Litchfield enquirer., 1851-03-06


 cream color il is covered with roses and fragrant Towering vines, which make the air delicious. By the gate is a Champ ney rose the largest ever saw--its shoots reaching, should think, more than twelve feet, and terminated with c,ustels Of buds and open roses, each claster having fom fifty to hundred
 buds. Yesterday afternoon, as l passed this same cottage, st' pPcd to admire
 his lcau;ifu O e, and 10 teI upon the delicious perfume which cxhaled Gom the grounds. A lady apparently about forty five, and two young women about eighteen and twenty yeats of age 1 respectively, seeing stranger, approach cd the gate. bowed and asked,
 Is tnls Champney rose?"
 |" It is a Noisettc, sir !''
 thought so; d Champney of the Noisette family Will you tell me what , flower it is that fills the air with such odor 2"
 l don't know; it must be something in the garden! :"
 "Wlil you be kiod enough 70 tell me the way to Anne Hathaway's cottage?"
 "Take the first lane to the left" said the eldest young woman, pointing to the right.
 "Thc lane on tie riyht, you meanP'
 On yes, on the right, but do not know where the cottage Is exactly P and yet it lay hardly two good stone casts from where they stood. You can see its smoke from tte windows. Did they not know, or were they ashamed to seem too familiar with stranger? Either way, It Is not very crcdIable to their in- telligence. But William Shakspelre Ire ! eighteen years old as he was. had no need of asking his way, as he came here of Sabbath evening! What were the thoughts of such d mind drawing near to the place which now peeps out from the trees across the field on the right? What were his feelings, out Of soul which created such forms of love in after days? /? l look upon the clouds every moment changing forms, upon the he'd ges or trees, along which, or such>like, Shakespeare wandered with his sweet Anna; and marvel what were the i'm. aginatlons, the strifes of heart. the gush> es of tenderness, the sanguinc hopes and forepaintlngs of this young poets soul. For even so early he had begun to give form to that which God c,cated in hlm
 One cannot help thinking of Olivia, Juli- I ct, Desdemom, Beatrice, Ophelia, Imo- | gen, Isabella, Miranda and wondering whether any of his first dreams were afterwaId borrowed 10 form these. Itis not possible but that strokes of his pen. Gil, in these and other women of Shaks- I peare, reproduced some features of his own experience, if we could only tell what, We'll, l imagine that Anne was little below medium height, delieately formed and shaped, but not slender, with clear broad forehead, not high but wide and evenly filled out, an eye that chose to look down mostly, but filled with sweet confusion every time she look ed up, and was used more than her tongue; a face that smiled oftener than it laughed, but so smiled that one saw a world of brightness within, as of lamp hidden behind an alabaster shade. with a carriage that was deliberate but grace ful and elastic, This is my Anne Hath away. Whether it was Skakspeare's, 1 find nothing in this cottage and these trees and verdant hedges to tell me- the birds ae snsing something about it, descendants of thesvery birds that tAo lovers heard, strolling together. doubt. less, but l doubt their tradtionary lore, l did not care to go in. There are two or three tenats in tue lawn cottage as it now stands. The middle one is that to which pilgrims from all the world do come; and though it was but common yeoman's home, and his daughter has left not single record of herself, she and her home are immortal, because hither came l the lad Shakespeare, and she became his wife, J leaned upon tEis hedge yester- day afternoon, it being Sabbath, and looked long at the place, and with more feelings than thoughts, or rather with thoughts that dissolved at once into feel. ings. What a wonderful power is that by which mind may clothe inanin1ate ob. jects with it's own attributes and interests. Here are the rudest cottages--scencry, beautiful indeed, but not more so than thousands of other places; but men of 1 all nations and of every condition, the mingled multitude of refined men, are thronging hither, and dwell on every spot with enthusiasm unfeigned. Whatever Shakespeare saw We long to see; what he thought of, NC wish to think of i; where he walked, thither we turn our steps. The Avon, the ehmch, the mead ows lying over beyond both; the street and the room where he was born, all | have soul imbreathed upon them, and 1 all of them are sacred to us, and we l pass as in q dream amid these things The sun, the clouds, the trees, the birds, { the morning and evening. moonlight or | f ,nhf np InrEnarc -f t1