ledge of these he should eventually obtain a clue to the acquisition of his birth and origin; information which, while it seemed necessary as a precursory step to the happiness of the young people, might possibly throw some light upon, or at least contribute to disperse the melancholy which preyed upon the spirits of his friendly host. The only channel, however, through which at present he could hope for any success, seemed to lie in the person of poor Morley, who, from what had occurred that morning, must, there was every reason to believe, have made an appointment with Hubert Gray. From him, therefore, when they next met, he tried, by every sifting means, to procure the information he was in search of; but, though he soon discovered that he had really been with this young man at the time Montchensey had suspected, yet, whether from sheer ignorance, or, what is more likely, from mere cunning, on the part of Morley, he could obtain nothing further than that he, Hubert, had asked for Master Shakspeare, saying that he knew him well, and had something of importance to communicate to him. This was, however, a piece of intelligence

which, if not immediately satisfactory as to the main object he had in pursuit, might ultimately tend to forward his views, though he could not help feeling surprised at the claim on his acquaintance which the youth had made, unconscious as he was of ever having known such a being as Hubert Gray had been described to him.

It was not, indeed, until near a fortnight after this conversation with Morley, during which period he had repeatedly, though in vain, visited the cottage of Simon Fraser, for the purpose of seeking information, that any thing occurred which could, in the slightest degree, gratify his wishes on the subject, when, one evening, as he was strolling on the banks of the Wye, and, tempted by the more than usual splendour of a rich and glowing heaven, had prolonged his walk beyond its usual limits, he was suddenly thrown by the abrupt winding of the stream, on a scene of matchless beauty and seclusion. The Wye here descending by a successive series of falls, into the bosom of a deep glen, flowed, as. it reached the bottom, through banks which were on each side skirted with the most delicious

verdure, and spread out into a very irregular, though somewhat circular, little valley. It was a spot, indeed, where Nature seemed to have accumulated, in a small compass, many of her most attractive features; for on the left, looking down the current of the river, there arose a screen of the richest wood, and which, springing from the shelves of a high and precipitous cliff, seemed to tower into the clouds; whilst opposite, on the right, and at the foot of a fantastic pile of rocks, beautifully clothed with shrubs and flowers, appeared the mouth of a cavern or grotto, from which the greensward gently sloped for some hundred feet, to where an aged oak, standing solitary near the bank of the Wye, threw its gigantic arms almost athwart its stream.

Absorbed in the musings which this scene of sequestered solitude was calculated to inspire, it was some time before Shakspeare perceived that it had, at least, one human tenant. All seemed loneliness and silence, save when the gentle murmurings of the water-falls, or the gale of evening, as it whispered through the foliage, just broke upon the ear. If, thought the bard,

the spirit of peace were ever dependent on the beautiful repose of nature, this might be the blessed spot; a reflection which had scarcely struck his mind, when the sun, darting from beneath the illumined edge of a cloud, flung a golden light along the valley, and gleaming on the dark branches of the oak we have described, he could discern, as they caught the passing splendour of the beam, the figure of a man resting beneath their shade.

This was a discovery which, circumstanced as he then was, immediately interested the feelings of Shakspeare, and descending, therefore, a rude path which lay by the side of the Wye, and taking, as he reached the bottom of the falls, a somewhat circuitous course, he approached, without being seen, the object of his curiosity. It was, indeed, with no slight sensations of anxiety and hope that, perceiving, as he drew near, the form to be that of a young person, he flattered himself this might be the very identical being he was in search of, the unfortunate and self-banished Hubert Gray; an expectation which seemed the more probable, as there appeared to be something in the garb

and figure of the stranger beyond the common level. He was reclining on the turf against one of the massive roots of the oak which bulged considerably above the surface of the ground, and gazing, with an expression of awful anguish in his countenance, on the glories of the sinking day. “How beautiful, how majestic,” he exclaimed aloud, "is yonder setting sun! It is thus the good and great descend into the grave, and hallowed is their bed of rest."

“ It is, indeed, a vision of surpassing glory, my young friend, a noble lesson for the heart of man!” almost unconsciously replied the poet to the touching soliloquy of the stranger.

The youth started as he spoke, and springing on his feet, the word " Shakspeare," involuntarily escaped his lips." It is even so, young man,” returned the poet, steadfastly regarding him as the sun-beams lighted up his expressive features, “and, if I do not err, I may claim some knowledge of you too, as the minstrel whom I saw last Midsummer Eve beneath my roof at Stratford !" “The same, the same,” replied the youth, whilst the hectic of a moment seemed to flush his cheeks; " and in that