"And now, my admirable friend," said their chief, mounting a horse which he had ordered

And then, addressing the Dramatists of the day, he tells them to apply to the Bull, the Cockpit, and the Fortune companies, and not to approach Blackfriars :

I do not wonder when you offer at
Blackfriars, that you suffer: 'tis the fate

Of richer veins; prime judgments, that have far'd
The worse, with this deceased man compar'd.
So have I seen when Casar would appear,
And on the stage at half-sword parley were
Brutus and Cassius, O how the audience

Were ravish'd! with what wonder they went thence!
When, some new day, they would not brook a line
Of tedious, though well-labour'd Catiline;

Sejanus too, was irksome; they priz'd more
"Honest" Iago, or the jealous Moor.
And though the Fox and subtil Alchymist,
Long intermitted, could not quite be mist,

Though these have shamed all the ancients, and might raise
Their author's merit with a crown of bays,

Yet these sometimes, even at a friend's desire,
Acted, have scarce defray'd the sea-coal fire,
And door-keepers: when, let but Falstaff come,
Hal, Poins, the rest, you scarce shall have a room,
All is so pester'd: Let but Beatrice

And Benedick be seen, lo! in a trice

The cock-pit, galleries, boxes, all are full.—

Brief, there is nothing in his wit-fraught book,

Whose sound we would not hear, on whose worth look:
Like old-coined gold, whose lines, in every page,

Shall pass true current to succeeding age.

one of the retreating party instantly to send him, "whither are you bound? for unless you can finish your expedition in three or four hours, and the sun, you see, is sinking fast towards the horizon, you had better pass the night with us, though we can give you not a more sumptuous. lodging than the shelter of a mountain cave."

"Were I not in my own estimation," returned the bard, "within a few miles of the end of my journey, I would cheerfully follow your advice; but, doubtless, you can tell me with perfect accuracy, from your intimate knowledge of the neighbourhood, how far it is to M-- -ll Dale on the banks of the Wye, for thither I am going."

66

“Well, indeed," answered the youth, starting, and scarcely repressing a deep sigh, am I acquainted with that lovely valley; and I conclude, of course, that the Hall, the ancient mansion of the Montchenseys, which is little more than an hour's brisk riding from the spot we stand upon, is the friendly roof to which you are hastening."

"It is even so," replied Shakspeare, “and I should imagine from your manner and mode

of speaking, that you have some knowledge of its inhabitants."

“To be at all familiar with this part of Derbyshire, and not to know the Montchenseys," said his guide, "is impossible." "And in

what estimation," asked the poet, not a little surprised at the marked agitation of his companion, “are they held in the neighbourhood, for I confess myself to be little more in regard to them than the acquaintance of a day?"

"The family of Eustace Montchensey," returned the youth, "has been settled at Wyeburne Hall for many centuries, and whatever may be thought of its present lord, whose conduct is mysterious, and whose temper is somewhat gloomy and misanthropic, the ladies of his household, his amiable but unhappy wife, and his daughter, the beautiful Helen, are entitled to the highest esteem, and the former, indeed, to no small share of commiseration."

As he uttered these words, an expression of indefinable emotion, in which pity, awe, and anger, seemed to blend or chase each other with the rapidity of lightning, passed over his features; but he instantly afterwards pulled his

bonnet over his brow, so as to shade, in a great measure, the upper part of his countenance. In this manner they passed on for some time in silence and abstraction, Shakspeare musing on the strong interest which his fellow-traveller appeared to take in what concerned the Montchenseys, and recollecting also with no slight degree of astonishment, that from the lips of neither husband nor daughter, had a syllable escaped, during their residence at Stratford, which could lead to the supposition that such a being existed as the wife of the one, and the mother of the other.

At length, just as the sun was descending in all his glory, they reached the edge of a steep declivity, from which they beheld, cast as it were suddenly at their feet, one of the most delicious valleys that eye had ever seen or fancy ever dreamt of. It seemed, indeed, as if nature had intended it for a perfect contrast to the wild and savage scenery they had lately left, so peaceful and so lovely were its features, yet so diversified and picturesque was its every aspect. "This," said the freebooter to his companion, with an emotion he was unable to control,

"this is M- -11 Dale; earth contains not a gem of greater beauty, a paradise of purer sweets, and yet to me it has been a source of - -." Here he paused, whilst Shakspeare, who had stood for some moments on the brow of the glen, absorbed in admiration and delight, now turned an enquiring eye on the countenance of his companion, and was surprised to find it marked with traits of anguish and remorse. "Yes," continued the youth, pointing to the westering orb, whose disk, encurtained by the richest tints of heaven, glowed the very image of calm beauty and repose," I had hoped, like yonder sun, to have sank to rest with nature smiling round me, but my course is now in the track of the storm, and I shall set in gloom and desolation !"

There was something in the tone and imagery of this exclamation, and much likewise in the manner by which it was accompanied, that struck both upon the heart and the imagination of Shakspeare, and he could not help entertaining for the youth, what he had not experienced before, a feeling of sorrow and compassion. "Not so, my young friend," he exclaimed, looking upon him at the same time with an expression