"Tired nature's great restorer, balmy sleep," had laid so heavily upon the wanderer that it was somewhat late when he awoke, and the bustle in the inn-yard below proclaimed that the business of the day had commenced.

Returning from the window he sat himself down on the bed to consider his prospects. After awhile he took from an inside pocket of his doublet a small roll of paper. It was an unfinished poem, "the first heir of his invention," and which he had carefully preserved and brought with him, intending to finish and, if possible, get it into print at some future opportunity.

The composition seemed to please him, for his countenance brightened as he read it, and he quickly lost all thought of self in the thoughts conjured up. Taking out his tablets, for pen and ink were articles not so readily found at hand as in our own times, as he gazed upon the well-wooded hills in the distance "burnished with the morning sun," he added the following stanza to his poem--

"Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high.

And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun arises in his majesty; Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold."

Scarcely had he thus commenced when a slight tap at his door disturbed him, and his new friend the player entered.

"Ah! by St. Paul," said the player, "have we writers here? How, Sir traveller, inditest thou thus early? I aroused thee not--I called thee not--I disturbed thee not; for much toil maketh the limbs weary, and I would have thee, good rustic, freshened and refreshened. But lad, I find thee up and working with brain and pencil. Come--I have brought thee a chalice for thy morning draught. Indue thy habiliments--descend to the lower world--and I will take thee before Master Marlow, who will, peradventure, find thee apt, and capable of preferment."

Shakespeare thanked the player, whose bombast considerably amused him; and putting up his poem, accompanied him to the common apartment of the tavern, then filled with a motley a.s.semblage. After procuring something by way of a breakfast, which the remaining portion of the money given him the night before enabled him to do, he accompanied his new acquaintance over to the Globe.

Early as was the hour, the business of the morning had commenced, and many of the actors engaged in rehearsing a new play.

The scene altogether was a new and striking one, and instantly engaged his attention.

As his eye took the whole interior in its glance, a forcible impression was made upon his mind. The stage--the rude half-circle of seats and benches, seen thus in the shadowy light admitted from several small openings--the various picturesque figures sitting and lounging about, some of them being on the centre of the stage, and rehearsing their parts--the melody of the tragic rhythm--all impressed him. He even, at the moment, conceived a visionary project of one day making the means and appliances he beheld around subservient to his own mighty conceptions. In an instant, the want of something long sought seemed found; and then again, as he looked round, and his mind grasped the possibility of his project he said to himself--

"But, can this c.o.c.k-pit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O, the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt?"

Whether it could or not, he was not then permitted further to consider.

The possibility of such an event, time was to show; and in the meanwhile the player disturbing the current of his thoughts, tapped him on the shoulder, and invited him to follow to a small apartment, situated on one side of the building, and which const.i.tuted a sort of manager's room.

The proprietor of this apartment was at the moment engaged in the composition of a new piece; and as he wrote, he ever and anon rose from his seat, and with voice and gesture, recited a portion of his composition, though, perhaps, had he better known the man introduced into his presence, he would have been less verbose before him.

As it was, he continued to rehea.r.s.e in a ranting tone, sawing the air with his hand, and strutting up and down to give effect to the lines.

During a pause of consideration, he observed the player and his companion, "Ah!" he said, "what wants that youth?"

"Pay and employment, good master mine," said the player.

"Hath he wit?--can he speak?--are his legs strong?--arms pliant?"

"He is young, strong, and of good parts," said the player--"I can avouch it."

"Then will we find him in employment," said the manager; "he shall have charge of the foot-lights, and snuff the lamps." And so Shakespeare became attached to the theatre.

CHAPTER XLII.

MORE STRANGE THAN TRUE.

In a former chapter we have seen Walter Arderne, after many and various adventures by flood and field, returning to the home and haunts of his childhood. The good and gallant youth (although from station and prospects he might reasonably have hoped for ease and happiness in life) had hitherto seemed but a step-son of fortune after all. And now, "like a younker and a prodigal" lean, rent, and tattered, having endured shipwreck and been sold to slavery by the insolent foe, by a sudden freak of fortune was once more safe in Warwickshire and with his beloved uncle at Clopton. The meeting between Sir Hugh and his nephew was extremely affecting. They were now all in all to each other, for both had experienced losses which to both were irreparable. The grief, however, they experienced for past sorrows had now considerably abated, so that they could hold converse upon bygone events and even find benefit from such communion.

Still, when Walter looked around him in his old neighbourhood, like Sir Hugh when he had first returned, he felt at times a sense of desolation which was almost insupportable. The loss of his old and tried friend, the eccentric Martin, was also a heavy blow to him; and in addition to this the absence and delinquency of the singular friend, whose conversation had made so great an impression upon them all during their short acquaintance, especially grieved him. The breath of slander, when he came to inquire into the facts leading to young Shakespeare's departure, had rendered that youth's conduct so reckless and even criminal that Walter was us much surprised as grieved at all he heard.

"It was a good thing," Mr. Doubletongue said, "that the _Ne'er-do-well_ had made off with himself, or the Lord knew what he would be after next.

Stealing of deer by night, and catching rabbits by day, would perhaps have been the least part of the story. Nay," he continued, "the lad (albeit he had a most comely female to wife) had as sharp an eye and as devilish a tongue for the la.s.ses in Stratford as--"

When the lawyer accordingly entered, he made so many contortions of body, and bent and bowed so often and so humbly to the three gentlemen, never even venturing to lift his eyes from the floor, that the Knight of Clopton desired him to desist from his prostrations, and deliver himself.

Upon this Master Grasp muttered some words about his sorrow for past pa.s.sages, and his desire to oblige the good Sir Hugh, and ended by depositing on the table the eternal blue bag he always carried; saying, as he did so, that he had no particular business at that moment with Sir Hugh Clapton at all.

"Then, if such is the case," said Sir Hugh, "as I especially hate law and all appertaining, Master Grasp, as speedily an convenient, remove yourself from our premises."

"Nay," said Grasp, "good Sir Hugh, I pray you bear with me, since I come to bring joyful tidings to one _near_ and _dear_ to you--even your worshipful nephew there, Master Walter Arderne. And in order to convince you thereof, with permission, I will enter upon the matter at once." As he said this, Grasp emptied the contents of his bag upon the table, and forthwith began to fumble amongst a whole heap of parchments, strewing them about in most admired disorder.

"Gad-be-here!" exclaimed the old knight, as he looked with astonishment upon the vast quant.i.ty of doc.u.ments and deeds. "Here be matter enough to undo half the families in Warwickshire. 'Fore Heaven, I ne'er looked upon such a ma.s.s of parchments before. Lord help thee, Walter, and keep pen and ink out of thy hands, for an thou settest thy name to these deeds, thou'lt never be thine own man again. I pr'ythee," he continued to the lawyer, "leave sorting that ma.s.s, and explain thy business."

Grasp, however, had now made good his footing, and produced his impression. And, as he pointed with fore-finger from paper to paper, he began to recapitulate the various tracts of land, domains, and estates and all and sundry thereunto belonging, with messuages, tenements, and matters appertaining, so rapidly that Sir Hugh stood aghast, with eyes starting and face of wonder, as he listened.

At length, the knight put a stop to it all with a voice of thunder, and insisted upon a more clear demonstration of the matter in hand. "What, in the fiend's name," he said, "hath my nephew to do with your heirs male, your tenures, domains, your castles, windmills, your fee-simples, your tails and entails, your arable lands, wastes, commons, fishponds, and woodlands, and all the litany of impertinence you have been jittering for the last half hour?"

"In fact and in right," said Grasp, "_de facto_ and _de jure_, all and every thing hath your nephew to do herewith."

"How so?" said Arderne. "I know nought about the lands you have named, unless it be that here, in Warwickshire, I have heard such places exist."

"Nevertheless, as sure as they exist, they to all appearance are at this moment your own, good Master Arderne," said Grasp.

"Mine?" said Arderne. "The man is mad. I pray you explain."

"I will so," said the lawyer. "May I be permitted to sit in this presence."

"Take a chair," said Sir Hugh. And the lawyer accordingly seated himself, wiped his gla.s.ses, and commenced again.

"You doubtless are aware that, by the father's side, you can claim kindred with the n.o.ble house of Plantagenet," he said.

"It's a far-away relationship then," said Arderne. "Nevertheless I believe such is the case; but what of that?"

"You know it well enough, good Master Arderne," said Grasp; "for it is a thing to thank G.o.d and to be proud of; and you also know that the Lady Clara de Mowbray was also akin to you. As thus:--Geoffrey Plantagenet wedded with----."

"Well, a truce with all matter of that sort," interrupted Arderne. "I know my lineage well as thou canst tell it me, Master Grasp. But what of Clara de Mowbray? Granting I am her distant kinsman, and distant indeed must the relationship be----."

"Nevertheless it is true, as I am in a condition to prove," said Grasp.

"Nay, not only are you her kinsman, but you are her sole remaining kinsman, and to obviate all controversy about succession, she hath const.i.tuted and appointed you her sole heir."

"You do, indeed, astonish me," said Arderne; "is then the beautiful Clara de Mowbray dead?"

"'Tis so rumoured, set down, and given out," said Grasp.

"She is said to have gone to foreign parts," said Sir Hugh; "died she there!"

"She did," said Grasp.