recesses into which, from the devious direction of the valley, the eye could not penetrate, as by the perpetual shutting-in, and folding, as it were, into each other, of the various precipices, which from the like cause were every where presented to the view; whilst the latter, pouring along its rugged bed, either lashed into fury by obstructing rocks or narrowing straits, or foaming with continual murmur over shelves stretching across its channel, stamped on all around it a character of turbulent yet diversified sublimity.

It was whilst absorbed in the contemplation of this romantic scenery, and whilst visions not less varied and sublime than those which physical nature now offered to his view, were kindling in the mind of Shakspeare, that he was suddenly startled from his reverie by the explosion of a musket or carabine, which echoed, as it immediately was, from numerous faces of the rocks, seemed to fill the valley with dissonance and confusion. Scarcely, indeed, had he time to turn his attention to the spot whence the first report had seemed to issue, when a second and a third were heard in different directions, and presently there appeared to start

from the cliffs and rocks, as if by the creative call of some magician, the forms of armed men, who, after a moment's pause, and whilst shouting to each other in tones of exultation, were seen descending, or rather rushing on all sides towards the travellers, with a rapidity which set at nought the most fearful inequalities of ground.

Against such an attack it was instantly evident all resistance must be vain, and Shakspeare, therefore, whose presence of mind seldom if ever forsook him, prepared to receive the banditti with as much seeming composure and nonchalance as the suddenness and strangeness of the irruption could possibly allow him to collect. Unfortunately, however, his servant, not possessing any similar strength of mind, attempted to escape by flight, and it was not before the discharge of a carabine, whose contents passed close by his person, had brought him to his recollection, that he was again found at his master's side.

The foremost of the banditti had, in the meantime, nearly reached the spot where Shakspeare stood, calling out as they approached him, that

if he offered to move, they would instantly fire, a threat which he answered by composedly sitting down upon the fragment of a rock, at whose base the torrent unceasingly dashed, as it hurried onward with an arrow's speed to shoot from a ledge of limestone into a deep recess or caldron boiling in the depths below.

To the demand which immediately followed for their baggage, their money, and their horses, the astonished poet had scarcely framed a reply, when, at the sound of a bugle-horn, succeeded by a voice of authority and sway, the robbers, who had already begun to rifle their victims, fell back, and a young man, whose attitude and manner were those of command, and whose garb and figure were alike bold and imposing, rushed into the midst of them, denouncing, as he came forward, vengeance against him who had dared, without his orders, to fire upon the strangers. No sooner, however, had he fixed his eyes upon the bard, who was calmly expostulating with his plunderers, than he seemed for a moment rooted to the spot; then, suddenly recollecting himself, he called out to his followers in a tone of mingled astonishment and in

dignation, "Know ye, my comrades, whom ye are thus insolently rifling? By Heaven!" he continued, as they stood gazing on him with surprise and disappointment in their countenances, "had any one of ye injured but a hair of yonder head," pointing to the person of the poet, "no power on earth should have redeemed him from the fury of my arm; he should have answered the violation by the instant forfeiture of his life! Nay, scowl not on me, ye dastards," he pursued, "but hearken whilst I tell you, that in him whom ye have but just now threatened with violence, you behold one to whose words ye have often listened with delight, to whose influence over the heart, hardened though ye be, ye have often paid the tribute of relenting nature ! — our great and glorious Shakspeare!"

Never were the power and popularity of dramatic poetry more strikingly evinced than on this singular occasion; for, as if electrified by the name, these sons of rapine, men of desperate character and broken fortune, though not devoid of education, shrunk momentarily back repentant and horror-struck; and then, in the next instant, and as if by one simultaneous movement,

they sprung forward to the feet of the poet, depositing there, with every proof of reverence and regret, the property they had already seized, whilst from those who had borne no part in the spoliation, but who had followed the footsteps of their leader, rose shouts of acclamation and applause.

It was, indeed, a moment of most profound and gratifying interest, and which was enjoyed in an almost equal degree by the freebooter and the bard; for whilst the latter felt a deep and hitherto unexperienced conviction of the extent and influence of his fame, the former no less exulted in the opportunity which had so unexpectedly been afforded him for the safety and protection of unrivalled talent. As soon, therefore, as the tumult had in some measure subsided, " My friends," exclaimed this predatory chief, turning to those who had been foremost in the assault, 66 ye have nobly redeemed, both in mine, and, I should think, your own opinion, the error which has been committed." Then vailing his bonnet, and advancing toward the bard, "If any thing," he said, addressing him with every mark of humility and admiration, "were want