The old man makes no mention of Anne in his will, and Shakespeare himself in his never alludes to the Hathaways, so that to say the least of it a coolness had arisen and continued between the families. In the room above the parlour an old carved bedstead of the Elizabethan period is still shown, handed down as an heir-loom with the house, it is stated, and this may probably be the case. There is also an old chest, with some home-spun linen preserved in it, marked E. H.

Taking our course from the Hathaway cottages up the lane, the gurgling brook is seen hastening to hide itself among "vagabond flags," much as it was wont to do of yore, and beyond it are some old structures, thatched and timbered, that may have met Shakspeare's view when sauntering about he waited for Anne's dismissal from the milk-pail. One that now bears the name of "The Shakespeare Tavern," particularly attracts attention, and is a good specimen of the old picturesque timber-framed cottage. In its garden pansies still grow "for thought," if the wanderer likes to look in.

In crossing the fields by the footpath to the left a very remarkable and large WILLOW appears in a damp meadow not far from the National School Rooms. This tree, hitherto unnoticed, might deserve to be dedicated to Shakespeare, and we invite attention to it. It is so swollen above its base that a measure of 24 feet is necessary to encompass it, and it must be of considerable age. Unquestionably it is the only tree existing close to Stratford that can by possibility have existed when Shakespeare lived. All others have been remorselessly

felled. Even the "One Elm," the boundary of the Borough on the Birmingham road, and which had been in existence before the Bard's time, and is noticed in a perambulation made the 7th of April 1591, was compelled to bow to Vandal innovation only a few years since, and the act is excused because another elm has been planted in its place! Yes!-take my coat and give me a scarecrow's! In the absence, then, of any other tree about Stratford worth looking at, we may examine this, and if we cannot prove that it ever sheltered the love-lorn Willie and the buxom Anne, we can only say it seems old enough to have done so; and as there is an old spring or well in the field whose sides are built up with stones and evidently of some antiquity, the spot besides shadowed over with hawthorns, it is highly probable that this "hawthorn shade" and willowy glen might not have been unvisited by the loving pair.

While on the subject of rural haunts, we would suggest to the stranger a walk down the river from the old mill foot-bridge, whose stone foundation dates in 1599, to the retired hamlet of Luddington. In the spring-time or summer this is a delicious ramble, and occasional views present themselves well worthy of artistic skill. The lofty wood of the Weir Brake has a charming aspect, and lower down where the little river Stour augments the expanse of the Avon with its slow current, the sedgy islets stalking across the stream, the golden water lilies bathing in the water, the tall flowering rushes, yellow ragworts, and clustered purple spikes of the loosestrife, produce a combination of brilliant yet

in

harmonious colours. Mounting a rising hill that here overlooks the river, the junction of the streams forms a pretty pastoral scene, while beyond a richly cultivated tract where the wheat begins to brown upon the eye contrast with the emerald verdure of Avon's meadows, the Meon and Ilmington hills softly tinted in evening hues boldly rise upon the sky. There are several timber-framed houses with thatched roofs at Luddington, leading the imagination on to other days; and at the Weir further on, where the foaming yellow water boldly dashes in musical resonance into the deep woody glen below, the adjuncts of the scene with the little village and church of Weston in the distance, are such as to dwell upon the memory when it looks back in quietude to loved nooks of the past. Higher up, a rough lock formed of massive timber offers in conjunction with the placid water another scene which a Cuyp might delight to sketch and fill in. Beyond meadows, corn-fields, and various copsy masses of foliage, the spire of Stratford Church appears rising finely in the distance. Viewing without hurry these snatches of inland landscape, and marking their beauties in detail, and many exquisite little bits of willow, water, and old ragged trees present themselves along the course of the river, we understand how these homely yet interesting landscape scenes wound their way into Shakespeare's truly English heart, and so he was enabled to describe them, and blend them into "a thousand similes."

That Shakespeare had looked upon the landscape familiarized to his childhood with a keen observant eye

is abundantly manifest, and whatever country may be the scene of his play, his pictorial thoughts and rural companions are generally of true Warwickshire growth. Especially is this the case with regard to any plants he mentions, which are mostly vernal ones obvious to every rustic rambler. Thus, "daisies pied," "violets blue," "lady-smocks," and "cuckoo-buds," the latter the lesser celandine, that "paint the meadows with delight," are still beautiful in the vernal time as they ever were, and even "tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns are far more likely to enter the frail shins on Warwickshire heaths than in Sicily. So in the "Winter's Tale" Willie turns to his youthful recollections for the flowers that Proserpina let fall, which are daffodils, "violets dim," "pale primroses," and bold oxlips." Thus the spring flowers of England seem to have sweetened Shakespeare's memory, for at every opportunity they give a sweet odour to his thoughts. The grave of Imogen is strewed with the "pale primrose," the "azur'd harebell," and "leaf of eglantine," or sweet briar, all native plants;-so that in tracing the country around Stratford, the rural haunts of Shakespeare in early life, the pilgrim is imbibing the very images of Nature which more or less coloured the scenery of most of his plays.

If eloquence then has been exhausted at the tomb of Shakespeare, enjoyment may yet be elicited and inspiration obtained among the scenes on Avon's banks which his spirit loved to trace.

56 STRATFORD, AND THE HAUNTS OF SHAKESPEARE.

Though the river is rather tame near the town, yet at the Weir Brakes and Hatton Rock the banks rise with dignity, boldly prominent in their dense cloak of wood with an embroidery of flowers on their diverging margin. Towards Alveston and Charlecote, the Avon, in the heart of secluded scenery, has all the wildness of aspect it ever had-in some places half filled with tall bullrushes and whispering sedges, hemmed in by stragling bushes, and darkened by hoar impending willows looking into the unruffled stream. Here meditative thoughts rise spontaneously, remembrance is satisfied, and the fount of the bard's power is seen sparkling from Nature's source for

"Did he not moralize this spectacle?"