And Shakespeare had oft-times felt this anxiety during the time his self-exile lasted. In his own mind he had resolved that, until he had "name and fame," he had "nothing at Stratford." Those dearly loved friends should not again look upon the unthrift younker; and unless the man redeemed the courses wild of the youth, he would no more return.

How far he had already succeeded our readers have seen; and even the little world of Stratford began to feel pride in him they had before so lightly regarded.

Master William Shakespeare, it was affirmed amongst the wise-acres of the Falcon Inn, had indited two several poems, some said three, of such exceeding merit, that they had afforded exceeding delight to the grandees and gallants of Elizabeth's court. Sonnets, too, innumerable, had fallen amongst the fair dames of the palace, like the perfumed flowers blown by the sweet south.

Nay, William Shakespeare was said to be a favourite with the Queen herself. Two plays he had also produced--plays of most exquisite fancy.

The Adonis of the Court,--the "wealthy-curled darling of the land," the favourite Ess.e.x, was his personal friend. My Lord Southampton his patron. And more than this, than these, than all, William Shakespeare had made money, thriven, purchased property, become a proprietor of one of the theatres in London.

"'Fore Heaven, I wonder what made him ever go away from us?' said Master Mumble, the head-bailiff.

"I always said there was something in him," said Master Lamb.

"He was ever a clever dog though a mischievous one," said Cramboy.

"Dost think he will come back amongst us?" inquired Teazle. "Methinks I long to look upon one who hath written three poems, a whole litany of sonnets, and two masques or mysteries."

"An he do come amongst us again," said the head-bailiff, "I, for one, vote we make him master of the free school."

"Nay," said Cramboy, "I know not how far to agree with you there, before we go to such lengths, let us peruse his works; there is some difference, my masters all, between teaching one's boys their _quis_, their _quaes_, and their _quods_, and writing jingling rhymes for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the Londoners and the Court."

"Well," said the mayor, "we might make him parish-clerk. Something we ought to offer him, methinks, an he comes back amongst us. Body o' me, hath he not written two poems and a play? There be those amongst us who cannot even write their own names, much more a poem such as 'tis said this William Shakespeare hath produced."

"Hath any one seen these poems you speak of?" inquired Master Scourge.

"Truly, I believe mine host hath a copy of one brought from London by a gentleman of the Court, and left behind him. I saw it myself not a week ago and looked at the t.i.tle-page, 'tis called Tartquin and Lucrece, a very clever book, if I may judge from the look of the binding."

"We will see that poem," said the bailiff; and the host, being accordingly summoned, produced a small volume, which the head-bailiff with infinite gravity, after laying aside his pipe and adjusting his spectacles, proceeded to read. Scarcely, however, had he got through one verse ere he paused and looked over his gla.s.ses at the grave auditors who sat in judgment upon the production, whilst they themselves puffed out such clouds of smoke, that it appeared they were resolved the bailiff should scarce observe the impression produced.

"You do not speak, my masters," said the head-bailiff, "have you heard?"

"Perfectly," returned Master Cramboy.

"And do you approve?" inquired the head-bailiff.

"Ahem," said the mercer, "'Speak that I may know thee,' saith the proverb; proceed;" and the bailiff read another verse.

"Fie! fie!" said Master Teazle, "what stuff is here? My service to you, my masters all, and a merry Christmas. How say you now to making Master William Shakespeare master of the free school,--eh?"

"Shall I proceed any further?" inquired the head-bailiff.

"Not a line," said Cramboy. "I feel quite scandalized. What a depraved taste the Court must have! Allow me, however to look at the binding of this volume," and Cramboy quietly noted down where the book was to be bought in order that he might procure and read it as soon as he could, the rest of the company quietly following his example.

"Well," said John Peto, the tanner, "after all what is fame? Here hath our fellow-townsman gained much celebrity by such matter as we have heard. Trash, my masters; lies, conjured up by the fumes of sack and Canary. Marry, the lad hath a quick wit, I dare be sworn, but how he hath gotten himself into the good graces of the powerful by such matter I marvel."

"I remember me," said Master Richard Coomb, (who was known amongst his co-mates by the sobriquet of Thin Beard, from the circ.u.mstance of his wearing a starved cane-coloured beard), "I remember me that our townsman, John Shakespeare, father of this William, had from his youth upwards, a quick and shrewd wit. Nay, by 'ur Lady, he must be about my own age; by the same token I played oft-times with him when he was a boy and living with his father at Snitterfield."

"Aye," said Mumble, "he came to Stratford from Snitterfield. He held lands there when he was better off. Did'st know Richard Shakespeare, grandfather to this William? He was well to do, and had lands and beeves at Snitterfield."

"I did know him," returned Coomb; "that is, I do remember me of him. By 'ur Lady, a proper man of his hands as ever you would wish to look on,--aye, and a pleasant man to speak with too."

"Did not your brother, John Coomb, accommodate Master John Shakespeare, at his need, with moneys, not long back?" inquired Cramboy.

"In sooth did he," returned Thin Beard, "more than once, I can tell thee."

"And did I not hear that John Coomb pressed him hard for repayment, and would have clapped him up in jail but for the debt being defrayed by this poet of our's,--this William his son,--so soon as he became aware of it?"

"Nay, 'tis true enough," said Thin Beard; "I may not deny that my brother doth press hard for moneys due."

"Go to," said Mumble; "we all know John Coomb and his usances well enough without your confession. 'Tis creditable to Master hath been given to courses wild. I like him better for his befriending his father than for his poetry."

"Come," said the head bailiff, laying down his pipe, and rising from his chair, "Let us drink the health of our good townsman, since he hath so far done honour to the place of his birth. Who knows, he may do even better yet! We have not altogether approved of the production here before us, peradventure his songs and sonnets are in better taste than his lampoons. Fill, my masters, to the brim. Since the Queen delights to honour Master Shakespeare, here's his health, and may he soon return amongst us!"

And if such was the feeling entertained towards the poet by the more mechanical portion of the community of Stratford, those of higher degree felt a proportionable share of respect, since they could better appreciate his merits.

And now, having once more returned to the spot from whence we started, we must again revisit some of the localities in and around that sweet neighbourhood. Sir Hugh Clopton having also returned from London on business of import, is once more to be seen in his old dwelling.

Since we last beheld him located there, many stirring events have transpired. His life, on the whole, has pa.s.sed, since the action with the Armada, in ease and quietude. At the present moment, however, he is in some trouble, consequent upon the untoward events connected with his nephew. Nay, he has returned to London for the purpose of parting with all he possesses, so that he may but pay off the huge debts Walter Arderne has become liable for, and save him from the other difficulties he is surrounded by.

It is now far advanced in the month of September. The season is wet and dreary,--one of those unhealthy seasons which produce much sickness throughout the land. The continued rain had flooded the country around.

The roads, never at this period good, are now almost impa.s.sable. The woods are wrapped in mist, and the marsh lands a perfect sea.

"The fold stands empty in the drowned field, And crows are fatted with the murrain flocks, The nine men's morris is filled up with mud, And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, For lack of tread, are undistinguishable; Whilst on old Hyem's chin and icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds, Is, as in mockery, set."

Sir Hugh, after conferance with his man of business, is preparing in a few days again to set off for London. A journey of such extent is, however, matter of some consideration and considerable danger at such a season, with weather so unpropitious.

As the old knight looks out upon the chase, the gloom of the aspect adds to the gloom of his spirits.

Such a prospect is always calculated to beget a certain share of despondency, even in the most cheerful temper, and Sir Hugh has had enough of sorrow in his time to make him rather a grave than a merry companion.

The old knight, however, is not the man to give way to despair under circ.u.mstances like the present.

"Goods news, an Heaven will," he said, as he suddenly descried a horseman, with head bent to the saddle-bow, come sparring against the driving wind, his cloak blown into a balloon, the mire and water flying into the air as he dashed across the chase towards the mansion.

During the prevalence of heavy and continued rain, any object which enlivens the wet landscape, even in our own dull times, becomes of interest. In Elizabeth's day, when so many events of import were transpiring, and when news came but rarely to a country place, the arrival of a post as tho armed and heavily-accoutred horseman was called was of peculiar interest. He brought, perhaps, intelligence of the danger or death of those nearest and dearest, and now heard for the first time. He bore, perchance, some secret intelligence of warning, some caution against an imminent, deadly foe, some hint to put the seas between the receiver and his native land.

To Sir Hugh the sight of the coming horseman, as he emerged from the belt of plantation, and dashed into the open chase, was fraught almost with alarm.

"G.o.d grant," he said, an he strained his eyes to observe if he could recognize the features of the rider, "that this new comer may bring me good tidings of our Walter."

The increasing gloom, however, for it was now evening, hindered the knight from recognizing the person of the horseman. He heard the clatter of the hoofs of the steed along the approach, and, as he threw open the door, the rider having dismounted, unceremoniously entered the room. The next moment his hand was caught in the iron gripe of Captain Fluellyn.

"Thou hast news, Captain," said Sir Hugh, "news of import, or thou would'st scarce have left my nephew in his captivity?"

"I _have_ news, good Sir Hugh," said the Captain; "and when I have in something recovered wind enough, I will unfold it to you!"

"Good! an Heaven will," said Sir Hugh; "my nephew, good Captain--?"

"Is well," returned the Captain, "and commends him to you. Nay, he is, in some sort, out of his difficulties--that is to say, in as far as the charge of treason goeth."