THE Country about Stratford is not romantic, but extremely pleasant. The town stands in a fine open valley. The Avon, a considerable stream, winds past it through pleasing meadows. The country is well cultivated, and the view of wooded uplands and more distant ranges of hills, gives spirit to the prospects. The town itself is a good, quiet, country town, of perhaps four or five thousand inhabitants. In Shakspeare's time it could be nothing more than a considerable village; for by the census of 1801 the total of its inhabitants was but 2418. In that day,

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the houses were, no doubt, built of wood or of framework, such as the dwelling of Shakspeare's parents still remains. Fires appear, by the history of the place, to have been frequent and destructive. In the 36th and 37th of Elizabeth two furious fires occurred, and so reduced the property of the inhabitants as to compel them to petition parliament for a remission of subsidies and taxes, and for a portion of 36,000l., which had been granted for the relief of decayed cities and towns. The residence of Shakspeare himself narrowly escaped.

Stratford appears now to live on the fame of Shakspeare. You see mementos of the great native poet wherever you turn. There is the Mulberry-tree Inn; the Imperial Shakspeare Hotel; the Sir John Falstaff; the Royal Shakspeare Theatre: the statue of Shakspeare meets your eye in its niche on the front of the Town-hall. Opposite to that, a large sign informs you that there is kept a collection of the relics of Shakspeare, and not far off you arrive at another sign, conspicuously projecting into the street, on which is proclaimed,-" IN THIS HOUSE THE IMMORTAL BARD WAS BORN." The people seem all alive to the honour of their town having produced Shakspeare. The tailor will descend from his shopboard, or the cobbler start up from his stall, and volunteer to guide you to the points connected with the history of the great poet. A poor shoemaker, on my asking at his door the nearest way to the church containing Shakspeare's tomb, immediately rose up and began to put on his coat. I said, "No, my friend, I do not want you to put yourself to that trouble; go on with your work-I only want you

to say whether this be the most direct." way (6 Bless you, sir," said the man, taking up his hat, "I dont want anything for shewing a gentleman the way to Shakspeare's tomb; it is a pleasure to me. I am fond on't; and a walk, now and then, does me good." The old man bustled along, holding forth with enthusiasm in the praise of Shakspeare, and coming up to the sexton's house, and knocking,-"There," said he, "I have saved you ten minutes' walk:-don't forget to look at old Johnny Combe!" and was turning off highly pleased that he had done something to the honour of Shakspeare, and reluctant to receive even the value of a glass of ale for his services.

The Royal Shakspeare Club annually celebrate the birth of Shakspeare on the 23d of April, and even Washington Irving is held in great honour for having recorded in his Sketch-Book his visit to his tomb. At one of the inns they shew you Washington Irving's room and his bed. In the Red Horse, at which I stayed, my room was adorned with his sole portrait, and all the keepers of Stratford albums take good care to point out to you the signature of Washington Irving, the American, who spoke so highly of Shakspeare.

It is pleasing to find the prophet enjoying so much honour in his own country; and yet I shall have a fact or two presently to mention, which will require the serious attention of the people of Stratford, if they do not mean all this show of zeal for the poet's memory to appear empty and inconsistent.

One of the first places which I hastened to visit was the birth-place of Shakspeare's wife; the rustic cottage where he

wooed, and whence he married her. Millions, perhaps, have visited the house where he was born; tens of thousands have certainly inscribed their names on the walls of that simple chamber where he is said to have first seen the light; but not so many have visited, or known of, or inquired after the house where his modest, faithful, and affectionate wife,

Ann Hathaway, she hath a way,

was born, and lived, and became the wife of Shakspeare when he was nineteen, and she twenty-seven.

Shakspeare seems to have had no personal ambition. If he had, we should have had more account of the incidents of his existence. He seems to have thrown off his inimitable dramas, rich with passion and poetry, more from the very enjoyment of the act, than from the glory to be derived from them. So, too, in his youth, he married the first humble object of his affections; and after having seen all the fascinations of London life, after having conversed with the most celebrated beauties and wits of Elizabeth's splendid court, he retired with a competence to the quiet uneventful town of Stratford, the quiet haunts of his youth, and to domestic peace with his true Ann Hathaway.

There is nothing more wonderful in the character of Shakspeare than the perfect indifference shewn to the fate of his inimitable dramas. For thirteen years after his retirement from the stage, and those years the very prime of his existence-for he died at the early age of fifty-two-he continued to live, and that in a great degree in the perfect leisure of Stratford, without