THE Avon of Warwickshire, called the Upper Avon, necessarily derives its chief interest from its associations with Shakspere. His contemporaries connected his fame with his native river :

"Sweet swan of Avon, what a sight it were,

To see thee in our waters yet appear,

And make those flights upon the banks of Thames
That so did take Eliza and our James!"

So wrote Jonson in his manly lines, To the Memory of my Beloved, the Author Mr. William Shakespeare, and what he hath left us.' After him came Davenant, with a pretty conceit that the river had lost its beauty when the great poet no longer dwelt upon its banks :--

"Beware, delighted poets, when you sing,
To welcome nature in the early spring,

Your numerous feet not tread
The banks of Avon; for each flow'r,
As it ne'er knew a sun or show'r,

Hangs there the pensive head.

Joseph Warton describes fair Fancy discovering the infant Shakspere "on the winding Avon's willowed banks." Thomas Warton has painted the scenery of the Avon and its associations with a bright pencil:

"Avon, thy rural views, thy pastures wild,

The willows that o'erhang thy twilight edge,

Their boughs entangling with the embattled sedge;
Thy brink with watery foliage quaintly fring'd,

Thy surface with reflected verdure ting'd;
Soothe me with many a pensive pleasure mild.
But while I muse, that here the Bard Divine,
Whose sacred dust yon high-arch'd aisles enclose,
Where the tall windows rise in stately rows,
Above th' embowering shade,

Here first, at Fancy's fairy-circled shrine,
Of daisies pied his infant offering made;
Here playful yet, in stripling years unripe,
Fram'd of thy reeds a shrill and artless pipe:
Sudden thy beauties, Avon, all are fled,
As at the waving of some magic wand;
An holy trance my charmed spirit wings,
And awful shapes of leaders and of kings,
People the busy mead,

Like spectres swarming to the wizard's hall;
And slowly pace, and point with trembling hand
The wounds ill-cover'd by the purple pall.

Before me Pity seems to stand,

A weeping mourner, smote with anguish sore

To see Misfortune rend in frantic mood

His robe, with regal woes embroider'd o'er.

Pale Terror leads the visionary band,

And sternly shakes his sceptre, dropping blood." ↑

The well-known lines of Gray are amongst his happiest efforts :

"Far from the sun and summer gale,

In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd,

To him the mighty mother did unveil

Her awful face: the dauntless child

Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smil'd.

This pencil take,' she said, whose colours clear

Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!

This can unlock the gates of joy;

Of horror that, and thrilling fears,

Or

ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." "+

These quotations sufficiently show that the presiding genius of the Avon is Shakspere. But even without this paramount association, the river, although little visited, abounds with picturesque scenery and interesting objects. A big, dull book has been written upon it, by one who could

In Remembrance of Master William Shakspeare. Ode.

+ Monody, written near Stratford-upon-Avon.

The Progress of Poesy.

neither put down with exactness what he saw, nor impart any life to his meagre descriptions. From the first section of his book, which tells us that "The river Avon derives its source from a spring called Avon Well in the village of Naseby," to the last, in which he informs us that "Avon's friendly streams with Severn join," the 'Picturesque Views' of Mr. Samuel Ireland appear to us the production of the most spiritless of delineators. We would not recommend the tourist to encumber himself with this heavy book. The associations of the Avon with Shakspere may be considered to begin in the neighbourhood of Kenilworth. The river is not navigable above Stratford, and therefore the traveller will find it no very easy matter to trace its course; but still a pedestrian can overcome many difficulties. The beautiful grounds of Guy's Cliff are shown to visitors. A little below a boat will convey the wayfarer through somewhat tame scenery to Warwick Bridge. The noble castle is an object never to be forgotten; and perhaps there is no pile of similar interest in England which in so high a degree unites the beautiful with the magnificent. The Avon flows for a considerable distance through the domain of the castle. Below, the left bank is bold and well-wooded, especially near Barford. The reader may now trace the river by the little map (p. 232). The course of the stream is generally through flat meadows from Barford to Hampton Lucy; but the high ground of Fulbrooke offers a great variety of picturesque scenery, and occasionally one or the other bank is lofty and precipitous, as at Hampton Wood. The reader is already familiar with the characteristics of the river from Hampton Lucy to Stratford. The most romantic spot is Hatton Rock; a bank of considerable height, where the current, narrow and rapid, washes the base of the cliff, which is luxuriantly wooded. The river view of Stratford as we approach the bridge is exceedingly picturesque. When we have passed the church and the mill we may follow the river, by the tow-path on the right bank, the whole way to Bidford. The views are not very picturesque till we have passed the confluence of the Stour. Near Ludington we meet at every turn with subjects for the sketch-book. Opposite Welford, on the pathway to Hilborough, the landscape is very lovely. A mill is always a picturesque object; and here is one that seems to have held its place for many a century. Of the Grange and of Bidford we have often spoken. Below the little

town the river becomes a much more important stream; and the left bank for several miles will appear bold and romantic even to those who are familiar with the Wye. This is especially the case under the Marl Cliff Hill. Here the Arrow contributes its rapid waters to swell the stream. We have now quitted Warwickshire. As we approach Evesham the town with its noble tower and ancient spires forms a most interesting termination to such a walk of three days as we have now briefly traced.

THE hospitality of our ancestors was founded upon their sympathies with each other's joys and sorrows. The festivals of the church, the celebrations of sheep-shearing and harvest-home, the Mayings, were occasions of general glad

ness.

But upon the marriage of a son or of a daughter, at the christening of a child, the humblest assembled their neighbours to partake of their particular rejoicing. So was it also with their sorrows. Death visited a family, and its neighbours came to mourn. To be absent from the house of mourning would have seemed as if there was not a fellowship in sorrow as well as in joy. Christian neighbours in those times looked upon each other as members of the same family. Their intimacy was much more constant and complete than in days that are thought more refined. Privacy was not looked upon as a desirable thing. The latch of every door was lifted without knocking, and the dance in