ing to show how deeply enthroned is the genius of Shakspeare in the hearts of his countrymen, the incident which has now occurred would of. itself be sufficient. He will pardon then, I trust, in consideration of the homage thus singularly and unaffectedly paid to his power over human thought and feeling, the violence which has so lately endangered his person and property; and he will permit me also to express, how highly I feel gratified in having been, through the mere recollection of his features, an humble instrument in bringing about the sudden revolution just witnessed in the dispositions and conduct of men, from their situation and habits not very prone to pay much deference to either moral or literary merit."

The result, indeed, was one which whilst it called forth the most pleasing and heart-felt emotions in the bosom of Shakspeare, could not but excite there, at the same time, from the novel and extraordinary circumstances with which it was connected, sensations of the deepest surprise; nor were the manners and appearance of the leader of these lawless men, or the style and tenor of his language, in the least

degree calculated to abate his astonishment. He was, in fact, in all respects fitted to impress upon the mind a vivid idea of what tradition had handed down of the wild but gallant and romantic character of the ancient English outlaw or banished man, and it appeared to Shakspeare as if he saw before him a faithful copy of his own Valentine or Orlando.

There was, moreover, something in the cast of his countenance, and in the contour of his figure, which seemed to strike the bard with the idea of having seen them before; but the former was so deeply bronzed by the efforts of art, and the latter in a garb so very dissimilar to the costumes of society, being a strange and fanciful admixture of what was at that time thought peculiar to the very contrasted characters of the forester and free-booter, that all chance of recognition was hopeless.

"My friend," replied Shakspeare, "for such, from the nature of your interference, I may truly term you, you are entitled to my best thanks, not only as the protector of my property and, perchance, of my life, but for the singularly liberal, and, to me, highly flattering expression

of feelings which has accompanied your good offices. Nor can I refuse," he continued, turning on the surrounding banditti a look of forgiving kindness and benignity, "my acknowledgments to men who, whatever I may think of the general character and tendency of their occupation, have done honour to themselves and human nature, by the prompt admission of an appeal which could only have its due weight in minds susceptible of just and generous emotion. Indeed I cannot choose but marvel, and you will excuse, I trust, the freedom of the observation, that you, my friend, who evidently possess the advantages both of taste and education, and your comrades too, who can, like yourself, thus enthusiastically show their esteem for dramatic talent, should adopt this very dangerous and predatory mode of life; it is one which, from the violence almost necessarily attending its career, would seem inconsistent with that love for the gentler arts to which I owe my present security. But, pardon me, situated as I now am, I can have no right to push the enquiry; let me hasten, therefore, to say, ere we part, for I must reach my destination, if possible, before

nightfall, that if in aught I can assist you, should you feel disposed to seek a reconcilement with the laws of your offended country, you may command my utmost services."

"In the name of myself and my companions," returned the youthful adventurer, scarcely repressing in his voice the agitation which struggled in his features, "I most heartily thank you; but our lot in this life is, I apprehend, finally determined, nor are we willing to become abject petitioners for the pardon of transgressions to which several of us have been driven by a stern and overwhelming necessity; — but you must allow me to escort you on your way, as far at least as shall be consistent with your safety; for some of my comrades are abroad, and though we are usually satisfied with the spoliation of deer-parks, and the adjacent forests of the peak, yet, should you chance to meet them, I cannot ensure you against a repetition of what you have already suffered in this secluded valley, through which, indeed, I suspect you have been led by unacquaintance with the track of the country, for this place has, of late,

been too notorious not to have the most circuitous route preferred to the risk of threading its terrific mazes.”·

This was a proposal too useful and acceptable to be rejected; and as soon, therefore, as Shakspeare had signified his assent and his sense of obligation for the offer, the marauders, at a signal from their leader, dispersed; not however without taking a cordial though a somewhat clamorously expressed leave of one who, at some period or other of their former lives, when the capital and not the country was their scene of action, had been the means of affording them of their best remembered and most rational

many delights.*

* Of the great popularity of Shakspeare's plays amongst all classes of the people, and of the great superiority which they possessed in the public mind over the best productions of his contemporaries and inmediate successors, nothing can afford us so decided a proof as the verses of Leon. Digges, prefixed to a spurious edition of Shakspeare's Poems in 1640. Speaking of the originality of the poet's dramas, he says,

But O what praise more powerful can we give

The dead, than that, by him, the king's-men live,

His players; which should they ("his dramas") but have shar'd

his fate,

How could the Globe have prosper'd?