of them +fluttering and cawing—wings its slow and melancholy flight. +There is the sound of the whetting of a scythe, and, near by, the +twittering of many birds upon a cottage roof. On either side of the +country road, which runs like a white rivulet through banks of green, +the hawthorn hedges are shining and the bright sod is spangled with +all the wild-flowers of an English summer. An odour of lime-trees and +of new-mown hay sweetens the air for many miles around. Far off, on +the horizon's verge, just glimmering through the haze, rises the +imperial citadel of Windsor. And close at hand a little child points +to a gray spire† peering out of a nest of ivy, and tells me +that this is Stoke-Pogis church.</p> +<p><small>† In Gray's time there was no spire on the +church—nor is the spire an improvement to the +tower.</small></p> +<p>If peace dwells anywhere upon the earth its dwelling-place is +here. You come into this little churchyard by a pathway across the +park and through a wooden turnstile; and in one moment the whole +world is left behind and forgotten. Here are the nodding elms; here +is the yew-tree's shade; here "heaves the turf in many a mouldering +heap." All these graves seem very old. The long grass waves over +them, and some of the low stones that mark them are entirely shrouded +with ivy. Many of the "frail memorials" are made of wood. None of +them is neglected or forlorn, but all of them seem to have been +scattered here, in that sweet disorder which is the perfection of +rural loveliness. There never, of course, could have been any thought +of creating this effect; yet here it remains, to win your heart +forever. And here, amid this mournful beauty, the little church +itself nestles close to the ground, while every tree that waves its +branches around it, and every vine that clambers on its surface, +seems to clasp it in the arms of love. Nothing breaks the silence but +the sighing of the wind in the great yew-tree at the church +door,—beneath which was the poet's favourite seat, and where +the brown needles, falling, through many an autumn, have made a dense +carpet on the turf. Now and then there is a faint rustle in the ivy; +a fitful bird-note serves but to deepen the stillness; and from a +rose-tree near at hand a few leaves flutter down, in soundless +benediction on the dust beneath.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SPC" id="a_SPC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0230.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Stoke-Pogis Church."></p> +<br> +<p>Gray was laid in the same grave with his mother, "the careful, +tender mother of many children, one alone of whom," as he wrote upon +her gravestone, "had the misfortune to survive her." Their +tomb—a low, oblong, brick structure, covered with a large +slab—stands a few feet away from the church wall, upon which is +a small tablet to denote its place. The poet's name has not been +inscribed above him. There was no need here of "storied urn or +animated bust." The place is his monument, and the majestic +Elegy—giving to the soul of the place a form of seraphic beauty +and a voice of celestial music—is his immortal epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><small>"There scatter'd oft, the earliest of ye Year,<br> + By hands unseen are showers of vi'lets +found;<br> +The Redbreast loves to build & warble there,<br> + And little Footsteps lightly print the +ground."<br></small></blockquote> +<p>There is a monument to Gray in Stoke Park, about two hundred yards +from the church; but it seems commemorative of the builder rather +than the poet. They intend to set a memorial window in the church, to +honour him, and the visitor finds there a money-box for the reception +of contributions in aid of this pious design. Nothing will be done +amiss that serves to direct closer attention to his life. It was one +of the best lives ever recorded in the history of literature. It was +a life singularly pure, noble, and beautiful. In two qualities, +sincerity and reticence, it was exemplary almost beyond a parallel; +and those are qualities that literary character in the present day +has great need to acquire. Gray was averse to publicity. He did not +sway by the censure of other men; neither did he need their +admiration as his breath of life. Poetry, to him, was a great art, +and he added nothing to literature until he had first made it as +nearly perfect as it could be made by the thoughtful, laborious +exertion of his best powers, superadded to the spontaneous impulse +and flow of his genius. More voluminous writers, Charles Dickens +among the rest, have sneered at him because he wrote so little. The +most colossal form of human complacency is that of the individual who +thinks all other creatures inferior who happen to be unlike himself. +This reticence on the part of Gray was, in fact, the emblem of his +sincerity and the compelling cause of his imperishable renown. There +is a better thing than the great man who is always speaking; and that +is the great man who only speaks when he has a great word to say. +Gray has left only a few poems; but of his principal works each is +perfect in its kind, supreme and unapproachable. He did not test +merit by reference to ill-formed and capricious public opinion, but +he wrought according to the highest standards of art that learning +and taste could furnish. His letters form an English classic. There +is no purer prose in existence; there is not much that is so pure. +But the crowning glory of Gray's nature, the element that makes it so +impressive, the charm that brings the pilgrim to Stoke-Pogis church +to muse upon it, was the self-poised, sincere, and lovely exaltation +of its contemplative spirit. He was a man whose conduct of life +would, first of all, purify, expand, and adorn the temple of his own +soul, out of which should afterward flow, in their own free way, +those choral harmonies that soothe, guide, and exalt the human race. +He lived before he wrote. The soul of the Elegy is the soul of the +man. It was his thought—which he has somewhere expressed in +better words than these—that human beings are only at their +best while such feelings endure as are engendered when death has just +taken from us the objects of our love. That was the point of view +from which he habitually looked upon the world; and no man who has +learned the lessons of experience can doubt that he was right.</p> +<p>Gray was twenty-six years old when he wrote the first draft of the +Elegy. He began that poem in 1742, at Stoke-Pogis, and he finished +and published it in 1751. No visitor to this churchyard can miss +either its inspiration or its imagery. The poet has been dead more +than a hundred years, but the scene of his rambles and reveries has +suffered no material change. One of his yew-trees, indeed, much +weakened with age, was some time since blown down, in a storm, and +its fragments have been carried away. The picturesque manor house not +far distant was once the home of Admiral Penn, father of William Penn +the famous Quaker.†</p> +<p><small>† William Penn and his children are buried in the +little Jordans graveyard, not many miles away. The visitor to +Stoke-Pogis should not omit a visit to Upton church, Burnham village, +and Binfield. Pope lived at Binfield when he wrote his poem on +Windsor Forest. Upton claims to have had a share in the inspiration +of the Elegy, but Stoke-Pogis was unquestionably his place of +residence when he wrote it. Langley Marish ought to be visited also, +and Horton—where Milton wrote "L'Allegro," "II Penseroso," and +"Comus." Chalfont St. Peter is accessible, where still is standing +the house in which Milton finished <i>Paradise Lost</i> and began +<i>Paradise Regained;</i> and from there a short drive will take you +to Beaconsfield, where you may see Edmund Burke's tablet, in the +church, and the monument to Waller, in the churchyard.</small></p> +<p>All the trees of the region have, of course, waxed and +expanded,—not forgetting the neighbouring beeches of Burnham, +among which he loved to wander, and where he might often have been +found, sitting with his book, at some gnarled wreath of "old +fantastic roots." But in its general characteristics, its rustic +homeliness and peaceful beauty, this "glimmering landscape," +immortalised in his verse, is the same on which his living eyes have +looked. There was no need to seek for him in any special spot. The +house in which he once lived might, no doubt, be discovered; but +every nook and vista, every green lane and upland lawn and +ivy-mantled tower of this delicious solitude is haunted with his +presence.</p> +<p>The night is coming on and the picture will soon be dark; but +never while memory lasts can it fade out of the heart. What a +blessing would be ours, if only we could hold forever that exaltation +of the spirit, that sweet, resigned serenity, that pure freedom from +all the passions of nature and all the cares of life, which comes +upon us in such a place as this! Alas, and again alas! Even with the +thought this golden mood begins to melt away; even with the thought +comes our dismissal from its influence. Nor will it avail us anything +now to linger at the shrine. Fortunate is he, though in bereavement +and regret, who parts from beauty while yet her kiss is warm upon his +lips,—waiting not for the last farewell word, hearing not the +last notes of the music, seeing not the last gleams of sunset as the +light dies from the sky. It was a sad parting, but the memory of the +place can never now be despoiled of its loveliness. As I write these +words I stand again in the cool and dusky silence of the poet's +church, with its air of stately age and its fragrance of cleanliness, +while the light of the western sun, broken into rays of gold and +ruby, streams through the painted windows and softly falls upon the +quaint little galleries and decorous pews; and, looking forth through +the low, arched door, I see the dark and melancholy boughs of the +dreaming yew-tree, and, nearer, a shadow of rippling leaves in the +clear sunshine of the churchway path. And all the time a gentle voice +is whispering, in the chambers of thought—</p> +<blockquote><small>"No farther seek his merits to disclose,<br> + Or draw his frailties from their dread +abode:<br> +(There they alike in trembling hope repose),<br> + The bosom of his Father and his +God."</small></blockquote> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_OCH" id="a_OCH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0235.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Old Church."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_imgBFB" id="a_imgBFB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0236.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Bird and Flower Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXVIII" id="a_CHXVIII"></a><a name="a_CHXVIIIb" id= +"a_CHXVIIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XVIII</h3> +<h5 align="center">AT THE GRAVE OF COLERIDGE</h5> +<br> +<p>Among the deeply meditative, melodious, and eloquent poems of +Wordsworth there is one—-about the burial of Ossian—that +glances at the question of fitness in a place of sepulchre. Not +always, for the illustrious dead, has the final couch of rest been +rightly chosen. We think with resignation, and with a kind of pride, +of Keats and Shelley in the little Protestant burial-ground at Rome. +Every heart is touched at the spectacle of Garrick and Johnson +sleeping side by side in Westminster Abbey. It was right that the +dust of Dean Stanley should mingle with the dust of poets and of +kings; and to see—as the present writer did, only a little +while ago—fresh flowers on the stone that covers him, in the +chapel of Henry the Seventh, was to feel a tender gladness and solemn +content. Shakespeare's grave, in the chancel of Stratford church, +awakens the same ennobling awe and melancholy pleasure; and it is +with kindred feeling that you linger at the tomb of Gray. But who can +be content that poor Letitia Landon should sleep beneath the pavement +of a barrack, with soldiers trampling over her dust? One might almost +think, sometimes, that the spirit of calamity, which follows certain +persons throughout the whole of life, had pursued them even in death, +to haunt about their repose and to mar all the gentleness of +association that ought to hallow it. Chatterton, a pauper and a +suicide, was huddled into a workhouse graveyard, the very place of +which—in Shoe Lane, covered now by Farringdon Market—has +disappeared. Otway, miserable in his love for Elizabeth Barry, the +actress, and said to have starved to death in the Minories, near the +Tower of London, was laid in a vault of St. Clement Danes, in the +middle of the Strand, where never the green leaves rustle, but where +the roar of the mighty city pours on in continual tumult. That church +holds also the remains of William Mountfort, the actor, slain in a +brawl by Lord Mohun; of Nat Lee, "the mad poet"; of George Powell, +the tragedian, of brilliant and deplorable memory; and of the +handsome Hildebrand Horden, cut off by a violent death in the +springtime of his youth. Hildebrand Horden was the son of a clergyman +of Twickenham and lived in the reign of William and Mary. Dramatic +chronicles say that he was possessed of great talent as an actor, and +of remarkable personal beauty. He was stabbed, in a quarrel, at the +Rose Tavern; and after he had been laid out for the grave, such was +the lively feminine interest in his handsome person, many ladies +came, some masked and others openly, to view him in his shroud. This +is mentioned in Colley Cibber's <i>Apology.</i> Charles Coffey, the +dramatist, author of <i>The Devil upon Two Sticks,</i> and other +plays, lies in the vaults of St. Clement; as likewise does Thomas +Rymer, historiographer for William III., successor to Shadwell, and +author of Foedera, in seventeen volumes. In the church of St. Clement +you may see the pew in which Dr. Johnson habitually sat when he +attended divine service there. It was his favourite church. The pew +is in the gallery; and to those who honour the passionate integrity +and fervent, devout zeal of the stalwart old champion of letters, it +is indeed a sacred shrine. Henry Mossop, one of the stateliest of +stately actors, perishing, by slow degrees, of penury and +grief,—which he bore in proud silence,—found a refuge, at +last, in the barren gloom of Chelsea churchyard. Theodore Hook, the +cheeriest spirit of his time, the man who filled every hour of life +with the sunshine of his wit and was wasted and degraded by his own +brilliancy, rests, close by Bishop Sherlock, in Fulham +churchyard,—one of the dreariest spots in the suburbs of +London. Perhaps it does not much signify, when once the play is over, +in what oblivion our crumbling relics are hidden away. Yet to most +human creatures these are sacred things, and many a loving heart, for +all time to come, will choose a consecrated spot for the repose of +the dead, and will echo the tender words of Longfellow,—so +truly expressive of a universal and reverent sentiment—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Take them, O Grave, and let them lie<br> + Folded upon thy narrow shelves,<br> +As garments by the soul laid by<br> + And precious only to +ourselves."</small></blockquote> +<p>One of the most impressive of the many literary pilgrimages that I +have made was that which brought me to the house in which Coleridge +died, and the place where he was buried. The student needs not to be +told that this poet, born in 1772, the year after Gray's death, bore +the white lilies of pure literature till 1834, when he too entered +into his rest. The last nineteen years of the life of Coleridge were +spent in a house at Highgate; and there, within a few steps of each +other, the visitor may behold his dwelling and his tomb. The house is +one in a block of dwellings, situated in what is called the +Grove—a broad, embowered street, a little way from the centre +of the village. There are gardens attached to these houses, both in +the front and the rear, and the smooth and peaceful roadside walks in +the Grove itself are pleasantly shaded by elms of noble size and +abundant foliage. These were young trees when Coleridge saw them, and +all this neighbourhood, in his day, was but thinly settled. Looking +from his chamber window he could see the dusky outlines of sombre +London, crowned with the dome of St. Paul's on the southern horizon, +while, more near, across a fertile and smiling valley, the gray spire +of Hampstead church would bound his prospect, rising above the +verdant woodland of Caen.† In front were beds of flowers, and +all around he might hear the songs of birds that filled the fragrant +air with their happy, careless music. Not far away stood the old +church of Highgate, long since destroyed, in which he used to +worship, and close by was the Gate House inn, primitive, quaint, and +cosy, which still is standing, to comfort the weary traveller with +its wholesome hospitality.</p> +<p><small>† "Come in the first stage, so as either to walk, or +to be driven in Mr. Gilman's gig, to Caen wood and its delicious +groves and alleys, the finest in England, a grand cathedral aisle of +giant lime-trees, Pope's favourite composition walk, when with the +old Earl."—<i>Coleridge to Crabb Robinson. Highgate, June</i> +1817</small></p> +<br> +<a name="a_TWH" id="a_TWH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0240.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"The White Hart."></p> +<br> +<p>Highgate, with all its rural peace, must have been a bustling +place in the old times, for all the travel went through it that +passed either into or out of London by the great north +road,—that road in which Whittington heard the prophetic +summons of the bells, and where may still be seen, suitably and +rightly marked, the site of the stone on which he sat to rest. Here, +indeed, the coaches used to halt, either to feed or to change horses, +and here the many neglected little taverns still remaining, with +their odd names and their swinging signs, testify to the discarded +customs of a bygone age. Some years ago a new road was cut, so that +travellers might wind around the hill, and avoid climbing the steep +ascent to the village; and since then the grass has begun to grow in +the streets. But such bustle as once enlivened the solitude of +Highgate could never have been otherwise than agreeable diversion to +its inhabitants; while for Coleridge himself, as we can well imagine, +the London coach was welcome indeed, that brought to his door such +well-loved friends as Charles Lamb, Joseph Henry Green, Crabb +Robinson, Wordsworth, or Talfourd.</p> +<p>To this retreat the author of <i>The Ancient Mariner</i> withdrew +in 1815, to live with his friend James Gilman, a surgeon, who had +undertaken to rescue him from the demon of opium, but who, as De +Quincey intimates, was lured by the poet into the service of the very +fiend whom both had striven to subdue. It was his last refuge, and he +never left it till he was released from life. As you ramble in that +quiet neighbourhood your fancy will not fail to conjure up his placid +figure,—the silver hair, the pale face, the great, luminous, +changeful blue eyes, the somewhat portly form clothed in black +raiment, the slow, feeble walk, the sweet, benignant manner, the +voice that was perfect melody, and the inexhaustible talk that was +the flow of a golden sea of eloquence and wisdom. Coleridge was often +seen walking there, with a book in his hand; and the children of the +village knew him and loved him. His presence is impressed forever +upon the place, to haunt and to hallow it. He was a very great man. +The wings of his imagination wave easily in the opal air of the +highest heaven. The power and majesty of his thought are such as +establish forever in the human mind the conviction of personal +immortality. Yet how forlorn the ending that this stately soul was +enforced to make! For more than thirty years he was the slave of +opium. It blighted his home; it alienated his wife; it ruined his +health; it made him utterly wretched. "I have been, through a large +portion of my later life," he wrote, in 1834, "a sufferer, sorely +afflicted with bodily pains, languor, and manifold infirmities." But +behind all this,—more dreadful still and harder to +bear,—was he not the slave of some ingrained perversity of the +mind itself, some helpless and hopeless irresolution of character, +some enervating spell of that sublime yet pitiable dejection of +Hamlet, which kept him forever at war with himself, and, last of all, +cast him out upon the homeless ocean of despair, to drift away into +ruin and death? There are shapes more awful than his, in the records +of literary history,—the ravaged, agonising form of Swift, for +instance, and the wonderful, desolate face of Byron; but there is no +figure more forlorn and pathetic.</p> +<p>This way the memory of Coleridge came upon me, standing at his +grave. He should have been laid in some wild, free place, where the +grass could grow above him and the trees could wave their branches +over his head. They placed him in a ponderous tomb, of gray stone, in +Highgate churchyard, and in later times they have reared a new +building above it,—the grammar-school of the village,—so +that now the tomb, fenced round with iron, is in a cold, barren, +gloomy crypt, accessible indeed from the churchyard, through several +arches, but grim and doleful in all its surroundings; as if the evil +and cruel fate that marred his life were still triumphant over his +ashes.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_ABB" id="a_ABB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0243.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Ada Brooke Flower Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXIX" id="a_CHXIX"></a><a name="a_CHXIXb" id= +"a_CHXIXb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XIX</h3> +<h5 align="center">ON BARNET BATTLE-FIELD</h5> +<br> +<p>In England, as elsewhere, every historic spot is occupied; and of +course it sometimes happens, at such a spot, that its association is +marred and its sentiment almost destroyed by the presence of the +persons and the interests of to-day. The visitor to such places must +carry with him not only knowledge and sensibility but imagination and +patience. He will not find the way strewn with roses nor the +atmosphere of poetry ready-made for his enjoyment. That atmosphere, +indeed, for the most part—especially in the cities—he +must himself supply. Relics do not robe themselves for exhibition. +The Past is utterly indifferent to its worshippers. All manner of +little obstacles, too, will arise before the pilgrim, to thwart him +in his search. The mental strain and bewilderment, the inevitable +physical weariness, the soporific influence of the climate, the +tumult of the streets, the frequent and disheartening spectacle of +poverty, squalor, and vice, the capricious and untimely rain, the +inconvenience of long distances, the ill-timed arrival and consequent +disappointment, the occasional nervous sense of loneliness and +insecurity, the inappropriate boor, the ignorant, garrulous porter, +the extortionate cabman, and the jeering bystander—all these +must be regarded with resolute indifference by him who would ramble, +pleasantly and profitably, in the footprints of English history. +Everything depends, in other words, upon the eyes with which you +observe and the spirit which you impart. Never was a keener truth +uttered than in the couplet of Wordsworth—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Minds that have nothing to confer<br> +Find little to perceive."</small></blockquote> +<p>To the philosophic stranger, however, even this prosaic occupancy +of historic places is not without its pleasurable, because humorous, +significance. Such an observer in England will sometimes be amused as +well as impressed by a sudden sense of the singular incidental +position into which—partly through the lapse of years, and +partly through a peculiarity of national character—the scenes +of famous events, not to say the events themselves, have gradually +drifted. I thought of this one night, when, in Whitehall Gardens, I +was looking at the statue of James the Second, and a courteous +policeman came up and silently turned the light of his bull's-eye +upon the inscription. A scene of more incongruous elements, or one +suggestive of a more serio-comic contrast, could not be imagined. I +thought of it again when standing on the village green near Barnet, +and viewing, amid surroundings both pastoral and ludicrous, the +column which there commemorates the defeat and death of the great +Earl of Warwick, and, consequently, the final triumph of the Grown +over the last of the Barons of England.</p> +<p>It was toward the close of a cool summer day, and of a long drive +through the beautiful hedgerows of sweet and verdurous Middlesex, +that I came to the villages of Barnet and Hadley, and went over the +field of King Edward's victory,—that fatal glorious field, on +which Gloster showed such resolute valour, and where Neville, supreme +and magnificent in disaster, fought on foot, to make sure that +himself might go down in the stormy death of all his hopes. More than +four hundred years have drifted by since that misty April morning +when the star of Warwick was quenched in blood, and ten thousand men +were slaughtered to end the strife between the Barons and the Crown; +yet the results of that conflict are living facts in the government +of England now, and in the fortunes of her inhabitants. If you were +unaware of the solid simplicity and proud reticence of the English +character,—leading it to merge all its shining deeds in one +continuous fabric of achievement, like jewels set in a cloth of +gold,—you might expect to find this spot adorned with a +structure of more than common splendour. What you actually do find +there is a plain monument, standing in the middle of a common, at the +junction of several roads,—the chief of which are those leading +to Hatfield and St. Albans, in Hertfordshire,—and on one side +of this column you may read, in letters of faded black, the +comprehensive statement that "Here was fought the famous battle +between Edward the Fourth and the Earl of Warwick, April 14th, anno +1471, in which the Earl was defeated and slain."†</p> +<p><small>† The words "stick no bills" have been intrusively +added, just below this inscription.</small></p> +<br> +<a name="a_CBB" id="a_CBB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0246.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Column on Barnet Battle-Field."></p> +<br> +<p>In my reverie, standing at the foot of this humble, +weather-stained monument, I saw the long range of Barnet hills, +mantled with grass and flowers and with the golden haze of a morning +in spring, swarming with gorgeous horsemen and glittering with spears +and banners; and I heard the vengeful clash of arms, the horrible +neighing of maddened steeds, the furious shouts of onset, and all the +nameless cries and groans of battle, commingled in a thrilling yet +hideous din. Here rode King Edward, intrepid, handsome, and stalwart, +with his proud, cruel smile and his long, yellow hair. There Warwick +swung his great two-handed sword, and mowed his foes like grain. And +there the fiery form of Richard, splendid in burnished steel, darted +like the scorpion, dealing death at every blow; till at last, in +fatal mischance, the sad star of Oxford, assailed by its own friends, +was swept out of the field, and the fight drove, raging, into the +valleys of Hadley. How strangely, though, did this fancied picture +contrast with the actual scene before me! At a little distance, all +around the village green, the peaceful, embowered cottages kept their +sentinel watch. Over the careless, straggling grass went the shadow +of the passing cloud. Not a sound was heard, save the rustle of +leaves and the low laughter of some little children, playing near the +monument. Close by and at rest was a flock of geese, couched upon the +cool earth, and, as their custom is, supremely contented with +themselves and all the world.</p> +<p>And at the foot of the column, stretched out at his full length, +in tattered garments that scarcely covered his nakedness, reposed the +British labourer, fast asleep upon the sod. No more Wars of the Roses +now; but calm retirement, smiling plenty, cool western winds, and +sleep and peace—</p> +<blockquote><small>"With a red rose and a white rose<br> +Leaning, nodding at the wall."</small></blockquote> +<br> +<a name="a_FMH2" id="a_FMH2"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0248.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Farm-house."></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHBB" id="a_CHBB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0249.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Cherubs Battling Boar Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXX" id="a_CHXX"></a><a name="a_CHXXb" id="a_CHXXb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XX</h3> +<h5 align="center">A GLIMPSE OF CANTERBURY</h5> +<br> +<p>One of the most impressive spots on earth, and one that especially +teaches—with silent, pathetic eloquence and solemn +admonition—the great lesson of contrast, the incessant flow of +the ages and the inevitable decay and oblivion of the past, is the +ancient city of Canterbury. Years and not merely days of residence +there are essential to the adequate and right comprehension of that +wonderful place. Yet even an hour passed among its shrines will teach +you, as no printed word has ever taught, the measureless power and +the sublime beauty of a perfect religious faith; while, as you stand +and meditate in the shadow of the gray cathedral walls, the pageant +of a thousand years of history will pass before you like a dream. The +city itself, with its bright, swift river (the Stour), its opulence +of trees and flowers, its narrow winding streets, its numerous +antique buildings, its many towers, its fragments of ancient wall and +gate, its formal decorations, its air of perfect cleanliness and +thoughtful gravity, its beautiful, umbrageous suburbs,—where +the scarlet of the poppies and the russet red of the clover make one +vast rolling sea of colour and of fragrant delight,—and, to +crown all, its stately character of wealth without ostentation and +industry without tumult, must prove to you a deep and satisfying +comfort. But, through all this, pervading and surmounting it all, the +spirit of the place pours in upon your heart, and floods your whole +being with the incense and organ music of passionate, jubilant +devotion.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_FIW" id="a_FIW"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0250.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Falstaff Inn and West Gate, Canterbury."></p> +<br> +<p>It was not superstition that reared those gorgeous fanes of +worship which still adorn, even while they no longer consecrate, the +ecclesiastic cities of the old world. In the age of Augustine, +Dunstan, and Ethelnoth humanity had begun to feel its profound and +vital need of a sure and settled reliance on religious faith. The +drifting spirit, worn with sorrow, doubt, and self-conflict, longed +to be at peace—longed for a refuge equally from the evils and +tortures of its own condition and the storms and perils of the world. +In that longing it recognised its immortality and heard the voice of +its Divine Parent; and out of the ecstatic joy and utter abandonment +of its new-born, passionate, responsive faith, it built and +consecrated those stupendous temples,—rearing them with all its +love no less than all its riches and all its power. There was no +wealth that it would not give, no toil that it would not perform, and +no sacrifice that it would not make, in the accomplishment of its +sacred task. It was grandly, nobly, terribly in earnest, and it +achieved a work that is not only sublime in its poetic majesty but +measureless in the scope and extent of its moral and spiritual +influence. It has left to succeeding ages not only a legacy of +permanent beauty, not only a sublime symbol of religious faith, but +an everlasting monument to the loveliness and greatness that are +inherent in human nature. No creature with a human heart in his bosom +can stand in such a building as Canterbury cathedral without feeling +a greater love and reverence than he ever felt before, alike for God +and man.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_BLC" id="a_BLC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0252.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Butchery Lane, Canterbury."></p> +<br> +<p>On a day (July 27, 1882) when a class of the boys of the King's +School of Canterbury was graduated the present writer chanced to be a +listener to the impressive and touching sermon that was preached +before them, in the cathedral; wherein they were tenderly admonished +to keep unbroken their associations with their school-days and to +remember the lessons of the place itself. That counsel must have sunk +deep into every mind. It is difficult to understand how any person +reared amid such scenes and relics could ever cast away their +hallowing influence. Even to the casual visitor the bare thought of +the historic treasures that are garnered in this temple is, by +itself, sufficient to implant in the bosom a memorable and lasting +awe. For more than twelve hundred years the succession of the +Archbishops of Canterbury has remained substantially unbroken. There +have been ninety-three "primates of all England," of whom fifty-three +were buried in the cathedral, and here the tombs of fifteen of them +are still visible. Here was buried the sagacious, crafty, inflexible, +indomitable Henry the Fourth,—that Hereford whom Shakespeare +has described and interpreted with matchless, immortal +eloquence,—and here, cut off in the morning of his greatness, +and lamented to this day in the hearts of the English people, was +laid the body of Edward the Black Prince, who to a dauntless valour +and terrible prowess in war added a high-souled, human, and tender +magnanimity in conquest, and whom personal virtues and shining public +deeds united to make the ideal hero of chivalry. In no other way than +by personal observance of such memorials can historic reading be +invested with a perfect and permanent reality. Over the tomb of the +Black Prince, with its fine recumbent effigy of gilded brass, hang +the gauntlets that he wore; and they tell you that his sword formerly +hung there, but that Oliver Cromwell—who revealed his +iconoclastic and unlovely character in making a stable of this +cathedral—carried it away. Close at hand is the tomb of the +wise, just, and gentle Cardinal Pole, simply inscribed "Blessed are +the dead which die in the Lord"; and you may touch a little, low +mausoleum of gray stone, in which are the ashes of John Morton, that +Bishop of Ely from whose garden in Holborn the strawberries were +brought for the Duke of Gloster, on the day when he condemned the +accomplished Hastings, and who "fled to Richmond," in good time, from +the standard of the dangerous Protector. Standing there, I could +almost hear the resolute, scornful voice of Richard, breathing out, +in clear, implacable accents—</p> +<blockquote><small>"Ely with Richmond troubles me more near<br> +Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength."</small></blockquote> +<p>The astute Morton, when Bosworth was over and Richmond had assumed +the crown and Bourchier had died, was made Archbishop of Canterbury; +and as such, at a great age, he passed away.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_FHI" id="a_FHI"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0255.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Flying Horse Inn, Canterbury."></p> +<br> +<p>A few hundred yards from his place of rest, in a vault beneath the +Church of St. Dunstan, is the head of Sir Thomas More (the body being +in St. Peter's, at the Tower of London), who in his youth had been a +member of Morton's ecclesiastical household, and whose greatness that +prelate had foreseen and prophesied. Did no shadow of the scaffold +ever fall across the statesman's thoughts, as he looked upon that +handsome, manly boy, and thought of the troublous times that were +raging about them? Morton, aged ninety, died in 1500; More, aged +fifty-five, in 1535. Strange fate, indeed, was that, and as +inscrutable as mournful, which gave to those who in life had been +like father and son such a ghastly association in death!† They +show you the place where Becket was murdered, and the stone steps, +worn hollow by the thousands upon thousands of devout pilgrims who, +in the days before the Reformation, crept up to weep and pray at the +costly, resplendent shrine of St. Thomas. The bones of Becket, as all +the world knows, were, by command of Henry the Eighth, burnt, and +scattered to the winds, while his shrine was pillaged and destroyed. +Neither tomb nor scutcheon commemorates him here,—but the +cathedral itself is his monument.</p> +<p><small>† St. Dunstan's church was connected with the +Convent of St. Gregory. The Roper family, in the time of Henry the +Fourth, founded a chapel in it, in which are two marble tombs, +commemorative of them, and underneath which is their burial vault. +Margaret Roper, Sir Thomas More's daughter, obtained her father's +head, after his execution, and buried it here. The vault was opened +in 1835,—when a new pavement was laid in the chancel of this +church,—and persons descending into it saw the head, in a +leaden box shaped like a beehive, open in front, set in a niche in +the wall, behind an iron grill.</small></p> +<br> +<a name="a_CCA" id="a_CCA"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0257.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Canterbury Cathedral."></p> +<br> +<p>There it stands, with its grand columns and glorious arches, its +towers of enormous size and its long vistas of distance, so +mysterious and awful, its gloomy crypt where once the silver lamps +sparkled and the smoking censers were swung, its tombs of mighty +warriors and statesmen, its frayed and crumbling banners, and the +eternal, majestic silence with which it broods over the love, +ambition, glory, defeat, and anguish of a thousand years, dissolved +now and ended in a little dust! As the organ music died away I looked +upward and saw where a bird was wildly flying to and fro, through the +vast spaces beneath its lofty roof, in the vain effort to find some +outlet of escape. Fit emblem, truly, of the human mind which strives +to comprehend and to utter the meaning of this marvellous fabric!</p> +<br> +<a name="a_ALL" id="a_ALL"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0259.jpg" width="30%" alt= +"Alladin's Lamp"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_DWB" id="a_DWB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0260.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Dark Wind Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXXI" id="a_CHXXI"></a><a name="a_CHXXIb" id= +"a_CHXXIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XXI</h3> +<h5 align="center">THE SHRINES OF WARWICKSHIRE 1882</h5> +<br> +<p>Night, in Stratford-upon-Avon—a summer night, with large, +solemn stars, a cool and fragrant breeze, and the stillness of +perfect rest. From this high and grassy bank I look forth across the +darkened meadows and the smooth and shining river, and see the little +town where it lies asleep. Hardly a light is anywhere visible. A few +great elms, near by, are nodding and rustling in the wind, and once +or twice a drowsy bird-note floats up from the neighbouring thicket +that skirts the vacant, lonely road. There, at some distance, are the +dim arches of Clopton's Bridge. In front—a graceful, shapely +mass, indistinct in the starlight—rises the fair Memorial, +Stratford's honour and pride. Further off, glimmering through the +tree-tops, is the dusky spire of Trinity, keeping its sacred vigil +over the dust of Shakespeare. Nothing here is changed. The same +tranquil beauty, as of old, hallows this place; the same sense of awe +and mystery broods over its silent shrines of everlasting renown. +Long and weary the years have been since last I saw it; but to-night +they are remembered only as a fleeting and troubled dream. Here, once +more, is the highest and noblest companionship this world can give. +Here, once more, is the almost visible presence of the one magician +who can lift the soul out of the infinite weariness of common things +and give it strength and peace. The old time has come back, and the +bloom of the heart that I thought had all faded and gone. I stroll +again to the river's brink, and take my place in the boat, and, +trailing my hand in the dark waters of the Avon, forget every trouble +that ever I have known.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SUA" id="a_SUA"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0261.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Stratford-upon-Avon."></p> +<br> +<p>It is often said, with reference to memorable places, that the +best view always is the first view. No doubt the accustomed eye sees +blemishes. No doubt the supreme moments of human life are few and +come but once; and neither of them is ever repeated. Yet frequently +it will be found that the change is in ourselves and not in the +objects we behold. Scott has glanced at this truth, in a few mournful +lines, written toward the close of his heroic and beautiful life. +Here at Stratford, however, I am not conscious that the wonderful +charm of the place is in any degree impaired. The town still +preserves its old-fashioned air, its quaintness, its perfect +cleanliness and order. At the Shakespeare cottage, in the stillness +of the room where he was born, the spirits of mystery and reverence +still keep their imperial state. At the ancient grammar-school, with +its pent-house roof and its dark, sagging rafters, you still may see, +in fancy, the unwilling schoolboy gazing upward absently at the +great, rugged timbers, or looking wistfully at the sunshine, where it +streams through the little lattice windows of his prison. New Place, +with its lovely lawn, its spacious garden, the ancestral mulberry and +the ivy-covered well, will bring the poet before you, as he lived and +moved, in the meridian of his greatness. <i>Cymbeline, The +Tempest,</i> and <i>A Winter's Tale,</i> the last of his works, +undoubtedly were written here; and this alone should make it a +hallowed spot. Here he blessed his young daughter on her wedding day; +here his eyes closed in the long last sleep; and from this place he +was carried to his grave in the chancel of Stratford church. I pass +once again through the fragrant avenue of limes, the silent +churchyard with its crumbling monuments, the dim porch, the twilight +of the venerable temple, and kneel at last above the ashes of +Shakespeare. What majesty in this triumphant rest! All the great +labour accomplished. The universal human heart interpreted with a +living voice. The memory and the imagination of mankind stored +forever with words of sublime eloquence and images of immortal +beauty. The noble lesson of self-conquest—the lesson of the +entire adequacy of the resolute, virtuous, patient human +will—set forth so grandly that all the world must see its +meaning and marvel at its splendour. And, last of all, death itself +shorn of its terrors and made a trivial thing.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_SCH" id="a_SCH"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0263.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Stratford Church."></p> +<br> +<p>There is a new custodian at New Place, and he will show you the +little museum that is kept there—including the shovel-board +from the old Falcon tavern across the way, on which the poet himself +might have played—and he will lead you through the gardens, and +descant on the mulberry and on the ancient and still unforgiven +vandalism of the Rev. Francis Gastrell, by whom the Shakespeare +mansion was destroyed (1759), and will pause at the well, and at the +fragments of the foundation, covered now with stout screens of wire. +There is a fresh and fragrant beauty all about these grounds, an +atmosphere of sunshine, life, comfort and elegance of state, that no +observer can miss. This same keeper also has the keys of the guild +chapel, opposite, on which Shakespeare looked from his windows and +his garden, and in which he was the holder of two sittings. You will +enter it by the same porch through which he walked, and see the arch +and columns and tall, mullioned windows on which his gaze has often +rested. The interior is cold and barren now, for the scriptural +wall-paintings, discovered there in 1804, under a thick coating of +whitewash, have been obliterated and the wooden pews, which are +modern, have not yet been embrowned by age. Yet this church, known +beyond question as one of Shakespeare's personal haunts, will hold +you with the strongest tie of reverence and sympathy. At his +birthplace everything remains unchanged. The gentle ladies who have +so long guarded and shown it still have it in their affectionate +care. The ceiling of the room in which the poet was born—the +room that contains "the Actor's Pillar" and the thousands of +signatures on walls and windows—is slowly crumbling to pieces. +Every morning little particles of the plaster are found upon the +floor. The area of tiny, delicate iron laths, to sustain this +ceiling, has more than doubled (1882) since I first saw it, in 1877. +It was on the ceiling that Lord Byron wrote his name, but this has +flaked off and disappeared. In the museum hall, once the Swan inn, +they are forming a library; and there you may see at least one +Shakespearean relic of extraordinary interest. This is the MS. letter +of Richard Quiney—whose son Thomas became, in 1616, the husband +of Shakespeare's youngest daughter, Judith—asking the poet for +the loan of thirty pounds. It is enclosed between plates of glass in +a frame, and usually kept covered with a cloth, so that the sunlight +may not fade the ink. The date of this letter is October 25, 1598, +and thirty English pounds then was a sum equivalent to about six +hundred dollars of American money now. This is the only letter known +to be in existence that Shakespeare received. Miss Caroline Chataway, +the younger of the ladies who keep this house, will recite to you its +text, from memory—giving a delicious old-fashioned flavour to +its quaint phraseology and fervent spirit, as rich and strange as the +odour of the wild thyme and rosemary that grow in her garden beds. +This antique touch adds a wonderful charm to the relics of the past. +I found it once more when sitting in the chimney-corner of Anne +Hathaway's kitchen; and again in the lovely little church at +Charlecote, where a simple, kindly woman, not ashamed to reverence +the place and the dead, stood with me at the tomb of the Lucys, and +repeated from memory the tender, sincere, and eloquent epitaph with +which Sir Thomas Lucy thereon commemorates his wife. The lettering is +small and indistinct on the tomb, but having often read it I well +knew how correctly it was then spoken. Nor shall I ever read it again +without thinking of that kindly, pleasant voice, the hush of the +beautiful church, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the oriel +window, and—visible through the doorway arch—the roses +waving among the churchyard graves.</p> +<p>In the days of Shakespeare's courtship, when he strolled across +the fields to Anne Hathaway's cottage at Shottery, his path, we may +be sure, ran through wild pasture-land and tangled thicket. A fourth +part of England at that time was a wilderness, and the entire +population of that country did not exceed five millions of persons. +The Stratford-upon-Avon of to-day is still possessed of some of its +ancient features; but the region round about it then must have been +rude and wild in comparison with what it is at present. If you walk +in the foot-path to Shottery now you will pass between low fences and +along the margin of gardens,—now in the sunshine, and now in +the shadow of larch and chestnut and elm, while the sweet air blows +upon your face and the expeditious rook makes rapid wing to the +woodland, cawing as he flies. In the old cottage, with its roof of +thatch, its crooked rafters, its odorous hedges and climbing vines, +its leafy well and its tangled garden, everything remains the same. +Mrs. Mary Taylor Baker, the last living descendant of the Hathaways, +born in this house, always a resident here, and now an elderly woman, +still has it in her keeping, and still displays to you the ancient +carved bedstead in the garret, the wooden settle by the kitchen +fireside, the hearth at which Shakespeare sat, the great blackened +chimney with its adroit iron "fish-back" for the better regulation of +the tea-kettle, and the brown and tattered Bible, with the Hathaway +family record. Sitting in an old arm-chair, in the corner of Anne +Hathaway's bedroom, I could hear, in the perfumed summer stillness, +the low twittering of birds, whose nest is in the covering thatch and +whose songs would awaken the sleeper at the earliest light of dawn. A +better idea can be obtained in this cottage than in either the +birthplace or any other Shakespearean haunt of what the real life +actually was of the common people of England in Shakespeare's day. +The stone floor and oak timbers of the Hathaway kitchen, stained and +darkened in the slow decay of three hundred years, have lost no +particle of their pristine character. The occupant of the cottage has +not been absent from it more than a week during upward of half a +century. In such a nook the inherited habits of living do not alter. +"The thing that has been is the thing that shall be," and the customs +of long ago are the customs of to-day.</p> +<p>The Red Horse inn is now in the hands of William Gardner +Colbourne, who has succeeded his uncle Mr. Gardner, and it is +brighter than of old—without, however, having parted with +either its antique furniture or its delightful antique ways. The old +mahogany and wax-candle period has not ended yet in this happy place, +and you sink to sleep on a snow-white pillow, soft as down and +fragrant as lavender. One important change is especially to be +remarked. They have made a niche in a corner of Washington Irving's +parlour, and in it have placed his arm-chair, re-cushioned and +polished, and sequested from touch by a large sheet of plate-glass. +The relic may still be seen, but the pilgrim can sit upon it no more. +Perhaps it might be well to enshrine "Geoffrey Crayon's Sceptre" in a +somewhat similar way. It could be fastened to a shield, displaying +the American colours, and placed in this storied room. At present it +is the tenant of a starred and striped bag, and keeps its state in +the seclusion of a bureau; nor is it shown except upon +request—like the beautiful marble statue of Donne, in his +shroud, niched in the chancel wall of St. Paul's +cathedral.†</p> +<p><small>† A few effigies are all that remain of old St. +Paul's. The most important and interesting of them is that shrouded +statue of the poet John Donne, who was Dean of St. Paul's from 1621 +to 1631, dying in the latter year, aged 58. This is in the south +aisle of the chancel, in a niche in the wall. You will not see it +unless you ask the privilege. The other relics are in the crypt and +in the churchyard. There is nothing to indicate the place of the +grave of John of Gaunt or that of Sir Philip Sidney. Old St. Paul's +was burned September 2, 1666.</small></p> +<br> +<a name="a_WIC" id="a_WIC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0269.jpg" width="35%" alt= +"Washington Irving's Chair."></p> +<br> +<p>One of the strongest instincts of the English character is the +instinct of permanence. It acts involuntarily, it pervades the +national life, and, as Pope said of the universal soul, it operates +unspent. Institutions seem to have grown out of human nature in this +country, and are as much its expression as blossoms, leaves, and +flowers are the expression of inevitable law. A custom, in England, +once established, is seldom or never changed. The brilliant career, +the memorable achievement, the great character, once fulfilled, takes +a permanent shape in some kind of outward and visible memorial, some +absolute and palpable fact, which thenceforth is an accepted part of +the history of the land and the experience of its people. England +means stability—the fireside and the altar, home here and +heaven hereafter; and this is the secret of the power that she wields +in the affairs of the world, and the charm that she diffuses over the +domain of thought. Such a temple as St. Paul's cathedral, such a +palace as Hampton Court, such a castle as that of Windsor or that of +Warwick, is the natural, spontaneous expression of the English +instinct of permanence; and it is in memorials like these that +England has written her history, with symbols that can perish only +with time itself. At intervals her latent animal ferocity breaks +loose—as it did under Henry the Eighth, under Mary, under +Cromwell, and under James the Second,—and for a brief time +ramps and bellows, striving to deface and deform the surrounding +structure of beauty that has been slowly and painfully reared out of +her deep heart and her sane civilisation. But the tears of human pity +soon quench the fire of Smithfield, and it is only for a little while +that the Puritan soldiers play at nine-pins in the nave of St. +Paul's. This fever of animal impulse, this wild revolt of petulant +impatience, is soon cooled; and then the great work goes on again, as +calmly and surely as before—that great work of educating +mankind to the level of constitutional liberty, in which England has +been engaged for well-nigh a thousand years, and in which the +American Republic, though sometimes at variance with her methods and +her spirit, is, nevertheless, her follower and the consequence of her +example. Our Declaration was made in 1776: the Declaration to the +Prince of Orange is dated 1689, and the Bill of Rights 1628, while +Magna Charta was secured in 1215.</p> +<p>Throughout every part of this sumptuous and splendid domain of +Warwickshire the symbols of English stability and the relics of +historic times are numerous and deeply impressive. At Stratford the +reverence of the nineteenth century takes its practical, substantial +form, not alone in the honourable preservation of the ancient +Shakespearean shrines, but in the Shakespeare Memorial. That fabric, +though mainly due to the fealty of England, is also, to some extent, +representative of the practical sympathy of America. Several +Americans—Edwin Booth, Herman Vezin, M. D. Conway, and W. H. +Reynolds among them—were contributors to the fund that built +it, and an American gentlewoman, Miss Kate Field, has worked for its +cause with excellent zeal, untiring fidelity, and good results. (Miss +Mary Anderson acted—1885—in the Memorial Theatre, for its +benefit, presenting for the first time in her life the character of +Rosalind.) It is a noble monument. It stands upon the margin of the +Avon, not distant from the church of the Holy Trinity, which is +Shakespeare's grave; so that these two buildings are the conspicuous +points of the landscape, and seem to confront each other with +sympathetic greeting, as if conscious of their sacred trust. The +vacant land adjacent, extending between the road and the river, is a +part of the Memorial estate, and is to be converted into a garden, +with pathways, shade-trees, and flowers,—by means of which the +prospect will be made still fairer than now it is, and will be kept +forever unbroken between the Memorial and the Church. Under this +ample roof are already united a theatre, a library, and a hall of +pictures. The drop-curtain, illustrating the processional progress of +Queen Elizabeth when "going to the Globe Theatre," is gay but +incorrect. The divisions of seats are in conformity with the +inconvenient arrangements of the London theatre of to-day. Queen +Elizabeth heard plays in the hall of the Middle Temple, the hall of +Hampton Palace, and at Greenwich and at Richmond; but she never went +to the Globe Theatre. In historic temples there should be no trifling +with historic themes; and surely, in a theatre of the nineteenth +century, dedicated to Shakespeare, while no fantastic regard should +be paid to the usages of the past, it would be tasteful and proper to +blend the best of ancient ways with all the luxury and elegance of +these times. It is much, however, to have built what can readily be +made a lovely theatre; and meanwhile, through the affectionate +generosity of friends in all parts of the world, the library shelves +are continually gathering treasures, and the hall of paintings is +growing more and more the imposing expository that it was intended to +be, of Shakespearean poetry and the history of the English stage.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TSM" id="a_TSM"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0273.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"The Stratford Memorial."></p> +<br> +<p>Many faces of actors appear upon those walls—from Garrick to +Edmund Kean, from Macready to Henry Irving, from Kemble to Edwin +Booth, from Mrs. Siddons to Ellen Terry, Ada Rehan, and Mary +Anderson. Prominent among the pictures is a spirited portrait of +Garrick and his wife, playing at cards, wherein the lovely, laughing +lady archly discloses that her hands are full of hearts. Not +otherwise, truly, is it with sweet and gentle Stratford herself, +where peace and beauty and the most hallowed and hallowing of poetic +associations garner up, forever and forever, the hearts of all +mankind.</p> +<p>In previous papers upon this subject I have tried to express the +feelings that are excited by personal contact with the relics of +Shakespeare—the objects that he saw and the fields through +which he wandered. Fancy would never tire of lingering in this +delicious region of flowers and of dreams. From the hideous vileness +of the social condition of London in the time of James the First, +Shakespeare must indeed have rejoiced to depart into this blooming +garden of rustic tranquillity. Here also he could find the +surroundings that were needful to sustain him amid the vast and +overwhelming labours of his final period. No man, however great his +powers, can ever, in this world, escape from the trammels under which +nature enjoins and permits the exercise of the brain. Ease, in the +intellectual life, is always visionary. The higher a man's faculties +the higher are his ideals,—toward which, under the operation of +a divine law, he must perpetually strive, but to the height of which +he will never absolutely attain. So, inevitably, it was with +Shakespeare.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_MAC" id="a_MAC"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0276.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Mary Arden Cottage."></p> +<br> +<p>But, although genius cannot escape from itself and is no more free +than the humblest toiler in the vast scheme of creation, it +may—and it must—sometimes escape from the world: and this +wise poet, of all men else, would surely recognise and strongly grasp +the great privilege of solitude amid the sweetest and most soothing +adjuncts of natural beauty. That privilege he found in the sparkling +and fragrant gardens of Warwick, the woods, fields and waters of the +Avon, where he had played as a boy, and where love had laid its first +kiss upon his lips and poetry first opened upon his inspired vision +the eternal glories of her celestial world. It still abides there, +for every gentle soul that can feel its influence—to deepen the +glow of noble passion, to soften the sting of grief, and to touch the +lips of worship with a fresh sacrament of patience and beauty.</p> +<p class="pg1">———<br> +<br> +THE ANNE HATHAWAY COTTAGE.</p> +<p><i>April,</i> 1892.—A record that all lovers of the +Shakespeare shrines have long wished to make can at last be made. The +Anne Hathaway Cottage has been bought for the British Nation, and +that building will henceforth be one of the Amalgamated Trusts that +are guarded by the corporate authorities of Stratford. The other +Trusts are the Birthplace, the Museum, and New Place. The Mary Arden +Cottage, the home of Shakespeare's mother, is yet to be acquired.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_OWB" id="a_OWB"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0278.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Owl Border"></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="a_CHXXII" id="a_CHXXII"></a><a name="a_CHXXIIb" id= +"a_CHXXIIb"></a> +<h3 align="center">CHAPTER XXII</h3> +<h5 align="center">A BORROWER OF THE NIGHT</h5> +<br> +<blockquote><small><i>"I must become a borrower of the night,<br> +For a dark hour or +twain."</i>—M<small>ACBETH</small>.</small></blockquote> +<p>Midnight has just sounded from the tower of St. Martin. It is a +peaceful night, faintly lit with stars, and in the region round about +Trafalgar Square a dream-like stillness broods over the darkened +city, now slowly hushing itself to its brief and troubled rest. This +is the centre of the heart of modern civilisation, the middle of the +greatest city in the world—the vast, seething alembic of a +grand future, the stately monument of a deathless past. Here, alone, +in my quiet room of this old English inn, let me meditate a while on +some of the scenes that are near me—the strange, romantic, sad, +grand objects that I have seen, the memorable figures of beauty, +genius, and renown that haunt this classic land.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_CSM2" id="a_CSM2"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0279.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Church of St. Martin."></p> +<br> +<p>How solemn and awful now must be the gloom within the walls of the +Abbey! A walk of only a few minutes would bring me to its +gates—the gates of the most renowned mausoleum on earth. No +human foot to-night invades its sacred precincts. The dead alone +possess it. I see, upon its gray walls, the marble figures, white and +spectral, staring through the darkness. I hear the night-wind moaning +around its lofty towers and faintly sobbing in the dim, mysterious +spaces beneath its fretted roof. Here and there a ray of starlight, +streaming through the sumptuous rose window, falls and lingers, in +ruby or emerald gleam, on tomb, or pillar, or dusky pavement. +Rustling noises, vague and fearful, float from those dim chapels +where the great kings lie in state, with marble effigies recumbent +above their bones. At such an hour as this, in such a place, do the +dead come out of their graves? The resolute, implacable Queen +Elizabeth, the beautiful, ill-fated Queen of Scots, the royal boys +that perished in the Tower, Charles the Merry and William the +Silent—are these, and such as these, among the phantoms that +fill the haunted aisles? What a wonderful company it would be, for +human eyes to behold! And with what passionate love or hatred, what +amazement, or what haughty scorn, its members would look upon each +other's faces, in this miraculous meeting? Here, through the +glimmering, icy waste, would pass before the watcher the august +shades of the poets of five hundred years. Now would glide the ghosts +of Chaucer, Spenser, Jonson, Beaumont, Dryden, Cowley, Congreve, +Addison, Prior, Campbell, Garrick, Burke, Sheridan, Newton, and +Macaulay—children of divine genius, that here mingled with the +earth. The grim Edward, who so long ravaged Scotland; the blunt, +chivalrous Henry, who conquered France; the lovely, lamentable victim +at Pomfret, and the harsh, haughty, astute victor at Bosworth; James +with his babbling tongue, and William with his impassive, predominant +visage—they would all mingle with the spectral multitude and +vanish into the gloom. Gentler faces, too, might here once more +reveal their loveliness and their grief—Eleanor de Bohun, +brokenhearted for her murdered lord; Elizabeth Claypole, the meek, +merciful, beloved daughter of Cromwell; Matilda, Queen to Henry the +First, and model of every grace and virtue; and sweet Anne Neville, +destroyed—if his enemies told the truth—by the politic +craft of Gloster. Strange sights, truly, in the lonesome Abbey +to-night!</p> +<p>In the sombre crypt beneath St. Paul's cathedral how thrilling now +must be the heavy stillness! No sound can enter there. No breeze from +the upper world can stir the dust upon those massive sepulchres. Even +in day-time that shadowy vista, with its groined arches and the black +tombs of Wellington and Nelson and the ponderous funeral-car of the +Iron Duke, is seen with a shudder. How strangely, how fearfully the +mind would be impressed, of him who should wander there to-night! +What sublime reflections would be his, standing beside the ashes of +the great admiral, and thinking of that fiery, dauntless +spirit—so simple, resolute, and true—who made the earth +and the sea alike resound with the splendid tumult of his deeds. +Somewhere beneath this pavement is the dust of Sir Philip +Sidney—buried here before the destruction of the old cathedral, +in the great fire of 1666—and here, too, is the nameless grave +of the mighty Duke of Lancaster, John of Gaunt. Shakespeare was only +twenty-two years old when Sidney fell, at the battle of Zutphen, and, +being then resident in London, he might readily have seen, and +doubtless did see, the splendid funeral procession with which the +body of that heroic gentleman—radiant and immortal example of +perfect chivalry—was borne to the tomb. Hither came Henry of +Hereford—returning from exile and deposing the handsome, +visionary, useless Richard—to mourn over the relics of his +father, dead of sorrow for his son's absence and his country's shame. +Here, at the venerable age of ninety-one, the glorious brain of Wren +found rest at last, beneath the stupendous temple that himself had +reared. The watcher in the crypt tonight would see, perchance, or +fancy that he saw, those figures from the storied past. Beneath this +roof—the soul and the perfect symbol of sublimity!—are +ranged more than fourscore monuments to heroic martial persons who +have died for England, by land or sea. Here, too, are gathered in +everlasting repose the honoured relics of men who were famous in the +arts of peace. Reynolds and Opie, Lawrence and West, Landseer, +Turner, Cruikshank, and many more, sleep under the sculptured +pavement where now the pilgrim walks. For fifteen centuries a +Christian church has stood upon this spot, and through it has poured, +with organ strains and glancing lights, an endless procession of +prelates and statesmen, of poets and warriors and kings. Surely this +is hallowed and haunted ground! Surely to him the spirits of the +mighty dead would be very near, who—alone, in the +darkness—should stand to-night 'within those sacred walls, and +hear, beneath that awful dome, the mellow thunder of the bells of +God.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_WES" id="a_WES"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0283.jpg" width="100%" alt= +"Westminster Abbey."></p> +<br> +<p>How looks, to-night, the interior of the chapel of the Foundling +hospital? Dark and lonesome, no doubt, with its heavy galleries and +sombre pews, and the great organ—Handel's gift—standing +there, mute and grim, between the ascending tiers of empty seats. But +never, in my remembrance, will it cease to present a picture more +impressive and touching than words can say. Scores of white-robed +children, rescued from shame and penury by this noble benevolence, +were ranged around that organ when I saw it, and, with artless, frail +little voices, singing a hymn of praise and worship. Well-nigh one +hundred and fifty years have passed since this grand institution of +charity—the sacred work and blessed legacy of Captain Thomas +Coram—was established in this place. What a divine good it has +accomplished, and continues to accomplish, and what a pure glory +hallows its founder's name! Here the poor mother, betrayed and +deserted, may take her child and find for it a safe and happy home +and a chance in life—nor will she herself be turned adrift +without sympathy and help. The poet and novelist George Croly was +once chaplain of the Foundling hospital, and he preached some noble +sermons there; but these were thought to be above the comprehension +of his usual audience, and he presently resigned the place. Sidney +Smith often spoke in this pulpit, when a young man. It was an aged +clergyman who preached there within my hearing, and I remember he +consumed the most part of an hour in saying that a good way in which +to keep the tongue from speaking evil is to keep the heart kind and +pure. Better than any sermon, though, was the spectacle of those poor +children, rescued out of their helplessness and reared in comfort and +affection. Several fine works of art are owned by this hospital and +shown to visitors—paintings by Gainsborough and Reynolds, and a +portrait of Captain Coram, by Hogarth. May the turf lie lightly on +him, and daisies and violets deck his hallowed grave! No man ever did +a better deed than he, and the darkest night that ever was cannot +darken his fame.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_MTL" id="a_MTL"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0285.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"Middle Temple Lane."></p> +<br> +<p>How dim and silent now are all those narrow and dingy little +streets and lanes around Paul's churchyard and the Temple, where +Johnson and Goldsmith loved to ramble! More than once have I wandered +there, in the late hours of the night, meeting scarce a human +creature, but conscious of a royal company indeed, of the wits and +poets and players of a far-off time. Darkness now, on busy +Smithfield, where once the frequent, cruel flames of bigotry shed +forth a glare that sickened the light of day. Murky and grim enough +to-night is that grand processional walk in St. Bartholomew's church, +where the great gray pillars and splendid Norman arches of the +twelfth century are mouldering in neglect and decay. Sweet to fancy +and dear in recollection, the old church comes back to me now, with +the sound of children's voices and the wail of the organ strangely +breaking on its pensive rest. Stillness and peace over arid Bunhill +Fields—-the last haven of many a Puritan worthy, and hallowed +to many a pilgrim as the resting-place of Bunyan and of Watts. In +many a park and gloomy square the watcher now would hear only a +rustling of leaves or the fretful twitter of half-awakened birds. +Around Primrose Hill and out toward Hampstead many a night-walk have +I taken, that seemed like rambling in a desert—so dark and +still are the walled houses, so perfect is the solitude. In Drury +Lane, even at this late hour, there would be some movement; but cold +and dense as ever the shadows are resting on that little graveyard +behind it, where Lady Dedlock went to die. To walk in Bow Street +now,—might it not be to meet the shades of Waller and Wycherley +and Betterton, who lived and died there; to have a greeting from the +silver-tongued Barry; or to see, in draggled lace and ruffles, the +stalwart figure and flushed and roystering countenance of Henry +Fielding? Very quiet now are those grim stone chambers in the +terrible Tower of London, where so many tears have fallen and so many +noble hearts been split with sorrow. Does Brackenbury still kneel in +the cold, lonely, vacant chapel of St. John; or the sad ghost of +Monmouth hover in the chancel of St. Peter's? How sweet tonight would +be the rustle of the ivy on the dark walls of Hadley church, where +late I breathed the rose-scented air and heard the warbling thrush, +and blessed, with a grateful heart, the loving kindness that makes +such beauty in the world! Out there on the hillside of Highgate, +populous with death, the starlight gleams on many a ponderous tomb +and the white marble of many a sculptured statue, where dear and +famous names will lure the traveller's footsteps for years to come. +There Lyndhurst rests, in honour and peace, and there is hushed the +tuneful voice of Dempster—never to be heard any more, either +when snows are flying or "when green leaves come again." Not many +days have passed since I stood there, by the humble gravestone of +poor Charles Harcourt, that fine actor, and remembered all the gentle +enthusiasm with which (1877) he spoke to me of the character of +Jaques—which he loved—and how well he repeated the +immortal lines upon the drama of human life. For him the "strange, +eventful history" came early and suddenly to an end.</p> +<br> +<a name="a_TCAI" id="a_TCAI"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/img0287.jpg" width="75%" alt= +"The Castle Inn."></p> +<br> +<p>In that ground, too, I saw the sculptured medallion of the +well-beloved George Honey—"all his frolics o'er" and nothing +left but this. Many a golden moment did we have, old friend, and by +me thou art not forgotten! The lapse of a few years changes the whole +face of life; but nothing can ever take from us our memories of the +past. Here, around me, in the still watches of the night, are the +faces that will never smile again, and the voices that will speak no +more—Sothern, with his silver hair and bright and kindly smile, +from the spacious cemetery of Southampton; and droll Harry Beckett +and poor Adelaide Neilson from dismal Brompton. And if I look from +yonder window I shall not see either the lions of Landseer or the +homeless and vagrant wretches who sleep around them; but high in her +silver chariot, surrounded with all the pomp and splendour that royal +England knows, and marching to her coronation in Westminster Abbey, +the beautiful figure of Anne Boleyn, with her dark eyes full of +triumph and her torrent of golden hair flashing in the sun. On this +spot is written the whole history of a mighty empire. Here are +garnered up such loves and hopes, such memories and sorrows, as can +never be spoken. Pass, ye shadows! Let the night wane and the morning +break.<br> +<br> +<br></p> +<p class="pg1"><small>THE END</small></p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare's England, by William Winter + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLAND *** + +***** This file should be named 35105-h.htm or 35105-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/0/35105/ + +Produced by Jim Adcock, Special Thanks to the Internet +Archive, American Libraries. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0008.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0008.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1bc0318 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0008.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0011.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0011.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a97b6d --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0011.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0014.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0014.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d4914c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0014.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0017.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0017.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..398ce60 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0017.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0021.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0021.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a86a8fd --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0021.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0023.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0023.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3994c02 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0023.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0029.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0029.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6306a08 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0029.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0033.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0033.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2cccf7f --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0033.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0034.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0034.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..52633e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0034.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0036.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0036.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..16c7f8a --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0036.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0039.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0039.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d65d0df --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0039.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0041.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0041.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e45d95b --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0041.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0043.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0043.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b421bb --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0043.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0046.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0046.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..508ac5e --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0046.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0049.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0049.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d228bd --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0049.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0055.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0055.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c38cbdd --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0055.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0056.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0056.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e73680 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0056.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0057.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0057.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4339be --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0057.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0059.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0059.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a7c07e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0059.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0061.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0061.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..806efdb --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0061.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0064.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0064.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b52e1a --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0064.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0066.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0066.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1866d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0066.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0067.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0067.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d6fe67 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0067.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0068.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0068.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..298e6c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0068.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0069.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0069.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e117efe --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0069.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0070.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0070.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..83a0e15 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0070.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0073.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0073.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4de489 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0073.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0075.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0075.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8024e53 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0075.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0077.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0077.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c88aedb --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0077.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0079.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0079.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..760a549 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0079.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0080.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0080.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..26a2a21 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0080.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0081.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0081.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2539c5b --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0081.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0082.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0082.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b46d4b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0082.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0087.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0087.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..404ed87 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0087.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0089.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0089.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..819cb60 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0089.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0090.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0090.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dad01e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0090.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0091.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0091.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0223668 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0091.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0095.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0095.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4db96b --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0095.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0096.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0096.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc1ee08 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0096.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0097.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0097.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2011bec --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0097.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0098.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0098.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea6faf8 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0098.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0099.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0099.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..77770e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0099.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0102.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0102.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..422aef8 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0102.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0104.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0104.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..41a72e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0104.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0109.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0109.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3cb991f --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0109.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0110.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0110.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..98a2cf0 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0110.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0113.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0113.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..114de18 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0113.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0117.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0117.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2986186 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0117.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0121.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0121.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..23e5971 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0121.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0123.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0123.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2161225 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0123.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0124.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0124.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f798887 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0124.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0129.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0129.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2f3489 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0129.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0130.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0130.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f838155 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0130.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0131.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0131.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..54de79e --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0131.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0133.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0133.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e753222 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0133.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0136.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0136.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..490a796 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0136.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0138.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0138.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..439f0d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0138.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0140.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0140.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e77447 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0140.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0142.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0142.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..77f0d94 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0142.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0143.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0143.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7371cda --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0143.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0144.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0144.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..70ef9fa --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0144.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0145.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0145.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b98c8a --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0145.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0148.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0148.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ccb6b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0148.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0165.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0165.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fa25f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0165.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0169.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0169.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d29d063 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0169.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0172.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0172.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cae0509 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0172.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0186.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0186.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a6f7c61 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0186.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0188.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0188.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..18c8d1b --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0188.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0192.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0192.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..01462f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0192.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0193.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0193.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a8ac0db --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0193.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0194.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0194.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..58acdd9 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0194.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0196.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0196.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5e9151 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0196.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0199.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0199.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..060b49f --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0199.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0201.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0201.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..beb7ea2 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0201.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0202.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0202.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..168e85c --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0202.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0207.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0207.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..933dc37 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0207.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0210.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0210.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..74d7ee1 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0210.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0211.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0211.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b71bad --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0211.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0212.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0212.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..59fa68c --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0212.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0213.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0213.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0e232f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0213.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0214.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0214.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5cc8f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0214.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0216.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0216.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..84c5b5c --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0216.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0219.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0219.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f88c48e --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0219.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0221.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0221.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2aecaea --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0221.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0222.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0222.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e8f9171 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0222.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0223.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0223.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd6c213 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0223.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0228.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0228.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1bf34b --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0228.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0230.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0230.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..94ce73f --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0230.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0235.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0235.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..01eb67b --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0235.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0236.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0236.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bedeb5e --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0236.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0240.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0240.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b8d16e --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0240.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0243.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0243.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..43ac371 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0243.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0246.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0246.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d807a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0246.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0248.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0248.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9095162 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0248.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0249.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0249.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9219848 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0249.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0250.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0250.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..abe5d45 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0250.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0252.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0252.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ebac2f --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0252.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0255.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0255.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..900968d --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0255.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0257.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0257.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..08767f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0257.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0259.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0259.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..484cde2 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0259.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0260.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0260.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b970396 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0260.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0261.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0261.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..58c3b19 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0261.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0263.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0263.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..535b4a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0263.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0269.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0269.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a50a6ef --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0269.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0273.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0273.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..26ba2c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0273.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0276.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0276.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..06e4244 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0276.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0278.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0278.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e08cb3 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0278.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0279.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0279.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3bb6750 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0279.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0283.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0283.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a085236 --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0283.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0285.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0285.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..590867c --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0285.jpg diff --git a/35105-h/images/img0287.jpg b/35105-h/images/img0287.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..86104dd --- /dev/null +++ b/35105-h/images/img0287.jpg |
