6
THE HESPERIAN
ly bound in brown. She opened it, and saw
her name on the fly leaf, with the compli
ments of the author. Then she turned over
a few pages and came to a picture.
She looked at it long and earnestly, and
then said, "Yes, that's jest Abe right over
again. It looks like the very same necktie
he wore the night we went to spellin' school
together."
And then, with the picture before her, she
sat looking into the fire for a long time.
Anna Broady.
STRATFORD-ON-AVON.
Read, by C. J. Smith before the Jfaaxcell
Chib, October 87, 1S93.
Headers of William Winters' "Shakes
peare's England" who have not had the
pleasure of visiting the scenes which he
pictures so beautifully, may be of the opin
ion that his respect and veneration for
Shakespeare have led him to overdraw the
charming simplicity of the home and asso
ciations of the immortal poet. The language
he uses may seem a little too 'flowery' and
not at all a true description of the natural
beauty of Stratford-on-Avon. But a vis
itor to this quiet village cannot fail to see
how Winters' descriptions, so delightful and
enchanting, fall short of the truth, and the
pilgrim's visions of reality will far exceed
his expectations.
I well remember the evening of August
29, 1892, when 1 stepped from the train at
Stratford-on-Avon, and shortly after stood
before the arched entrance to the Red Horse
Inn on Bridge Street. I was ushered in
through a narrow covered court adjacent to
the Inn stables and ascended a low stairway
to the office of mine host, a long hallway
filled with relics of varying description, hav
ing more the appearance of a minature vow
seum. Most American visitors at Stratford
stop at this Inn, for its roof gave shelter to
Washington Irving on his pilgrimage to the
shrine of Shakespeare. In a small, almost
square, room, near the entrance to the Inn,
is to be seen Geoffrey Crayon's Sceptre, a
name given to the poker used by Irvine to
stir the dying embers of the wood fire in the
tiny grate, before which he sat in a straight
backed, old fashioned chair, lost in dreamy
meditation. In a corner of the room is the
old clock mentioned in his "Sketch Book,"
and on the walls hang pictures and writings
of illustrious men who have visited this an
cient tavern to pay their respects to the
memory of Shakespeare. It is not diffi
cult to imagine that this cosy little parlor
was the rendezvous of Ben Johnson and
Drayton when they came from London to
see their old friend William, and that here
they together drank many a glass of good
old ale.
Next morning, I wended my way along
Bridge street until I stood by the bank of
the winding Avon, not far from where the
grey arches of the . old Clopton Bridge hid
the peaceful river within its shades, and in
a few minutes I was slowly strolling up the
stone walk, through the church yard leading
to the church, old arid grey, wherein Shakes
peare was christened on April 20, 156i. I
could not but feel in a serious humor in my
dreamy surroundings, as I noted the several
inscriptions on the tombstones heavily laden
with moss of ages, shaded from the sun, rain
and storm by overhanging lime trees. It is
not easy to describe the feeling of perfect
peace that possesses one on his visit to this
church . The very stones on which you walk
mark the resting place of many an old dwell
er in Stratford, and one unconeciously steps
with easy tread lest he may disturb their
peaceful slurabei. JNear the door, within a
glass case, is to bo seen the old church reg
ister, and on the right hand page nearly half
way down can be discerned the entry made
of the baptism of William Shakespeare on
April 2G, 1564. A few feet away stands
the stone baptismal font in which the infant
William was christened. One cannot look
upon it but with reverence. The pews of
the church are wooden, and look old, as well
they might from the ago of seven centuries
or more, and the sun through the gothic
H
. Ji-'J
jijLllfnVfwVW- :