The Sun.
London, England, 1863-04-03 00:00:00

SHAKESPERE'S LAST DAYS.

(From Shakespere' s Some, By the Rev. C. .3/". Bellew.)
There are two circumstances connected with his last days
at New Place with which we are acquainted. "In perfect
health and memory,God be praised," he had his will drafted
the 25th January, 1616. February the 10th his daughter
Judith married Thomas Quiney. We are led to conclude
that the will was probably drawn up in January with refe-
rence to his daughter's marriage, and that, subsequent to
the wedding, Shakespere was seized with some sudden ill-
ness, which led to the execution of the will on the 25th day
of March. These few facts occurring in the first three
months of the year 1616, constitute the entire knowledge we
possess of the closing days of Shakspere's life. Forty years
after his death the then vicar of Stratford, Mr. Ward, jotted
down some of the stories current in the places regarding
the poet. Among others ho stated " Shakespear, Drayton,
and Ben Jenson had a merry meeting, and it seems drank
too hard, for Shakespear died of a feavour there contracted."
When we remember that Shakespere died in the prime of
life, and that he was in perfect health and memory twelve
weeks prior to his decease, it seems likely enough that fever
was the cause of death. The wedding of Judith would per-
fectly account for Ben Jenson and Drayton being his com-
panions at Stratford at such a time, though no eviience has
as yet been produced to prove Jonson's whereabouts at that

date.
The story of drinking too hard is susceptible of explana-
tion in the same way; and it is easy to be understood how
the convivality of a wedding party at New Place would be
converted, on the tongues of gossips, into " hard drinking
at a merry meeting." Village stories and traditions, as it
has been already admitted, are worthy of consideration,
but not of trust. They are seldom absolutely true in them-
selves, and yet they almost always direct the historic in-
quirer in the right direction to arrive at truth. Tradi-
tions are like photographs—distorting the prominent fea-
tures of the subjects they represent. Accepting the reve-
rend vicar's story as a Stratford tradition, told him in the
rough and ready phraseology of the place, and translating
the meaning of "hard drinking" into the joyous festivity
which would be naturally observed at such a period as
the wedding of the poet's daughter, when friends like Ben
Jenson and Drayton were gathered around the board of their
old companion, to drink to the health and happiness of the
bride and bridegroom,--we have a domestic picture pre-
sented to us of the last days of Shakespere, as happy in itself
as it is probable from its consonance with his character.
Though the picture is the barest sketch, yet its touches are
true to nature ; and all, save one, we know to be true in
fact. That one (the coarseness of its colouring toned down),
harmonises well with the rest, and gives completeness to the
outlines. Let fancy fill in the canvas, and the autumn days
of the poet's life be painted in the golden tints of nature's
own autumn time, in which sunniness and sadness so mys-
teriously blend. Pleasant it is to think that the happ:neea
of New Place was not shadowed by my tedious or agonising
sickness. There was no lingering disease, no protracted pain.
"In perfect health and memory, God be praised," our
Shakespere lived until his 52d year. He enjoyed his Merry
Christmas and the conversation of his friends.
Then came the preparations for the wedding. New Place
was all alive. Mrs. Shakespere's second-best bed, like
enough, was aired and made up for the arrival from town of
Ben Jonson. Shakespere thought the time befitted that
he should make his will, which was accordingly drafted.
The great garden was neatly trimmed, no doubt, and the
borders of snowdrops and crocuses fringed the beds about
the mulberry-tree. The wedding-day arrived. Parson
Rogers, the vicar, appeared in his best cassock, bands, and
tippet ; and, robed in clean white linen surplice, leaned
against the tomb of John a Combe, book in hand, until the
wedding party came. Coaches in Stratford were unknown,
bu

" Slowly—stately—two by two,"
the train of relatives and friends proceeded from New Place
to the church. The merry marriage -bells rang out their wel-
come, and William Shakespere, leading Judith through
troops of friends, presented her at the altar to the vicar, and
gave the woman to the man. There were no signatures of
witnesses to the ceremony necessary, else had we seen, per-
chance, Shakeepere's and Rare Ben's upon the same page of
the register. The ceremony over, and, the vicar unrobed,
the whole party left the church. It was the last time Shake-
spere entered it alive, and the last time he left it I The wed-
ding of his child brought him there that day : about nine
weeks afterwards his children attended in the same place at
his funeral I But on that marriage morn none dreamt of, or
anticipated, the impending loss which not New Place only,
or Stratford, but England and her literature were to suffer.
The marriage tables were spread; the cakes and ale were
plentiful ; and Parson Rogers, garnishing his periods with
Latinity, after the fashion of his day, told how one of old
time, in a little town of Galilee, had blessed with His pre-
sence that marriage- feast at which the " water saw its Lord,
I and blushed !"
" Meanwhile the day sinks fast, the sun is set,
And in the lighted hall the guests are met;
The beautiful looked lovelier in the light
Of love, and admiration, and delight."
It was a merry, happy evening in Stratford I No doubt the
variedGre Green," n , 's'
hTahkeosmpaerseCsoamaabee,etainand, aasll
ftahreasladvirs andarw ileaks,sehsaodfth
Haleses, and the Quineys, the Hatbaways, "my Cousin
col-
lected at New Place to celebrate the wedding,—to " dance
and eat plums ;" to be merry with the " round" and " woo-
ing dance," and to trip it lightly to the stirring notes of
" John come kiss me now 1" Substituting Ben Jonson for
" Cousin Capulet, the poet's own words best serve our pur-
pose to imagine the scene :
" Welcome, gentlemen I ladies that have their toes
Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you :
Ah ah, my mistresses I which of you all
Will now deny to dance?
I have seen the day
That I , could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please !—'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone,']
Come, musicians, play.
A hall I a hall I give room, and foot it girls.
More light, ye knaves I and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.—
Nay, eit, nay, sit, good Cousin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dancing days I"
So, while they went on with the dance, and joy was uncon-
fined, we can imagine these patres conscripti of Stratford
gathering together in a knot, and the " natural wit" of
Shakespere goaded into point and brilliancy by Ben and
Drayton bursting forth in to coruscations of fancy 1 Then
the reminiscences of London life, of Blackfriars, and the
Glob:, would come up, and the experiences of these wits
would astonish and delight their country friends. Shake-
spere could tell many an anecdote of kings and courts of
Whitehall and Hampton ; and, perhaps, among the jovial
pledges of the supper, Ben Jonson might let slip something
about Gunpowder Plot. Such a " merry-meeting"--the
celebration of his daughter's wedding day—we have suffi
cient reason for supposing, presents us to Shakespere at
Now Place, in health and vigour, for the last time. A fever
seized him. A few brief days of sickness intervened. Gra-
dually the strength of the hale man succumbed before the
invading enemy. Neces ity compelled the will to be
signed. Gloom possessed the lately happy, festive house.
At Chapel-street corner, with whispered words, and solem.o
worst head -
ntmg to the
ealurd for
Fers would
s
fh
ea
k
arsi
n
. g
,
Ththene
Cross, most lire, the Church's prayers weitreo
tfhreiernedwsasofantahtehadryginatghemriaangltold
Roll
stand, calming the woes of the a
-I but " pain essly as
him who lay a-dying. By his bedside Vndicarpoi
hopes of the dying while r andeur
coy
Ystole in among the
fever does its work—
the last
sewe Place were darkened,
group, and the windows ofie and
the doors were shut, and the keepers of the house trembled,
about
and the mourners went the street, because man goeth
to his long home The rest is silence !"
,he

WORDI'o
theUN
burstD L I NGo
fHhOuSmP la Tn Ai
humanity
0. —n
lib
eahvael fwe
never of
ON
beard
how
foundlings issued in London, in the last century ? and how
it operates in Paris now? The Empress talks of opening
another Foundling Hospital ; and a Middlesex coroner has
seriously proposed the same thing lately, with singular
per-
verseness, as a remedy for infanticide ; yet everybody, from
empresses to relieving officers, have the means of knowing
the invariable result of such experiments. In the London
case, the throwing open of the Foundling Hospital caused
an increase of foundlings, in three years, of from 117 to
nearly 15,000 ; and of those 15,000 only 4,400 lived to be
apprenticed. In Paris 58 per cent, of illegitimate children
are abandoned within the range of the foundling charity;
and wherever arms are fot thcoming to support infants, base-
born or other, child-murder increases tremendously. The
more institutions are opened as a refuge for them, the faster
the need grows ; and, as the need can never be overtaken,
the infants are put out of the way in tenfold proportion.—
Once a Week.
CHARITY.—The truth is, one of the most disheart-
ening facts of our social state is its excessive almse,
b
giving—called charity. Any citizen who is supposed to
in easy circumstances can tell what his experience is.
e an
His hand is never out of his pocket. Every day,
d or other,
, day long, he hears of want and misery of enseekindrne
evidences
which he is summoned to help to alleviate.
of shus-
me occasionally of the prevalent condition
1 reach to me from
• " Letters come
giving in which society is hvlng.
for cases which I
persons I never heard of, begging money.and
the writers seem
cannot possibly know anythinF,,
about
towards me, and the
I unaware both of the impertinenceuummen
sense
to
give money
l folly of asking any person o_
seem,
as if they must live
[ at random in that way. It
gentlemen on the platform,
who, like these
among pecple
elves, and everybody else, ought
have settled that they thems
tenth part of their income at least. That
to give away a ten
amount being fixed, the first corners have the best chance of
i being liberally served, anda pegging goes via vigorouely,--
1 Ono a ireckf