earth to yield double crops, and places little reliance upon the unassisted operations of nature. The seed-time and the harvest in the corn-fields, the gathering-in of the thin grass on the uplands, and of the ranker produce of the flooded meadows, the folding of the flocks on the hills, the sheep-shearing, would seem to him like the humble and patient waiting of man upon a bounteous Providence. There would be no systematic rotation of crops to make him marvel at the skill of the cultivator. Implements most skilfully adapted for the saving of animal labour would be unknown to him. The rude plough of his Saxon ancestors would be dragged along by a powerful team of sturdy oxen; the sound of the flail alone would be heard in the barn. Around him would, however, be the glad indications of plenty. The farmer would have abundant stacks, and beeves, and kine, though the supply would fail in precarious seasons, when price did not regulate consumption; he would brew his beer and bake his ryebread; his swine would be fattening on the beech-mast and the acorns of the free wood his skeps of bees would be numerous in his garden; the colewort would sprout from spring to winter for his homely meal, and in the fruitful season the strawberry wouli present its much coveted luxury. The old orchard would be rich with the choicest apples, grafts from the curious monastic varieties; the rarer fruits from southern climates would be almost wholly unknown. There would be no niggard economy defeating itself; the stock, such as it was. would be of the best, although no Bakewell had arisen to preside over its improvement : : "Let carren and barren be shifted away, William Shakspere would go out with his father on a Michaelmas morning, and the fields would be busy with the sowing of rye and white wheat and barley. The apples and the walnuts would be then gathered; honey and wax taken from the hives; timber would be felled, sawn, and stacked for seasoning. In the solitary fields, then, would stand the birdkeeper with his bow. As winter approached would come what Tusser calls "the slaughtertime," the killing of sheep and bullocks for home consumption; the thresher would be busy now and then for the farmer's family, but the wheat for the baker would lie in sheaf. No hurrying then to market for fear of a fall in price; there is abundance around, and the time of stint is far off. The simple routine was this: "In spring-time we rear, we do sow, and we plant; In harvest we carry in corn, and the fruit, The joyous hospitality of Christmas had little fears that the stock would be prematurely spent; and whilst the mighty wood-fire blazed in the hall to the mirth of song and carol, neighbours went from house to house to partake of the abuni. ance, and the poor were fed at the same board with the opulent. As the frost teaks, the labourer is again in the fields; hedging and ditching are somewhat understood, but the whole system of drainage is very rude. Wth such agricul ture man seems to have his winter sleep as well as the earth. But nature is again alive; spring corn is to be sown; the ewes and lambs are to be carefully t nded; the sheep, now again in the fields, are to be watched, for there are hungry" mastiffs and mongrels " about; the crow and pie are to be destroyed in their nests ere they are yet feathered; trees are to be barked before timber is fallen. Then comes the active business of the dairy, and, what to us would be a strange sight, the lambs have been taken from their mothers, and the ewes are milked in the folds. May demands the labour of the weed-hook; no horsehoeing in those simple days. There are the flax and hemp too to be sown to supply the ceaseless labour of the spinner's wheel; bees are to be swarmed; and herbs are to be stored for the housewife's still. June brings its sheep-washing and shearing; with its hay...aking, where the farmer is captain in the field, presiding over the bottles and the wallets from the hour when the dew is dry to set of sun. Bustle is there now to get "grist to the mill," for the streams are drying, and if the meal be wanting how shall the household be fed? The harvesttime comes; the reapers cry "largess" for their gloves; the tithe is set out for Sir Parson; and then, after the poor have gleaned, and the cattle have been turned in "to mouth up" what is left, " "In harvest-time, harvest-folk, servants and all, Such was the ancient farmer's year, which Tusser has described with wonder. ful spirit even to the minutest detail; and such were the operations of husbandry that the boy Shakspere would have beheld with interest amidst his native corn-fields and pastures. When the boy became deep-thoughted he would perceive that many things were ill understood, and most operations indifferently carried through. He would hear of dearth and sickness, and he would seek to know the causes. But that time was not as yet. The poet who has delineated human life and character under every variety of passion and humour must have had some early experience of mankind. The loftiest imagination must work upon the humblest materials. In his father's home, amongst his father's neighbours, he would observe those striking differences in the tempers and habits of mankind which are obvious even to a child. Cupidity would be contrasted with generosity, parsimony with extravagance. He would hear of injustice and of ingratitude, of uprightness and of fidelity. Curiosity would lead him to the bailiff's court; and there he would learn of bitter quarrels and obstinate enmities, of friends parted on a dissension of a doit," of foes who "interjoin their issues" to worry some wretched offender. Small ambition and empty pride would grow bloated upon the pettiest distincand the insolence of office" would thrust humility off the causeway tions, " There would be loud talk of loyalty and religion, while the peaceful and the pious would be suspected; and the sycophant who wore the great man's livery would strive to crush the independent in spirit. Much of this the observing boy would see, but much also would be concealed in the general hollowness that belongs to a period of inquietude and change. The time would come when he would penetrate into the depths of these things; but meanwhile what was upon the surface would be food for thought. At the weekly Market there would be the familiar congregation of buyers and sellers. The housewife from her little farm would ride in gallantly between her panniers laden with butter, eggs, chickens, and capons. The farmer would stand by his pitched corn, and, as Harrison complains, if the poor man handled the sample with the intent to purchase his humble bushel, the man of many sacks would declare that it was sold. The engrosser, according to the same authority, would be there with his understanding nod, successfully evading every statute that could be made against forestalling, because no statutes could prevail against the power of the best price. There, before shops were many and their stocks extensive, would come the dealers from Birmingham and Coventry, with wares for use and wares for show,-horse-gear and women-gear, Sheffield whittles, and rings with posies. At the joyous Fair-season it would seem that the wealth of a world was emptied into Stratford; not only the substantial things, the wine, the wax, the wheat, the wool, the malt, the cheese, the clothes, the napery, such as even great lords sent their stewards to the Fairs to buy,* but every possible variety of such trumpery as fill the pedler's pack,-ribbons, inkles, caddises, coifs, stomachers, pomanders, brooches, tapes, shoe-ties. Great dealings were there on these occasions in beeves and horses, tedious chafferings, stout affirmations, saints profanely invoked to ratify a bargain. A mighty man rides into the Fair who scatters consternation around. It is the Queen's Purveyor. The best horses are taken up for her Majesty's use, at her Majesty's price; and they probably find their way to the Earl of Leicester's or the Earl of Warwick's stables at a considerable profit to Master Purveyor. The country buyers and sellers look blank; but there is no remedy. There is solace, however, if there is not redress. The ivy-bush is at many a door, and the sounds of merriment are within, as the ale and the sack are quaffed to friendly greetings. In the streets there are morris-dancers, the juggler with his ape, and the minstrel with his ballads. We can imagine the foremost in a group of boys listening to the "small popular musics sung by these cantabanqui upon benches and barrels' heads," or more earnestly to some one of the "blind harpers, or such-like tavern minstrels, that give a fit of mirth for a groat; their matters being for the most part stories of old time, as 'The Tale of Sir Topas,'' Bevis of Southampton,' 'Guy of War. wick,' 'Adam Bell and Clymme of the Clough,' and such other old romances or historical rhymes, made purposely for the recreation of the common people.'t A bold fellow, who is full of queer stories and cant phrases, strikes a few notes upon his gittern, and the lads and lasses are around him ready to dance their • See the Northumberland Household Book. + Puttenham's 'Art of Poetry,' 1589. country measures. He is thus described in the year 1564, in a tract by William Bulleyn: "Sir, there is one lately come into this hall, in a green Kendal coat, with yellow hose, a beard of the same colour, only upon the upper lip; a russet hat, with a great plume of strange feathers, and a brave scarf about his neck, in cut buskins. He is playing at the trey-trip with our host's son: he playeth trick upon the gittern, and dances Trenchmore' and 'Heie de Gie,' and telleth news from Terra Florida." Upon this strange sort of indigenous troubadour did the schoolboy gaze, for he would seem to belong to a more knowing race than dwelt on Avon's side. His news from Terra Florida" tells us of an age of newstongues, before newspapers were. Doubtless such as he had many a story of home wonders; he had seen London perhaps; he could tell of Queens and Parliaments; might have beheld a noble beheaded, or a heretic burnt; he could speak, we may fancy, of the wonders of the sea; of ships laden with rich merchandize, unloading in havens far from this inland region; of other ships wrecked on inhospitable coasts, and poor men made rich by the ocean's spoils. Food for thought was there in all these things, seeds of poetry scattered care. lessly, but not wastefully, in the rich imaginative soi The Fair is over; the booths are taken down; the woollen statute-caps, which te commonest people refuse, to wear because there is a penalty for not wearing them, are packed up again; the prohibited felt hats are all sold; the millinery has found a ready market amongst the sturdy yeomen, who are careful to propitiate their home-staying wives after the fashion of the Wife of Bath's husbands : - "I governed hem so well after my lawe, That eche of hem full blissful was, and fawe To bringen me gay thinges fro the feyre: The juggler has packed up his cup and balls; the last cudgel-play has been fought out : "Near the dying of the day But the anger ends all here, Drench'd in ale, or drown'd in beer." Morning comes, and Stratford hears only the quiet steps of its native population. But upon the bench, under the walnut-tree that spreads its broad arms to shadow a little inn, sits an old man, pensive, solitary; he was not noted in the crowd of yesterday,-louder voices and bolder faces carried the rewards which he had once earned. The old man is poor; vet is his gown of Kendal green not tattered though somewhat tarnished The bar laid by his side upon the bench tells his profession. There was a time when he was welcomed at every hall, and he might fitly wear starched ruffs, and a chain of pewter as bright as silver, and have the wrest of his harp jauntily suspended by a green. lace. Those times are past. He scarcely now dares to enter worshipful men's houses; and at the Fairs a short song of love or good fellowship, or a dance to the gittern, are preferred to his tedious legends. He may now say with that luckless minstrel Richard Sheale (who, if his own chants are deplorable enough, has the merit of having assisted in the preservation of 'Chevy Chase'), 44 My audacity is gone, and all my merry talk; There is some here have seen me as merry as a hawk; There are two or three boys with satchel in hand gazing on that old minstrel ; one of them bestows on him a penny, and goes his way. School-time is over, and as the boy returns the old man is still sunning himself on the ale-bench. He speaks cheerfully to the boy, and asks him his name. William Shakspere." The old man's eye brightens. "A right good name," he exclaims "a name for a soldier:" and then, with a clear but somewhat tremulous voice, he sings • Herrick "Off all that se a Skottishe knight, Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry, He sawe the Duglas to the death was dyght; He spendyd a spear a trusti tre : + See Laneham's description of the Minstrel at Kenilworth |